the cold woke me as usual. i was stiff with cramp from my left shoulder down to my hip.... it would be a miracle if we did not all get our deaths of rheumatism.

an oppressive silence reigned. i put my hand out to feel the grass damp with dew. i could make out the shadow of my comrades a few yards away.

i rubbed myself and stretched my muscles. i was really remarkably fit on the whole, and the excruciating contraction in my side soon disappeared. i looked out. the huns yonder must be dreading our awakening. i tried to recall the magnanimous feelings with which i had lulled myself to sleep a few hours ago, but i was too drowsy. only one vision consented to charm me, the face of a young girl.

"at the wheel already, dreher?"

it was the subaltern. he told me he had not slept much.

"there might have been a counter-attack! i had to keep on at my rounds!"

[pg 240]

when he was just on the point of going away, he said:

"i say, dreher, i hear, that is, guillaumin told me, your brother...!"

"oh, so you know about it. it has been a great blow!"

"we'll revenge him all right," he assured me.

a lot of good that would do me, i thought.

there was nothing to show where the east was. an indefinite brightness however replaced the darkness by insensible degrees. the tops of the willow-trees at the bottom of the valley were emerging from a woolly haze.

all our lot were up and about, now. the cooks found a way, without consulting the lieutenant, of going to make the coffee a few hundred yards to the rear.

judsi, who brought up the first bucketful, said to me:

"give us your mug, sergeant!"

"i go in with the '10th,'" i objected, but he assured me that it would give them so much pleasure, we'd got on so well yesterday.

i let him give me some, and tasted it.

"clinking, your coffee."

"here's to you!"

big henry soon came up on behalf of the other half-section; and i had to accept a second cupful, in order to prevent any jealousy. what enchanted me was that i had won the esteem of these fellows—at small cost, goodness knows!

a little firing had been heard for the last few minutes, but only in the distance, strange to say! nothing serious so far!

[pg 241]

the quartermaster-sergeant passed, inquiring what ammunition we had left! nothing very great! we had played havoc with it.

"no more need of bullets!" guillaumin interrupted joyously. "we're going to do some storming now!"

i had not seen him since last night. unbrushed, unshaven, his dirty face shining. was this, i thought, henceforward to be my friend, my best friend? i would not allow myself to be ill-natured.

he was wanted by henriot, and crawled away. it was the only mode of progression permitted. i was not sorry he had gone. i should have found nothing to say to him. the prospect of a bayonet charge obviously inflamed and excited him, just like that savage lamalou who was boasting that he would skewer, how many?—one, two, three—who would have a bet on it?

as for me, i admit that i dreaded those two hundred yards across that no-man's-land (the last rush for how many of us!), and what followed, still more the hand-to-hand fight with the bayonet, the horrible butchery, the atrocious phase of the fighting for which no one prepares, for no one would face it in cold blood.

we had to wait for orders, for a long time, crouching behind the earthworks with our rifles in our hands.

it had got quite light.

all at once, exclamations were heard.

we looked round.

a hussar was galloping across the fields behind us.

"'e's arskin' ter be napoo'd!" judsi exclaimed.

what a target indeed! how could the enemy help having a shot!

the horseman raced along the line, and disappeared. not a single shot had been fired by the bosches. a[pg 242] few minutes of trying suspense passed. then a rumour ran along the line. some of the men showed signs of getting up.

"lie down!" henriot commanded.

but we saw breton walking quickly towards us, without the customary precautions. his face was beaming!

when still thirty yards off, he shouted:

"nobody ahead of us now!"

"what?"

"they sloped off in the night!"

the news flew from mouth to mouth. an ingenuous, delirious joy took hold of our companions. a broadside of jokes burst forth.

"the 'allemans' funked us!"

judsi chuckled.

