It was astounding. "Mary and you will be rich folks
again, my dears," the good Mrs. Fairburn remarked, in her own homely
but kindly way, to the brother and sister, and Matthew felt a lump in
his throat.
The wrench to George, when the time came for him and Matthew to return
to the Continent, seemed somehow vastly greater than it had been on
the two former occasions. However, once across the sea, he cast all
else than his profession to the winds. He did not know it, of course,
but the campaign that was coming was to prove to the Allies the most
costly they had yet experienced. The negotiations for a peace had
ended in nothing, and here was Marshal Villars, the only great French
leader as yet unbeaten by Marlborough, ready with a force of no fewer
than 110,000 men. True, many of his soldiers were raw recruits while
those of his opponent were mostly seasoned veterans. True also, France
was so crippled for money and munitions of war that it was rarely
possible to give every man of the army a full breakfast. Yet Villars
was a general that would have to be reckoned with, and this
Marlborough well knew when he used every effort to swell the numbers
of his troops in the Netherlands.
Marlborough's aim was that of the previous year, to force his way into
France and to its capital.
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