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Updated: June 26, 2025
The trousers of bright scarlet cloth, the red kepis which he had hailed with such joy in the expedition of the Marne, no longer existed. All the men passing along the roads were soldiers. All the vehicles, even the ox-carts, were guided by military men. Suddenly the automobile stopped before some ruined houses blackened by fire. "Here we are," announced the official.
Henrietta felt it quivering in his tones as he said, when she gave him the envelope: "Thank you, Miss Marne. You did just right about mailing that letter, and I am much pleased that you did. But hereafter don't trust that fellow Gordon in any way. For all his pretense of friendship, he is the worst enemy I have and would stop at nothing to injure me.
Meantime he, with his king, was lodged in a large old convent, as part of the immediate following of King Henry. Others of the princes and nobles were quartered in the market hall and lower town, but great part of thine troops were in tents, and in a state of much discomfort, owing to the overflowings of the Marne.
Certainly in the fields of the Marne there is not only the harvest of bread; there is also springing up the harvest of security and peace. The peasants as they point out the graves always add: "We of the people know that those men sacrificed their lives that our children might live.
It ends thus: "I have decided to march towards the Marne, in order to push the enemy's army further from Paris, and to draw near to my fortresses. I shall be this evening at St. Dizier. Adieu, my friend! Embrace my son." Warned by this letter of Napoleon's plan, Blücher pushes on; his outposts on the morrow join hands with those of Schwarzenberg, and send a thrill of vigour into the larger force.
I discovered when I was up in the air with Philip that the air moves in eddies and gusts and currents like the ocean, and that it has bays and straits, and this may be a narrow strait of snow that envelops us here. Hear that! Guns to the south, too! One side is shelling the other's trenches. You remember how it was in all the long fighting that we call the Battle of the Marne.
We were told then that the wounded might be sent back across the Marne to be cared for by us and that our houses must be made ready to use as hospitals. But the wounded were not cared for by us, not in those early weeks of the war. You know what took place, Madame. Our soldiers were defeated; it is now an old story.
For it was not long until she began to find him waiting for her in the morning also, at the door of the ferry-house in St. George. All the world was robed in the young beauty of the spring, but Henrietta Marne soon discovered that for her companion it had but slight appeal.
And these dumb teachers of men have put into the soul of France a fine and exquisite spirit. It rose at the Marne and made a miracle. And ever since the Marne that spirit has ruled France. Essentially it is altruistic. Men are not living for themselves. They are living for something outside themselves; beyond themselves, even beyond the objects of their personal affection.
"Crossing the Marne by a sand-stone bridge, we climbed the opposing heights under a burning sun. At the top we deployed, but for that day our artillery sufficed to drive the enemy in headlong flight to the south; the night we spent under the open sky. "Sunday, September 6th.
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