"w'en the blighters saw the 1.3 being brought along ... they said to themselves: 'nothing to be done but to 'ook it.'"

i breathed again. i marvelled at the fulfilment of my private wish. no more danger for the moment. i should not be killed this morning!

the hussar, who had brought the news, appeared again, and deliberately urged his horse towards the woods, the zone which yesterday had been inaccessible. there was a new outburst of delight, and the men began to rag the sentries who had been on duty during the night:

"gaudéreaux, w'y couldn't 'ee tell us they'd done a bink. you was snoozin', you old blighter, i dew believe."

half an hour later, when arms had been piled, and the men dismissed to rest, guillaumin took me by the arm:

[pg 243]

"let's go and see what's become of the others!"

we met de valpic on the way. he had not slept either, and was afraid he had caught a cold....

"you'll not be the only one, my dear chap!"

a few steps farther on there was a little group, the humel-playoust lot. we went up to them, delighted to find them safe and sound. i don't know what put the idea into my head of tapping descroix on the shoulder and saying to him:

"good biz. the n.c.o.'s haven't come off so badly, what?"

he turned round in a fury.

"what do you mean?"

i understood. he must have thought i was alluding to that stupid affair of the stripes, which had gone quite out of my head. so i turned to humel:

"was it you who saw frémont fall?"

"yes."

"where was he hit?"

"oh, look here! one has all one can do to look after oneself!"

the quartermaster-sergeant was making signs to us in the distance. we went towards him. guillaumin enlightened me on the way.

"that descroix business was a put-up job, you know. he doesn't like it talked about."

"all the worse if it was arranged beforehand!"

breton, who had joined us, took us to a clump of trees. when we got there he said:

"look here!"

a german officer was standing up leaning lightly against a shield. his field-glasses were up to his eyes, and he seemed to be gazing through the opening.

[pg 244]

was he alive or dead? we hesitated but soon found out when we got nearer.

"rather neat, what?" said breton.

while ferreting about near by, guillaumin came across a shell-hole. he exclaimed:

"the work of the 75's. no wound, apparently. simply the effect of the concussion."

then with a knowing wink:

"pretty hot stuff these turpin machines, what?"

we looked for a few seconds at the big well-built man with regular features, in the tightly fitting uniform trimmed with frogs. some of the men who had come up formed a circle round us. lamalou, without any hesitation, put his hand on the shoulder of the dead body....

i shall never forget the horror of it! the legs remained firmly fixed, but the upper half of the body fell apart, as if it had been a mannequin made in two pieces.

we bolted, but the poilus called to each other cheerily to come and have a look.

the halt continued; we extended the range of our walk as far as the quarter occupied by the other battalion. we came across friends at every other step, and greetings and hand clasps were more cordial than usual:

"no bad news, of your lot?"

and the reply was awaited with the curious mixture of curiosity and apprehension with which the list of victims is perused the day following a catastrophe.

we produced a painful effect each time. at the name of frémont a look of sincere commiseration appeared on all the faces. everyone loved him for his charm, and his good nature, this boy with the look[pg 245] of a girl and the memory of his romance secretly touched all their hearts.

the losses did not appear to be very serious; on the whole, our company was among those to have suffered most.

someone announced that denais, the big fellow in the 19th, had been killed right at the beginning by a splinter of shrapnel.

"denais!"

i was thunder-struck. we had been bed-neighbours for a week, once, in the infirmary. we had seen a lot of him at f—— even during the last few days. i could see his face contracting at the notes of the "funeral march." i heard him cry: "oh, shut up! it's idiotic!..." and now he had "gone west."

what struck me most was that his disappearance did not seem to affect any one. not a single regret was expressed. at the "peloton" he had always, like myself, been one of those who knew how to get out of things, difficult—again like me—to "catch out," like me polite and sarcastic. general opinion classed us together as thorough egoists.

"and how about your foot?" guillaumin asked me. "how's it getting on?"

it had not entered my head again!

"all the better! because now we shall have to fight chiefly on our legs!"

"do you think so?"

"we shall have to follow them up!"

"rot!"

he looked at me.

