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counts of the sackings； fires and butcheries made him turn pale and gnash his teeth。 To him； to Marcelo Desnoyers； might happen the very same thing that Belgium was enduring； if the barbarians should invade France。 He had a home in the city； a castle in the country； and a family。 Through association of ideas； the women assaulted by the soldiery； made him think of Chichi and the dear Dona Luisa。 The mansions in flames called to his mind the rare and costly furnishings accumulated in his expensive dwellingsthe armorial bearings of his social elevation。 The old folk that were shot； the women foully mutilated； the children with their hands cut off； all the horrors of a war of terror； aroused the violence of his character。
And such things could happen with impunity in this day and generation！ 。 。 。
In order to convince himself that punishment was near； that vengeance was overtaking the guilty ones； he felt the necessity of mingling daily with the people crowding around the Gare de l'Est。
Although the greater part of the troops were operating on the frontiers； that was not diminishing the activity in Paris。 Entire battalions were no longer going off； but day and night soldiers were coming to the station singly or in groups。 These were Reserves without uniform on their way to enroll themselves with their companies； officials who until then had been busy with the work of the mobilization； platoons in arms destined to fill the great gaps opened by death。
The multitude； pressed against the railing； was greeting those who were going off； following them with their eyes while they were crossing the large square。 The latest editions of the daily papers were announced with hoarse yells； and instantly the dark throng would be spotted with white； all reading with avidity the printed sheets。 Good news： 〃Vive la France！〃 A doubtful despatch； foreshadowing calamity： 〃No matter！ We must press on at all costs！ The Russians will close in behind them！〃 And while these dialogues； inspired by the latest news were taking place； many young girls were going among the groups offering little flags and tricolored cockadesand passing through the patio； men and still more men were disappearing behind the glass doors； on their way to the war。
A sub…lieutenant of the Reserves； with his bag on his shoulder； was accompanied by his father toward the file of policemen keeping the crowds back。 Desnoyers saw in the young officer a certain resemblance to his son。 The father was wearing in his lapel the black and green ribbon of 1870a decoration which always filled Desnoyers with remorse。 He was tall and gaunt； but was still trying to hold himself erect； with a heavy frown。 He wanted to show himself fierce； inhuman； in order to hide his emotion。
〃Good…bye； my boy！ Do your best。〃
〃Good…bye； father。〃
They did not clasp hands； and each was avoiding looking at the other。 The official was smiling like an automaton。 The father turned his back brusquely； and threading his way through the throng； entered a cafe； where for some time he needed the most retired seat in the darkest earner to hide his emotion。
AND DON MARCELO ENVIED HIS GRIEF。
Some of the Reservists came along singing； preceded by a flag。 They were joking and jostling each other； betraying in excited actions； long halts at all the taverns along the way。 One of them； without interrupting his song； was pressing the hand of an old woman marching beside him； cheerful and dry…eyed。 The mother was concentrating all her strength in order； with feigned happiness； to accompany this strapping lad to the last minute。
Others were coming along singly； separated from their companies； but not on that account alone。 The gun was hanging from the shoulder； the back overlaid by the hump of the knapsack； the red legs shooting in and out of the turned…back folds of the blue cloak； and the smoke of a pipe under the visor of the kepis。 In front of one of these men； four children were walking along； lined up according to size。 They kept turning their heads to admire their father； suddenly glorified by his military trappings。 At his side was marching his wife； affable and resigned； feeling in her simple soul a revival of love； an ephemeral Spring； born of the contact with danger。 The man； a laborer of Paris； who a few months before was singing La Internacional； demanding the abolishment of armies and the brotherhood of all mankind； was now going in quest of death。 His wife； choking back her sobs； was admiring him greatly。 Affection and commiseration made her insist upon giving him a few last counsels。 In his knapsack she had put his best handkerchiefs； the few provisions in the house and all the money。 Her man was not to be uneasy about her and the children； they would get along all right。 The government and kind neighbors would look after them。
The soldier in reply was jesting over the somewhat misshapen figure of his wife； saluting the coming citizen； and prophesying that he would be born in a time of great victory。 A kiss to the wife； an affectionate hair…pull for his offspring； and then he had joined his comrades。 。 。 。 No tears。 Courage！。 。 。 Vive la France！
The final injunctions of the departing were now heard。 Nobody was crying。 But as the last red pantaloons disappeared； many hands grasped the iron railing convulsively； many handkerchiefs were bitten with gnashing teeth； many faces were hidden in the arms with sobs of anguish。
AND DON MARCELO ENVIED THESE TEARS。
The old woman； on losing the warm contact of her son's hand from her withered one； turned in the direction which she believed to be that of the hostile country； waving her arms with threatening fury。
〃Ah； the assassin！ 。 。 。 the bandit！〃
In her wrathful imagination she was again seeing the countenance so often displayed in the illustrated pages of the periodicals moustaches insolently aggressive； a mouth with the jaw and teeth of a wolf； that laughed 。 。 。 and laughed as men must have laughed in the time of the cave…men。
AND DON MARCELO ENVIED THIS WRATH！
CHAPTER II
NEW LIFE
When Marguerite was able to return to the studio in the rue de la Pompe； Julio； who had been living in a perpetual bad humor； seeing everything in the blackest colors； suddenly felt a return of his old optimism。
The war was not going to be so cruel as they all had at first imagined。 The days had passed by； and the movements of the troops were beginning to be less noticeable。 As the number of men diminished in the streets； the feminine population seemed to have increased。 Although there was great scarcity of money； the banks still remaining closed； the necessity for it was increasingly great； in order to secure provisions。 Memories of the famine of the siege of '70 tormented the imagination。 Since war had broken out with the same enemy； it seemed but logical to everybody to expect a repetition of the same happenings。 The storehouses were besieged by women who were securing stale food at exorbitant prices in order to store it in their homes。 Future hunger was producing more terror than immediate dangers。
For young Desnoyers these were about all the transformations that war was creating around him。 People would finally become accustomed to the new existence。 Humanity has a certain reserve force of adaptation which enables it to mould itself to circumstances and continue existing。 He was hoping to continue his life as though nothing had happened。 It was enough for him that Marguerite should continue faithful to their past。 Together they would see events slipping by them with the cruel luxuriousness of those who； from an inaccessible height； contemplate a flood without the slightest risk to themselves。
This selfish attitude had also become habitual to Argensola。
〃Let us be neutral；〃 the Bohemian would say。 〃Neutrality does not necessarily mean indifference。 Let us enjoy the great spectacle； since nothing like it will ever happen again in our lifetime。〃
It was unfortunate that war should happen to come when they had so little money。 Argensola was hating the banks even more than the Central Powers； distinguishing with special antipathy the trust company which was delaying payment of Julio's check。 How lovely it would have been with this sum available； to have forestalled events by laying in every class of commodity！ In order to supplement the domestic scrimping； he again had to solicit the aid of Dona Luisa。 War had lessened Don Marcelo's precautions； and the family was now living in generous unconcern。 The mother； like other house mistresses； had stored up provisions for months and months to come； buying whatever eatables she was able to lay hands on。 Argensola took advantage of this abundance； repeating his visits to the home in the avenue Victor Hugo； descending its service stairway with great packages which were swelling the supplies in the studio。
He felt all the joys of a good housekeeper in surveying the treasures piled up in the kitchengreat tins of canned meat； pyramids of butter crocks； and bags of dried vegetables。 He had accumulated enough there to maintain a large family。 The war had now offered a new pretext for him to visit Don Marcelo's wine… vaults。
〃Let them c