The
troopers were fighting on foot, and finding it necessary to exercise
their steeds to keep them from getting sick with their full mangers.
There were spread over the fields several aeroplanes, like great, gray
dragon flies, poised for the flight. Many of the men were grouped around
them. The farmers, transformed into soldiers, were watching with great
admiration their comrade charged with the management of these machines.
They looked upon him as one of the wizards so venerated and feared in
all the countryside.
Don Marcelo was struck by the general transformation in the French
uniforms. All were now clad in gray-blue, from head to foot. The
trousers of bright scarlet cloth, the red kepis which he had hailed with
such joy in the expedition of the Marne, no longer existed. All the
men passing along the roads were soldiers. All the vehicles, even the
ox-carts, were guided by military men.
Suddenly the automobile stopped before some ruined houses blackened by
fire.
"Here we are," announced the official. "Now we shall have to walk a
little."
The senator and his friend started along the highway.
"Not that way, no!" the guide turned to say grimly. "That road is bad
for the health. We must keep out of the currents of air."
He further explained that the Germans had their cannon and intrenchments
at the end of this highroad which sloped suddenly and again appeared as
a white ribbon on the horizon line between two rows of trees and burned
houses.
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