Di tibi, si qua pios respectant numina, si quid
Usquam justitia est—;
they were all shockingly sick; you see, la purgative totale—"
There was some laughing, though Blanchette blushed a good deal, and I could have boxed the careless mouth of Monsieur, le Maître d'École.
"Listen mes amis," now it was the curious treble of Privat Deschat, "I am not sure but the skies will blacken again, and the buse (eagle) will shut out the sunlight with its swarming hosts. It is not all over yet. Be watchful. You remember the thunder-storm last week when the chevreuil came into the back-yards, the stags were seen in the roadways, and the wild boars ran into Briois roaring. I was up that night late, for I had a package of rugs to send to Paris, and it struck one in the morning when I put out the light, and said my prayers—ils n'étaient pas beaucoup—there came a crack, like the last call of judgment, and then the wind and rain grew mad with ambitions to outdo each other. It was then I guess that the blow knocked over the tower on the ruins at Bienne and filled the moat of the chateau, and swelled the brooks with rain, so that the land to Mareuil became a lake and the chicken coops swam all the way to La Ferté. Well about an hour after that the storm vanished. I was still up fearful and watching.
"I can see a long way over the farms, and suddenly the moon broke through with a wonderful light—it was full moon—and the wind shifted, piling the clouds up in swirling masses, black as ink, and still, at moments flashing with lightning, and crashing with thunder. I could see the lands far off towards Bienne shining with great lakes of water, the dark walls of forest, and in the fields huddled cattle, in droves. Then it seemed to me as if the light grew stronger in the sky—it was about two in the morning then—so strong it grew, that I felt there must be some fires about, perhaps towards Briois. I went outside in the road. It was ankle deep with mud, but I ploughed through it to the edge of the slope of the road, from Paris, and looked towards the east, for the clear spaces of the sky were there. Then came the vision."
The speaker stood up among his now fascinated hearers; they were all leaning toward him, as if drawn by a magnet, and while I closed my hand more tightly around the warm fingers of Blanchette I too, with her, strained my ears to hear Deschat's words which were less loud.
"I could see no fire anywhere, and yet the light was raining down around me like an electric glow. I was half frightened; it seemed so marvelous! Well slowly from out of the rolled up thunder and rain clouds came a curious thing. It was a galloping squadron of horses, manes flowing, tails stiff behind them, and on them riders and on the heads of the riders the pickelhaube of the Germans. They flew over the open sky, and the moonlight seemed to pierce them through and through, and they shone with white lines within the dark bodies; the WHITE LINES of SKELETONS. What did it mean? I thought they would never end. On and on in hosts. Of course they were only mists, clouds, but so true to form, so real, like gigantic ghosts! I trembled before the apparition—vue spirituel—and then the light died away, and the figures became blurred, and the moon went out, behind the clouds, and I came back to the house. It was half past three.
"I may be wrong friends, but—I take it that vision was prophecy. The HUN comes again. Get ready. He comes again—encore!"
We were all silent for a minute or so, and then—it was the scolding squeak of Emile—"Eh bien—What of it? We will be ready. Rumpe moras omnes; et turbata arripe castra."
"Mes amis—" it was my father now who rose, and addressed the little group, turning to this side and to that, almost as if he were before an assembly; "Deschat is right—il y a raison—the hour of trial comes once more, the pride of race, the sense of justification demands the restoration of Alsace and Lorraine. We all know that. Our conquerors know that, for the poets of both nations have sung it, and the poets are the prophets, for they feel the vibrations of the pulse of the peoples; their ears are sharp, they hear the timbre of the distant gun, before the common eye can see its smoke."