They had
come to take part in the great battle then beginning. They were troops
composed of Europeans and Africans. The vanguard, on entering through
the Orleans gate, had swung into rhythmic pace, thus crossing half Paris
toward the Gare de l'Est where the trains were waiting for them.
The people of Paris had seen squadrons from Tunis with theatrical
uniforms, mounted on horses, nervous and fleet, Moors with yellow
turbans, Senegalese with black faces and scarlet caps, colonial
artillerymen, and light infantry from Africa. These were professional
warriors, soldiers who in times of peace, led a life of continual
fighting in the colonies--men with energetic profiles, bronzed faces and
the eyes of beasts of prey. They had remained motionlesss in the streets
for hours at a time, until room could be found for them in the military
trains. . . . And Argensola had followed this armed, impassive mass of
humanity from the boulevards, talking with the officials, and listening
to the primitive cries of the African warriors who had never seen Paris,
and who passed through it without curiosity, asking where the enemy was.
They had arrived in time to attack von Kluck on the banks of the Ourq,
obliging him to fall back or be completely overwhelmed.
A fact which Argensola did not relate to his sympathetic guest was that
his nocturnal excursion the entire length of this division of the
army had been accompanied by the amiable damsel within, and two other
friends--an enthusiastic and generous coterie, distributing flowers and
kisses to the swarthy soldiers, and laughing at their consternation and
gleaming white teeth.
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