"Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal
Shall fill with fierce delight
Those breasts that never more may feel
The rapture of the fight."

They were very young and, in some respects, it was a sentimental time,
much given to poetry. As the darkness closed in and the lights of the
little city could be seen no longer, their thoughts took a more solemn
turn. Perhaps it would be fairer to call them emotions or feelings
rather than thoughts. In the day all had been talk and lightness,
but in the night omens and presages came. Langdon was the first to
rouse himself. He could not be solemn longer than three minutes.

"It's certain that the President is coming tomorrow, Harry, isn't it?"
he asked.

"Beyond a doubt. He is so near now that they fix the exact hour,
and the Guards are among those to receive him."

"I wonder what he looks like. They say he is a very great man."

They were interrupted by St. Clair, who threw himself down on a blanket
beside them.

"That's the third cup of coffee you're taking, Tom," he said to Langdon.
"Here, give it to me. I've had none."

Langdon obeyed and St. Clair drank thirstily. Then he took from the
inside pocket of his coat a newspaper which he unfolded deliberately.