justice and reason beneath the military gloss.

"May I pass on, sir?" he asked. "I wish to reach Metz, where I can
obtain more horses for the army."

"Why do you walk?"

"I sold my last horse and the automobiles and trains are not for me. I
know that the army needs all the space in them and I ask nothing."

"Fare on then," said von Boehlen. "Your papers are in good condition and
you'll have no trouble in reaching Metz. But be sure you don't lose your
passport."

The injunction was kindly and John, thanking him, took up the road. Von
Boehlen and his Uhlans rode on, and John looked back once. He caught a
single glimpse of the colonel's broad shoulders and then the long column
of horsemen rode by. There was no military pomp about them now. Their
gray uniforms were worn and stained and many of the men sagged in their
saddles with weariness. Not a few showed wounds barely healed.

The cavalry were followed by infantry, and batteries of guns so heavy
that often the wheels sank in the paved road. Sometimes the troops sang,
pouring forth the mighty rolling choruses of the German national songs
and hymns. The gay air as of sure victory just ahead that marked them in
the closing months of summer the year before had departed, but in its
place was a grim resolution that made them seem to John as formidable as
ever. The steady beat of solid German feet made a rolling sound which
the orders of officers and the creaking of wagons and artillery
scarcely disturbed. The waves of the gray sea swept steadily on toward