The afternoon in Paris was shrouded in gray haze, though other places might be bathed in sunlight.
Gallieni lay alone on the bed in the command room's resting area, gazing at the smog outside the window and mockingly complained to himself, "Unbelievable, why do the Germans like this city? What's so good about it?"
Before he could finish speaking, waves of dull pain from his abdomen made him frown.
That was an old wound from the Franco-German War. Gallieni vaguely remembered that at the time he was just a lieutenant, leading a team of more than two hundred men, wielding Chassepot rifles and battling the Prussians.
When he was aiming his rifle at a Prussian Colonel, he became so focused that he didn't realize he himself was in someone else's sights.
Almost simultaneously as Gallieni fired the rifle and hit the target, a sharp pain pierced his abdomen, followed by his body collapsing to the ground, unable to stand again.
