ation sinks. Not that you feel less resolute, but behind the brilliant phantoms your fancy had conjured up the night before, you see grimacing slaughter and death and fire.
Day broke bright and clear. In the sun's lively beams all fears melted away. There will be a war? Be it so. The men will go and fight, and we too will do something for France. The following week was a medley of enthusiasms and sadnesses. At last war and revenge were no more mere words; at last Germany would be crushed. Too long our enemy had wronged us; we would wreak a tardy but fearful vengeance for our still unavenged disgrace, for grievous humiliations daily inflicted on us.
O revenge, O sun, you rise, and your first rays make our hearts sing like the granite of old Egypt. We lived in a fever. War, which approached, cast its shadow before, but it was a bright shadow, the shadow of Glory, of more than human courage, of manifold heroism. It was the pillar of fire which, shielding our hearts from the enemy and the terrors to