Villeblanche was now more military than before the arrival of the
troops. The night before a great part of the inhabitants had fled,
having become infected with the same fear that was driving on the crowds
following the army. The mayor and the priest remained. Reconciled with
the owner of the castle through his unexpected presence in their midst,
and admiring his liberality, the municipal official approached to give
him some news. The engineers were mining the bridge over the Marne. They
were only waiting for the dragoons to cross before blowing it up. If he
wished to go, there was still time.
Again Desnoyers hesitated. Certainly it was foolhardy to remain there.
But a glance at the woods over whose branches rose the towers of his
castle, settled his doubts. No, no. . . . "We must finish what we have
begun!"
The very last band of troopers now made their appearance, coming out of
the woods by different paths. They were riding their horses slowly, as
though they deplored this retreat. They kept looking behind, carbine
in hand, ready to halt and shoot. The others who had been occupying
the barricade were already on their mounts. The division reformed, the
commands of the officers were heard and a quick trot, accompanied by the
clanking of metal, told Don Marcelo that the last of the army had left.
He remained near the barricade in a solitude of intense silence, as
though the world were suddenly depopulated.
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