"by jove, you don't look much as if you realised that we have just gained a victory."

i shrugged my shoulders, and he continued:

[pg 246]

"it must be rather a knock for the bosches! a repetition of mulhouse...."

i poured cold water on his enthusiasm. the enemy had retired of themselves and had not been forced to by us; a man?uvre on their part, perhaps. and we saw only such a small part, a very small part.

guillaumin grew heated and hurled himself into nebulous strategical problems. i enjoyed urging him on. at last he almost lost his temper.

"we'll go and ask the subaltern!"

henriot was coming towards us just having left an officers' confabulation.

"well?"

"ah!" he exclaimed, raising his cap, "our success is even more complete than we had hoped!"

"hm!"

guillaumin smacked me on the back.

descroix and humel, and all that lot, joined us again.

"i've got some details," henriot announced breathlessly. "here...."

his recital only confirmed the version i had had from dagomert. after a partial repulse, after allowing the germans to cross the othain, and the loison, possibly for tactical reasons, we had suddenly taken the offensive. the enemy had retired in disorder. one regiment had been completely wiped out by fire.... henriot quoted the regimental number:

"the 23rd württembergers!"

we had taken some prisoners, and booty, and captured field-and machine-guns, according to the reports.

during the hullabaloo which followed, i asked:

"so things are going alright?"

[pg 247]

humel sneered.

"oh, really, nothing pleases that chap!"

i continued:

"it's all very well, but who knows what's happening elsewhere?"

"and what's happening in timbuctoo?"

"round about nancy? and in the north?"

guillaumin laughed:

"dreher will have it that we can't be equally lucky everywhere!"

henriot roared with laughter!

"oh rot, they're in the soup!"

the group dispersed. guillaumin went on talking to the lieutenant. i stayed with them, without taking part in their conversation. i was depressed again. why? good god, what did i want? i envied the delirious delight betrayed by every look and word and deed in my companions. i should have liked to vibrate in communion with those tens of thousands of men, my brothers by race, who covered the surrounding country; and i caught a glimpse behind them of the enormous mass, my nation, in whom the news of our success would have let loose such a frenzy of joy.

what did i lack to raise me to the desired pitch of excitement? i appealed to other considerations of an equally exalting nature: the renewal of our greatness, the virtue of our proud blood. we were overthrowing the greatest enemy in the world, at the first encounter. revenge was a fine thing after all...! the pride of fulfilling this hope of our fathers. it was thus that i succeeded in fanning myself into a semblance of enthusiasm.

my companions left me, eager to walk and talk, to enjoy to the full this triumph which each of them felt[pg 248] was his own particular property. left alone i soon proved that the entirely artificial fervour to which i had raised myself was subsiding by degrees. the springs of my mind were stagnant.

we were certain to start again, and starting again would mean pushing forward, following them up—guillaumin had been quite right—re-entering lorraine, with flags flying to be saluted as her liberators. heavens! surely that was enough to make a soldier's heart beat high. what would have been my father's and my brother's exaltation! to think that i was not a whit moved by it. i stripped the exploits to come of their prestige. what awaited us was simply new fatigues and torturing privations.

and i was terrified above all else, far above all else, by the spectre of the future battles. could one risk one's life twice with impunity! i had escaped the first time by a miracle. let me profit by it! i had been wrested from repose and security. had i not already drawn from this campaign more than the benefit anticipated! i had my share of memories which would last me all my life. i had ascertained that i, even i, was capable of a kind of heroism. what a gain! and a boon that was more precious still, i had regained consciousness of the ties which bound me to a small number of human beings. i longed to be with them again. i would bring them a man infinitely more worthy of them. i had two cards in my pocket. a third had gone to a girl.... would that one ever reach its destination? would it be answered ... soon?

lulled by these dreams, i discovered in them an excuse for the drowsiness which enfolded me. what i experienced was only human. why a roman rigour?[pg 249] if i did not burn to risk everything blindly in an adventure of regeneration, if i let myself be touched by the idea of a calm life spent among companions of my choice, if, in order that such a desire might be fulfilled, i caught myself wishing for a cessation of hostilities, an armistice, or an "honourable" peace of some kind, good god, was it anything to be ashamed of? what right had all the great sentiments in the world to suppress my humble wish to be happy?