He was one of a group of workmen looking much as he did, and this group was joining others and still others that represented every social class--well-dressed citizens, stylish and anaemic young men, graduate students with worn jackets, pale faces and thick glasses, and youthful priests who were smiling rather shamefacedly as though they had been caught at some ridiculous escapade.

At the head of this human herd was a sergeant, and as a rear guard, various soldiers with guns on their shoulders.

Forward march, Reservists!.

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And a musical cry, a solemn harmony like a Greek chant, menacing and monotonous, surged up from this mass with open mouths, swinging arms, and legs that were opening and shutting like compasses.
Robert was singing the martial chorus with such great energy that his eyes and Gallic moustachios were fairly trembling.