"I know what we can do, of course," said Harry. "It isn't very far.

We'll leave our bags here at the school, and make packs of the things we need. And then we'll ride in on our bicycles. We were stupid not to think of that before."

That plan they found it easy to put into execution. They had meant to abandon their bicycles for the time being, at least, but now they realized what a mistake it would have been to do that, since with every normal activity cut off by the war, the machines were almost certain to be their only means of getting from one place to another, in the beginning at least.

Mounted on their bicycles, they now found their progress easy. The roads that led into Paris were crowded, to be sure. They pa.s.sed countless automobiles carrying refugees. Already the Americans were pouring out of Paris in their frantic haste to reach the coast and so take boat to England. On Sat.u.r.day night automobiles were still allowed to leave Paris. Next morning there would be a different story to tell.

In Paris, when they began to enter the more crowded sections, they saw the same scenes as had greeted them in St. Denis, only on a vastly larger scale. Everywhere farewells were being said. Men in uniforms were all about. Officers, as soon as they were seen, were hailed by the drivers of taxicabs, who refused even to think of carrying a civilian pa.s.senger if an officer wanted to get anywhere, or, if there were no officers, a private soldier. The streets were crowded, however, and with men. Here there were thousands, of course, not required to report at once.

"When mobilization is ordered," explained Henri, "each man in France has a certain day on which he is to report at his depot. It may be the first day, the third, the fifth, the tenth. If all came at once it would mean too much confusion. As it is, everything is done quickly and in order."

"It doesn't look it," was Frank's comment.

"No," said his chum, with a laugh. "That's true. But it's so, just the same. Every man you see knows just when he is to go, and when the time comes, off he will go. Why, even in your America, now, all the Frenchmen who have gone there are trying to get back. I know. They will be here as soon as the ships can bring them. They will report to the consul first--he will tell them what to do."

They made slow progress through the crowded streets. Already, however, there was a difference in the sort of crowding. There were fewer taxicabs, very many fewer. And there were no motor omnibuses at all.

"What has become of them?" asked Frank. "Aren't there men enough to run them?"

"Yes, and they are running them," said Henri, dryly. "But not in Paris.

They are on their way to the border, perhaps. Wherever they are, they are carrying soldiers or supplies. The government has always the right to take them all. Even at the time of the manoeuvres, some are taken, though not all. It is the same with the automobiles. In a few days there will be none left--the army will have them all. Officers need them to get around quickly. Generals cannot ride now--it is too slow to use a horse. You have heard of Leon Bollet?"

"No. Who is he?"

"He is a famous automobile driver in races. He has won the Grand Prix.

He will drive a general. He is a soldier, like all Frenchmen, and that will be his task--to drive some great general wherever he wants to go."

That was how the meaning of mobilization really came home to Frank, who learned more from the things he missed that he was accustomed to seeing than from new sights. In the boulevards, for instance, where as a rule the little tables in front of the cafes would be crowded, all the tables had vanished. That was a result of what was happening. Everything brought the fact of war home to him. To him it was even more vivid perhaps than to Henri, who had been brought up to know that some time all this would come about, and saw little that he had not been sure, some time, of seeing.

The crowds delayed them. Sometimes they had to dismount from their wheels and walk for a s.p.a.ce, but in the end they came to their destination. Madame Martin, Henri's aunt, greeted him with delight.

"We were thinking of you, Henri!" she said. "Your uncle said to me only to-night, when we heard of the mobilization: 'And what of Henri? He cannot go home yet.' I knew you would come to us! And you have brought a friend? That is very well."

"Oh--an American!" she exclaimed, a moment later. "You have done well, my nephew."

"I'm half French," said Frank. Somehow he was beginning to feel very proud of that. These last few hours, that had shown him how France rallied in the face of a terrible and pressing danger had made it easier for him to understand his mother's love of her own land. He was still an American above all; that he would always be. But there was French blood in his veins after all, and blood is something that is and always must be thicker than water.

So he had to explain himself, and when he spoke of the uncle who was to come for him Madame Martin looked concerned.

"I am glad that you are here," she said, simply. "It may be hard for him to get here. But we can look after you until he comes. There is room enough--and, ma foi, you shall have all that we have!"

CHAPTER IV

THE RECRUITS

August was drawing to its close. And still Henri and Frank were in Paris. Henri's father and his uncle had gone to the front; Frank's Uncle d.i.c.k, if he had tried to reach Paris or St. Denis, had not succeeded. Or if he had, he had been unable to get word to Frank. War in all its terrible reality was in full blast. Troops were pa.s.sing through Paris still, going to the front. But they were older men now, the last cla.s.ses of the reservists. Every night, too, the city was dark save for the searchlights that played incessantly from the high buildings and from the Eiffel Tower. For now there was a new menace. The Germans fought not on land alone, but in the air. At any time a German might appear, thousands of feet above the city, prepared to rain down death and destruction from the clouds.

