"Yes."

"Well, that's the road that lead's from Paris to Metz!"

At that moment I'm confident he hadn't the slightest _arriere pensee_.

On Monday, the 27th, Mrs. Preston, having decided to take her leave, I
determined to accompany her to Paris. Several members of the house
party joined us, leaving H. and a half-dozen friends at Villiers. We
took an early morning train, and wrapped in our newspapers we were
rolling peacefully towards the capital when someone called out, "For
Heaven's sake, look at those funny soldiers!"

Glancing through the window, I caught sight of numerous gray-haired,
bushy-bearded men stationed at even distances along the line, while here
and there little groups beneath or around a tent were preparing the
morning meal.

What strange looking creatures they were; anything but military in their
dirty white overalls--the only things that betrayed their calling being
their caps and their guns!

"What on earth are they?" queried an American.

"Oh, only some territorials serving their last period of twenty-nine
days. It's not worth while giving them uniforms for so short a time!"

"Bah!" came from the other end of the compartment. "I should think it
was hot enough in the barracks without forcing men that age to mount a