Nobody had been offering anything.

Fear of danger had made the country folk hide their eatables and refuse to lend the slightest aid to their compatriots who were fighting for them.
The millionaire slept badly this second night in his pompous bed with columns and plushes that had belonged to Henry IV--according to the declarations of the salesmen.

The troops no longer were marching past.
From time to time there straggled by a single battalion, a battery, a group of horsemen--the last forces of the rear guard that had taken their position on the outskirts of the village in order to cover the retreat.

The profound silence that followed the turmoil of transportation awoke in his mind a sense of doubt and disquietude.
What was he doing there when the soldiers had gone?
Was he not crazy to remain there?
.

.