PARIS AND ITS WAR SPIRIT
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quiet, helmeted ranks to the dome of the Invalides beneath which the great emperor lay. His tomb seemed to brood over the review, and in neighbouring faces you read a perception, nearly superstitious, of the soul of the inspired leader who had brought so much glory to France. Then the band burst into the Marseillaise. As the ranks swung over the bridge the crowd cheered. I have never heard such cheering. It wasn't a matter of volume. It was a curious choked quality that arrested one. It was as if these people tried to give vent to an emotion beyond physical expression and were angry at their failure. Yet for them the music seemed to express everything.
