On the cross roads were waiting from the day before long trains made up of cattle cars.

All the stables on wheels were filled with people seated on the wooden floor or in chairs brought from their homes.

Every train load was an encampment eager to take up its march; whenever it halted, layers of greasy papers, hulls and fruit skins collected along its entire length.
The invaders, pushing their way in, put up with many annoyances and pardoned one another in a brotherly way.

"In war times, war measures," they would always say as a last excuse.

And each one was pressing closer to his neighbor in order to make a few more inches of room, and helping to wedge his scanty baggage among the other bundles swaying most precariously above.