Each unit of this great array, each company, each squad, seemed to live its own life and to be sufficient unto itself. Stewart could see the company cooks preparing the evening meal; the heavy, wheeled camp-stoves were fired up, great kettles of soup were set bubbling, broad loaves of dark bread were cut into thick slices; and finally, at a bugle call, the men fell into line, white-enameled cups in hand, and received their rations. It seemed to Stewart that he could smell the appetizing odor of that thick soup—an odor of onions and potatoes and turnips.
“Doesn’t it make you ravenous?” he asked. “Wouldn’t you like to have some real solid food to set your teeth into? Raw eggs and apples—ugh!”
“Yes, it does,” said the girl, who had been contemplating the scene with dreamy eyes, scarcely speaking all the afternoon. “The French still wear the uniform of 1870,” she added, half to herself; “a long bulky blue coat and red trousers.”
“Visible a mile away—while these fellows melt into the ground at a hundred yards! If Germany wins, it will be through forethought!”
“But she cannot win!” protested the girl, fiercely. “She must not win!”
“Well, all I can say is that France has a big job ahead!”
“France will not stand alone! Already she has Russia as an ally; Belgium is doing what it can; Servia has a well-tried army. Nor are those all! England will soon find that she cannot afford to stand aside, and if there is need, other nations will come in—Portugal, Rumania, even Italy!”
Stewart shook his head, skeptically.
“I don’t know,” he said, slowly. “I know nothing about world-politics, but I don’t believe any nation will come in that doesn’t have to!”
“That is it—all of them will find that they have to, for Prussian triumph means slavery for all Europe—for the Germans most of all. It is for them as much as for herself that France is fighting—for human rights everywhere—for the poor people who till the fields, and toil in the factories, and sweat in the mines! And civilization must fight with her against this barbarian state ruled by the upturned mustache and mailed fist, believing that might makes right and that she can do no wrong! That is why you and I are fighting on France’s side!”