Even two hours' sleep, however, is better than none.

As soon as it became light the Subaltern saw that they were
counter-marching along the same road on which they had travelled the
previous night. What did this mean? Was a stand going to be made at
last? Apparently not, for the resting-place of last afternoon was
passed, and they continued to move eastwards. On consulting the map, he
judged that they were marching on Meaux on the Aisne. He had often read
of Meaux; was it not the Bishopric of Bossuet, the stately orator of
Louis XIV? The interest he felt in the question helped to take the
weight from his weary limbs.

At last they crossed the bridge. Sappers had been at work on it for some
time, and the preparations to blow it up after they had passed were
almost complete. The first sight of interest was the railway station,
which was filled with what appeared to the Subaltern to be double-decked
trains. Evidently a French army had detrained here.

The Column swung suddenly round a corner and they were almost staggered
with the sight of the cathedral towering above them. To an eye used
exclusively to the sight of the dour British edifice, there is something
very fascinating about a foreign cathedral such as this. There is
something more daring about the style of architecture, something more
flamboyant, and yet more solid. The cathedral seemed vaguely indicative
of the past grandeur of the Catholic Church. Bathed in the early morning
sunlight it appeared to exult over the mean smallness of the houses that
clustered at its feet.

Beyond the cathedral there is nothing at all extraordinary about Meaux.