Suddenly he felt the great confidence that
efficient-looking bank directors always inspired in him. He could
entrust his interests to this gentleman, sure that he would not act
impulsively.
Finally, against his will, Desnoyers was drawn into the whirlpool of
enthusiasm and emotion. Like everyone around him, he lived minutes that
were hours, and hours that were years. Events kept on overlapping each
other; within a week the world seemed to have made up for its long
period of peace.
The old man fairly lived in the street, attracted by the spectacle
of the multitude of civilians saluting the multitude of uniformed men
departing for the seat of war.
At night he saw the processions passing through the boulevards. The
tricolored flag was fluttering its colors under the electric lights. The
cafes were overflowing with people, sending forth from doors and windows
the excited, musical notes of patriotic songs. Suddenly, amidst applause
and cheers, the crowd would make an opening in the street. All Europe
was passing here; all Europe--less the arrogant enemy--and was saluting
France in her hour of danger with hearty spontaneity. Flags of different
nations were filing by, of all tints of the rainbow, and behind them
were the Russians with bright and mystical eyes; the English, with
heads uncovered, intoning songs of religious gravity; the Greeks and
Roumanians of aquiline profile; the Scandinavians, white and red; the
North Americans, with the noisiness of a somewhat puerile enthusiasm;
the Hebrews without a country, friends of the nation of socialistic
revolutions; the Italians, as spirited as a choir of heroic tenors;
the Spanish and South Americans, tireless in their huzzas.
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