"All the past is calling on you, Philippe; all the love for France that the past has bequeathed to you. Listen to its voice."
And, replying to every possible objection:
"Yes, I know, your intelligence rebels against it. But is one's intelligence everything?... Obey your instinct, Philippe.... It's your instinct that is right."
"No, no," he stammered, "one's instinct is never right...."
"It is right. But for that, you would be far away by now. But you can't go. Your whole being refuses to go. Your legs have not the strength for flight."
The Col du Diable was pouring forth troops and more troops, whose swarming masses showed along the slope. Others must be coming by the Albern Road; and, on every side, along every path and through every gap, the men of Germany were invading the soil of France.
The vanguard reached the high-road, at the end of the Étang-des-Moines.
There was a dull roll of the drum; and, suddenly, in the near silence, a hoarse voice barked out a German word of command.
Philippe started as though he had been struck.
And Marthe clung to him, pitilessly: