Young Scott followed his
figure with his eyes until it disappeared in the crowd. A back may be an
index to a man's strength of mind, and he saw that Lannes, head erect
and shoulders thrown back, was walking with a rapid and springy step.
Courage was obviously there.
But John, despite his own strong heart, could not keep from feeling an
infinite sadness and pity, not for Lannes, but for all the three million
people who inhabited the City of Light, most of whom were fleeing now
before the advance of the victorious invader. He could put himself in
their place. France held his deepest sympathy. He felt that a great
nation, sedulously minding its own business, trampled upon and robbed
once before, was now about to be trampled upon and robbed again. He
could not subscribe to the doctrine, that might was right.
He watched the fugitives a long time. They were crowding the railway
stations, and they were departing by motor, by cart and on foot. Many of
the poorer people, both men and women, carried packs on their backs. The
boulevards and the streets were filled with the retreating masses.
It was an amazing and stupefying sight, the abandonment by its
inhabitants of a great city, a city in many ways the first in the world,
and it gave John a mighty shock. He had been there with his uncle and
Mr. Anson in the spring, and he had seen nothing but peace and
brightness. The sun had glittered then, as it glittered now over the Arc
de Triomphe, the gleaming dome of the Invalides and the golden waters of
the Seine.
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