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cured it by means of another gold coin； he was able to take it to the two women hidden in the cottage。
During the nighta night of painful watching； cut with visions of horror； it seemed to him that the roar of the artillery was coming nearer。 It was a scarcely perceptible difference； perhaps the effect of the silence of the night which always intensifies sound。 The ambulances continued coming from the front； discharging their cargoes of riddled humanity and going back for more。 Desnoyers surmised that his castle was but one of the many hospitals established in a line of more than eighty miles； and that on the other side； behind the French； were many similar ones in which the same activity was going onthe consignments of dying men succeeding each other with terrifying frequency。 Many of the combatants were not even having the satisfaction of being taken from the battle field； but were lying groaning on the ground； burying their bleeding members in the dust or mud； and weltering in the ooze from their wounds。 。 。 。 And Don Marcelo； who a few hours before had been considering himself the unhappiest of mortals； now experienced a cruel joy in reflecting that so many thousands of vigorous men at the point of death could well envy him for his hale old age； and for the tranquillity with which he was reposing on that humble bed。
The next morning the orderly was waiting for him in the same place； holding out a napkin filled with eatables。 Good red…bearded man； helpful and kind！ 。 。 。 and he offered him the piece of gold。
〃Nein；〃 replied the fellow； with a broad； malicious grin。 Two gleaming gold pieces appeared between Don Marcelo's fingers。 Another leering 〃Nein〃 and a shake of the head。 Ah； the robber！ How he was taking advantage of his necessity！ 。 。 。 And not until he had produced five gold coins was he able to secure the package。
He soon began to notice all around him a silent and sly conspiracy to get possession of his money。 A giant in a sergeant's uniform put a shovel in his hand。 pushing him roughly forward。 He soon found himself in a corner of the park that had been transformed into a graveyard； near the cart of cadavers； there he had to shovel dirt on his own ground in company with the indignant prisoners。
He averted his eyes so as not to look at the rigid and grotesque bodies piled above him at the edge of the pit； ready to be tumbled in。 The ground was sending forth an insufferable odor； for decomposition had already set in in the nearby trenches。 The persistence with which his overseers accosted him； and the crafty smile of the sergeant made him see through the deep…laid scheme。 The red…beard must be at the bottom of all this。 Putting his hand in his pocket he dropped the shovel with a look of interrogation。 〃Ya；〃 replied the sergeant。 After handing over the required sum； the tormented old man was permitted to stop grave…digging and wander around at his pleasure； he knew； however； what was probably in store for himthose men were going to submit him to a merciless exploitation。
Another day passed by； like its predecessor。 In the morning of the following day his perceptions； sharpened by apprehension； made him conjecture that something extraordinary had occurred。 The automobiles were arriving and departing with greater rapidity； and there was greater disorder and confusion among the executive force。 The telephone was ringing with mad precipitation； and the wounded arrivals seemed more depressed。 The day before they had been singing when taken from the vehicles； hiding their woe with laughter and bravado； all talking of the near victory and regretting that they would not be able to witness the triumphal entry into Paris。 Now they were all very silent； with furrowed brows； thinking no longer about what was going on behind them； wondering only about their own fate。
Outside the park was the buzz of the approaching throng which was blackening the roads。 The invasion was beginning again； but with a refluent movement。 For hours at a time great strings of gray trucks went puffing by； then regiments of infantry； squadrons； rolling stock。 They were marching very slowly with a deliberation that puzzled Desnoyers； who could not make out whether this recessional meant flight or change of position。 The only thing that gave him any satisfaction was the stupefied and downcast appearance of the soldiers； the gloomy sulks of the officers。 Nobody was shouting； they all appeared to have forgotten their 〃Nach Paris！〃 The greenish gray monster still had its armed head stretched across the other side of the Marne； but its tail was beginning to uncoil with uneasy wrigglings。
After night had settled down the troops were still continuing to fall back。 The cannonading was certainly coming nearer。 Some of the thunderous claps sounded so close that they made the glass tremble in the windows。 A fugitive farmer； trying to find refuge in the park； gave Don Marcelo some news。 The Germans were in full retreat。 They had installed some of their batteries on the banks of the Marne in order to attempt a new resistance。 。 。 。 And the new arrival remained without attracting the attention of the invaders who； a few days before； would have shot him on the slightest suspicion。
The mechanical workings of discipline were evidently out of gear。 Doctors and nurses were running from place to place； shouting orders and breaking out into a volley of curses every time a fresh ambulance load arrived。 The drivers were commanded to take their patients on ahead to another hospital near the rear…guard。 Orders had been received to evacuate the castle that very night。
In spite of this prohibition； one of the ambulances unloaded its relay of wounded men。 So deplorable was their state that the doctors accepted them； judging it useless for them to continue their journey。 They remained in the garden； lying on the same stretchers that they had occupied within the vehicle。 By the light of the lanterns Desnoyers recognized one of the dying。 It was the secretary to His Excellency； the Socialist professor who had shut him in the cellar vaults。
At the sight of the owner of the castle he smiled as though he had met a comrade。 His was the only familiar face among all those people who were speaking his language。 He was ghastly in hue； with sunken features and an impalpable glaze spreading over his eyes。 He had no visible wounds； but from under the cloak spread over his abdomen his torn intestines exhaled a fatal warning。 The presence of Don Marcelo made him guess where they had brought him； and little by little he co…ordinated his recollections。 As though the old gentleman might be interested in the whereabouts of his comrades； he told him all he knew in a weak and strained voice。 。 。 。 Bad luck for their brigade！ They had reached the front at a critical moment for the reserve troops。 Commandant Blumhardt had died at the very first； a shell of '75 taking off his head。 Dead； too； were all the officers who had lodged in the castle。 His Excellency had had his jaw bone torn off by a fragment of shell。 He had seen him on the ground； howling with pain； drawing a portrait from his breast and trying to kiss it with his broken