It was true. The uniform seemed to melt into the landscape; it was indeterminate, greenish gray in color. Even the spike of the helmet did not catch the rays of the sinking sun; it was covered with the dull, neutral colored cloth.
"I hope he isn't going to stay there," said Arthur. Their voices had sunk to whispers. Though there was no chance that the vidette would hear them, his very presence had the effect of quieting them. There was a tremendous difference, somehow, between thinking of an invasion, between realizing that it was inevitable that German troops should pour into Belgium, and the actual sight of one of the enemy.
"I don't think he will," said Paul. "He's just scouting, I think. Probably he will ride back soon. And they can't be very near—the main body, that is. If they were we'd hear something of them."
Then before Arthur could answer, something happened. The air trembled, and a dull sound, echoing again and again, came to them. The two scouts stared at one another; then they turned, together, to look at the Uhlan, and saw that he had heard it, too, and was listening sharply. The light was full on his face, and they could see that it wore an awed expression. And well it might! They had heard the sound of the first heavy gun that was fired in anger in the war of the nations!
"That gun was some distance away. I should think it might have been fired at Fleron," said Paul. "The siege must have begun."
And now the air was full of sound. First from one side, then from the other, batteries and forts joined in the chorus. All around them, it seemed, the great voices of the guns were speaking. Soon individual explosions ceased to stand out; everything was merged into a heavy, dull roar that beat against their ears and filled the air with a continuous tremor. Sometimes the roar rose in volume when a new battery came into action. For a few minutes Paul and Arthur were absorbed. They listened, spellbound, to the roar of the guns. There was something unreal about it. It did not seem possible that those guns were being fired to kill and destroy, for, as they looked out, everything was peaceful still. Save when their eyes fell upon the Uhlan, mounted on his horse. He sat in his saddle, stiff, erect, the very type of the vast army of which he was a tiny, undistinguishable part—as a rule. Now he was that army, for the two who watched him. Still they stared while the shadows advanced, eating into the light spaces that remained, until grey dusk settled over everything, and he seemed to slip into it, and become a part of the landscape. Then his horse moved; he turned, and cantered slowly out of sight.
His going somehow seemed to break a spell.
"Come! We must see what's going on back there," said Paul. "We can see the battery, you know, if those crosses really mean that a battery was to be located on the spot we had placed from the map."
They went to the other side of the little garage and looked out. And, to the east, on a piece of rising ground, that would have been hidden had the de Frenard house still stood, as it had stood before the fire, they saw something that looked like a picture of an inferno.
There was a great gash in the woods, where trees had been cut down ruthlessly. Against the background of the woods that had been spared, a lurid glare threw everything into relief. Great arc lights had been strung, so that a space of ground was as bright as day, and in the light hundreds of men were working. In one place a great furnace was blazing, and the ruddy glow from that cast a crimson light against the cold, white radiance of the electric lamps. Steam cranes were at work; huge cannon were being moved into place on the pedestals that had been prepared for them in advance.