Paris was quiet and resigned. Wounded men were coming back; hospitals, from which floated the Red Cross flag, were everywhere. The hotels were sheltering the wounded; churches, theatres, all sorts of buildings not commonly so used were in the hands of the doctors and the nurses. There were few newspapers; there was neither paper on which to print them, nor men to run the great presses or write what they usually contained. All were gone; all except the old and the children. Hundreds of thousands of men were still in Paris, but they were the garrison of the city, the men who would man the forts if the Germans came.

And now, to get the news, Harry and Frank went to the places where the bulletins were posted, becoming a part of the silent crowds that waited.

Every day they took their places in the crowds, to learn what they could and carry the tale back to Madame Martin. She was too busy to stand among the crowds herself; every day she was doing her part, helping in the nursing, and helping, too, to relieve the distress among the poor.

One day the two friends turned away. They had seen the last bulletin; for some hours there would be no more news.

"I'm afraid it's not going well, Harry," said Frank.

"No," said Henri, almost with a sob in his voice. "It looks to me, too, as if the Germans were winning!"

"But many thought they would win, at first," said Frank. "It's not time to be discouraged yet, Harry. At first we all believed the Belgians were doing better than they could do--because they fought so well at Liege.

Now Namur has fallen. And the English--they are falling back."

"Ah, well, that is so," said Henri, brightening a little. "We did not expect to fight in Belgium, we French. Wait till they try to enter France! We will stop them--at Lille, at Maubeuge, at Valenciennes!"

"I hope so, Harry," said Frank, soberly. "But do you know what I think?

I believe we ought to go to your home at Amiens. I think you have been waiting here on my account--because you thought my uncle was coming.

Well, I think he couldn't come. I am better off with you. And perhaps I can help, too. I think you should go to your mother, if she is alone at Amiens, because--"

Henri turned on him fiercely.

"Do you mean you think the Germans can get to Amiens?" he cried furiously. "Never! Never! They will never come so far! They will be stopped long before they get near it!"

"I think so--and I hope so," said Frank. "But if my mother were there I should want to be there, too. I've read a great deal about war and battles lately, Harry, and I know that often an army has to retreat, not just because it's beaten, but because it's necessary for battles that are planned later on. The English and the French toward the coast are retreating now--on the left of the allies. They are moving back toward Amiens, and the Germans are following them."

Henri continued to argue bitterly against the possibility that Frank suggested, but his arguments grew weaker. And when he told his aunt what Frank had said she sighed despairingly.

"I, too, have been thinking that," she said. "These are terrible times for our poor France. We shall win--everyone believes that. But we shall suffer greatly first. I have talked with General Broche--you know him, Henri. He is too old and weak to fight now, but he was active in 1870.

And he says--he says that the government may move soon, away from Paris!"

"Then they think--!" cried Henri, almost overcome.

"They do not know--no one knows. But if there is to be another siege, it is better that the government should be where the Germans cannot bottle it up. I shall stay here, but I shall be safe. There are plenty to do what I need. Go to Amiens, Henri. Your place is near your mother. If there seems to be danger, beg her to come here, or even to go to her friends, the Douays, in Nice. There at least all will be safe."

Henri did not argue with his aunt. It was hard for him to realize the truth, as it was for Frenchmen older than himself. But he admitted it to Frank and even to himself, that night. And so the next morning they started for Amiens. An officer, returning to the front after bringing despatches to Paris, agreed to see that they reached the northern city safely. Without him, indeed, they would have found it difficult, if not impossible, to get aboard a train, for while other railways were open those that led to the front were entirely in the hands of the military authorities.

But thanks to the friendly officer, a friend of the Martin family in Paris, they reached Amiens quickly enough. On the way, more than once they pa.s.sed long trains carrying wounded, and, several times, other trains on which were packed German prisoners. These, under close guard, looked out sullenly from the windows. The sight delighted Henri.

"That doesn't look much as if we were losing, does it?" he cried happily.

Amiens itself was a smaller Paris. In times of peace, Amiens is, like many other French cities, a curious place, owing to the contrast between its character as a busy, bustling, manufacturing town, and its other character as a place where there are many renowned examples of ancient art. But now it was quiet save for the ever present soldier.

Troops were pa.s.sing through the streets; in the station several hundred were entraining.

"Do soldiers go from here, too?" asked Frank.

"Yes. Amiens is the headquarters of the second army corps," explained Harry. "All the reservists of that corps report here, no matter where they live. When a regiment loses a lot of men, if it is in the second corps, new men from here go forward to fill their places. There is no sign of the Prussians, eh?"