But, just as he predicted, he'll rise, his old self again." Captain de Rougemont hurried away, and John was left alone in the midst of a great army.

He stood before Lannes' tent, which was in the midst of a grassy and rather elevated opening, and he heard once more the infinite sounds made by two hundred thousand armed men, blending into one vast, fused note.
The army, too, was moving, or getting ready to move.

Batteries of the splendid French artillery passed before him, squadrons of horsemen galloped by, and regiments of infantry followed.

It all seemed confused, aimless to the eye, but John knew that nevertheless it was proceeding with order and method, directed by a master mind.
Often trumpets sounded and the motion of the troops seemed to quicken.
Now he beheld men from the lands of the sun, the short, dark, fierce soldiers of the Midi, youths of Marseilles and youths of the first Roman province, whose native language was Provencal and not French.

He remembered the men of the famous battalion who had marched from Marseilles to Paris singing Rouget de Lisle's famous song, and giving it their name, while they tore down an ancient kingdom.