'Ah! cursed luck!' concluded Picot. 'We had to use our legs, and no mistake. And we two had been left at the infirmary.'
Coutard was just emptying the bottle into his comrade's glass and his own: 'Yes,' said he, 'we took ourselves off, and we've been on the road ever since. All the same, however, one feels better now that one can drink to the health of those that haven't had their skulls cracked.'
Maurice now understood everything. After so stupidly allowing themselves to be surprised at Weissenburg, the crushing, lightning stroke of Frœschweiler had fallen on the French, its sinister glare casting a vivid light upon the terrible truth. France was not ready, she had neither cannon, nor men, nor generals; and the enemy, treated with such contempt, proved to be strong and solid, innumerable, perfect alike in discipline and tactics. Through the weak screen formed of the seven French Army Corps, disseminated between Metz and Strasburg, the foe had literally punched his way. Of a certainty France would now be left to her own resources; neither Austria nor Italy would join her; the Emperor's plan had crumbled away through the delay in the operations and the incapacity of the commanders. And even fatality was working against the French, accumulating mishaps and deplorable coincidences, and enabling the Prussians to carry out their secret plan, which was to cut the French armies in two and throw one portion of them under Metz, that it might be isolated from the rest of France, whilst they--the invaders--marched upon Paris, after destroying the other portion. Already, at this stage, everything was mathematically clear. France was bound to be beaten, through causes the inevitable effects of which were already apparent; and this war was but a conflict between unintelligent bravery on the one hand, and superiority of numbers and calm methodical strategy on the other. Dispute about it as one might later on, in any and every case, no matter what might have been done, defeat was a fatal certainty, predetermined by the laws that rule the world.
Suddenly, as Maurice's dreamy eyes wandered away, they espied those words, 'Vive Napoléon!' traced in charcoal on the high yellow wall in front of him. He experienced an unbearable feeling of uneasiness at the sight; a sudden burning pang shot through his heart. So it was true that France, the France of the legendary victories, that had marched with beating drums through Europe, had now been thrown to the ground by a petty nation which it had despised. Fifty years had sufficed to change the world, and defeat was falling heavy and fearful on those who had once been conquerors. Maurice remembered all that his brother-in-law Weiss had told him on that night of anguish before Mulhausen. Yes, Weiss alone had shown any prescience, guessing the slow, hidden causes of the decline of France, perceiving what a breeze of youth and strength was blowing from Germany. One warlike age was ending; another was beginning. Woe to those who halt in the continuous effort which nations must make; victory belongs to those who march in the van, to the most accomplished, the healthiest, and the strongest!