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"Meanwhile, allow me to introduce myself ... Captain Daspry.... I met your father in connection with a rather funny incident, the slaughter of Farmer Saboureux's fowls.... Hullo! Hullo! Gad, how difficult it is to get put on!... Hullo! Hullo!... I even shocked M. Morestal by refusing to punish the culprit, one Duvauchel, an incorrigible anti-militarist.... An excuse like that would just have served the beggar's turn...."
He had a rather vulgar type of face and a complexion that was too red; but his frank eyes and his gaiety of manner made him exceedingly attractive. He began to laugh:
"To show his grat.i.tude, Duvauchel promised me, this morning, to turn his back on the enemy, at the first shot, and to desert.... He has a chauffeur's place reserved for him in Switzerland.... And, as Duvauchel says, 'There's nothing like a French greaser.'... Hullo!... Ah, at last!... Hullo! Captain Daspry speaking.... I want the military post at Noirmont.... Yes, at once, please.... Hullo!... Is that Noirmont? The military post? I want Major Dutreuil.... Switch me on to him.... It's urgent."
Captain Daspry ceased. Instinctively, Philippe took up the other receiver:
"May I?"
"Oh, certainly!..."
And Philippe heard the following dialogue, with its swift and anxious questions and answers:
"Is that you, Daspry?"
"Yes, major."
"Did the cyclists catch you up?"
"Which cyclists?"
"I sent three after you."
"I've seen nothing of them so far. I'm at Morestal's."
"The Old Mill?"
"Yes, major ... I wrote to you about it."
"Well, what is it, Daspry?"
"Uhlans have been seen in the Col du Diable."
"Yes, I know. The Borsweiler cavalry are on the march."
"What!"
"They will cross the frontier in an hour from now, supported by two regiments of infantry."
"What!"
"That's what I sent my cyclists to tell you. Get to the Col du Diable as fast as you can."
"My men are there, major. As soon as the enemy arrives, we will fall back, keeping in touch with them as we do so."
"No."
"Eh? But I can't do otherwise, I have only my company."
"You must stand your ground, Daspry. You must stand your ground for two hours and a half or three hours. My battalion has just left barracks.
The 28th are following us by forced marches. We shall be at the frontier by two o'clock in the afternoon. You must stand your ground."
"But I say, major!"
"You must stand your ground, Daspry."
With a mechanical movement, the officer drew himself up, brought his heels together and replied:
"We shall stand our ground, major."
He replaced the receiver and thought for a few minutes. Then he said, with a smile:
"By Jove, that's a nice beginning! Two hundred men against some thousands ... for three hours! If one of the 4th company remains alive, he'll be a lucky man...."
"But it's madness!" Philippe protested.
"Monsieur, the Alpine Rifles and the 28th of the line are on their way; and Dornat's division is certainly behind them. If they arrive too late, if the ridges of the Vosges are taken, if the frontier is crossed, if the Saint-elophe valley is occupied and all this on the very day on which war is declared, you can imagine the consternation which this first check will produce all over France. If, on the other hand, a handful of men sacrifice themselves ... and _succeed_, the moral effect will be incalculable. I shall stand my ground for three hours, monsieur."
The words were spoken simply, with the profound conviction of a man who realizes the full importance of his act. He was already on his way down the stone steps. Saluting Philippe, he added:
"You can congratulate M. Morestal, monsieur. He is a far-seeing Frenchman. He foresaw everything that is happening. Let us hope that it is not too late."
He leapt into the saddle, spurred his horse and set off at a gallop.
Philippe followed him with his eyes as far as the etang-des-Moines. When the officer had disappeared behind a dip in the ground, he gave way to an angry movement and muttered:
"Play-acting!"
However, he turned the telescope on the Col du Diable and saw soldiers all around Saboureux's Farm, running, scrambling up the rocks on every side with the agility of young goats. He reflected that they had forgotten their weariness and seemed to be diverting themselves with an exercise to which each contributed his own effort, his individual tactics and his qualities of self-reliance and initiative.
He stood pensive for a few minutes. But time was pressing. He called Victor and went up to his room:
"Quick, my bag."
They stuffed the papers and ma.n.u.scripts into it promiscuously, together with a little linen and the toilet-articles. The bag was strapped up.
Philippe seized it:
"Good-bye, Victor. Tell my mother I sent her my love."
He crossed the landing. But some one darted out of an adjacent room. It was Marthe. She barred his way:
"Where are you going?" she asked.
CHAPTER III