. . .
And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to
carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things
which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a
collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let
that go.
Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying
little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that
the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth
was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the
alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy's spies who were remaining
hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers.
"They have already crossed the frontier. . . ." "They are already in
Lille." . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles
a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring.
English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of
the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following
the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every
twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins
announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts
served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other,
into the power of the invader.
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