how tired we were that evening. really absolutely done. we had been marching for twenty-four hours, almost without a halt. we were wandering in the middle of argonne in that part of the chalade, and the four de paris which were to be mentioned so often in the communiqués later on. the worst of it was that we had nothing to eat, except the remains of some bread crumbling at the bottom of our haversacks. we regretted having wasted the biscuits with which we had been so liberally provided two days before.

there was a prolonged halt in the forest. at one time we caught sight of two motor-buses which cut across, following a transverse roadway. our rations? we took it for granted and rejoined accordingly. but perhaps the conductors had not seen us. several minutes went by. the commanding officer blew his whistle, and off we had to go again! another march on an empty stomach!

a blast of recriminations blew from no. 1 platoon. they could put up with being knocked on the head, but at least give them something to eat. they were being cut down every day now. yesterday there was no meat! without rot, there was nothing more to be done but to "get down" to it. a snooze is as good as a[pg 363] meal. it would only mean that a few would be taken.

they went on all the same. there was not a murmur among our men. judsi still tried to cheer up his companions, but they weren't in the mood for it. bouguet struck up with a song, but they joined in the refrain only once. he couldn't sing on an empty stomach either. and the rain began, heavy rain which soaked us through to the skin in a very few minutes.

"rotten luck!" gaudéreaux jerked out.

we went on without a halt, through the downpour, against the wind. we were on a by-road which soon got spoilt and broken. we slithered through the slush. gusts of wind beat against us, water was dripping down our backs, freezing the sweat on our skins. that lasted for another two hours. a dozen miles or so without a pause. no one protested, each step must be bringing us nearer to shelter. there was only one question we asked ourselves, in an agony of mind: should we get anything to eat?

at last they stopped us, two companies of us, in front of a farm. the rest of the battalion went on. the buildings already sheltered some gunners—four batteries of them. i remember their greeting which was anything but cordial. oh, we were the last straw! as if they weren't packed like sardines already! dirty foot-sloggers too! (i have already mentioned the antagonism between the different troops which was exasperated at such times.)

our quartermasters quarrelled. but the first comers blocked up the coach-houses, their officers backed them up, the commanding officer had quite rightly reserved the only bed for himself. we stood in the yard for a long time, haggard and numb[pg 364] with cold. we were finally penned in the stables—piggeries, in an indescribable state of filth, and reeking pestilentially. someone went to get straw—a handful per man! we could have put up with everything if only we could have got a bite. but it was getting dark, and in this weather all hopes of the ration train hunting us out were dwindling. the gunners had hastened to lay hands on anything that the farm would produce in the way of eatables, bread, milk, eggs, a real raid. they finished swallowing these provisions under our very noses.

i can see us in that filthy stable. de valpic had just lain down alongside the wall. he was worn out, and wanted to sleep, but the fits of coughing which shook him made him reopen his eyes. he was shivering. we all had faces mottled by exhaustion and starvation. lamalou suddenly got up with an oath:

"oh d——!"

there was a crack in the roof, from which drops were falling. a stream of water was soon trickling down.

guillaumin came back. he had been to have a look at no. 1 platoon. there was schism in the playoust "set." hourcade and descroix, it seemed, were still in possession of some "ruti" and a cheese. descroix resigned himself to sharing it and favoured playoust, but hourcade turned a deaf ear. little humel would get nothing out of him—or the sergeant-major either. they neither of them demanded it, though they were both deadly white and worn out.

guillaumin winked:

"if only we could find some way! i say, are you frightfully done up, to begin with?"

"fit as a fiddle, i don't think! why?"

[pg 365]

"look here."

he confided in me that he had interviewed the farmer's wife. there was not a village anywhere near, the nearest was nine miles away, and had been crammed with troops for the last week.

"well?"

"but there was another farm much nearer, a rich one, quite hidden in the woods. suppose we went to see?"

i raised some objections, for form's sake, but the adventure attracted me. a word to bouillon. he at once wanted to join us. we told no one else; permission and success were equally uncertain. so we started off. it was getting dark. what a road it was! the mud was eighteen inches thick in places. torrents of rain still, and the gloom was deepening. to begin with we forced ourselves to look where we were putting our feet, but we gave it up as a bad job. squidge, splosh! we stoically followed in guillaumin's tracks. we sank in half-way up to our knees, and came near to losing our balance or getting stuck.

when we had walked for three quarters of an hour, guillaumin began to get worried. half a mile the woman had told him.

we were lost? we thought of retracing our steps when he bumped against a gate in the dark.

"ow! as if my nose wasn't thick enough without that!"

we began to make out the outlines of an obstruction. but everything seemed to be shut up. no light. we went to knock at the door. not a sound. we knocked louder.

"done!" i said.

"we'll soon see!"

[pg 366]

guillaumin raised his voice:

"two petards of melinite to blow up your house!"

a few seconds passed. then a window squeaked.

"who's there?"

"france."

"what do you mean? france."

"france, that's quite enough."

"wot d'you want?"

"someone to open the door to us."

"we 'aven't got nothing."

"that's a fine story!"

"an wot abaht the proosians?"

"will you let us in, confound you!"

the man appeared to be frightened, and muttered: "'arf a mo' till i gits into me breeches."

he came and undid the bolts.... a bent old peasant, carrying a candle in his hand.

"'ello, on'y three of you! might 'a bin fifty by the shindy you kicked up!"

he seemed to me to regret having given in so easily. we went into a low room.

"well now," said guillaumin, "what can you give us to eat?"

the old peasant looked us up and down. i could read in his face the mistrust and avarice of bad breeds.

"'aven't i told you there's nothin'?"

guillaumin shrugged his shoulders.

"what do you live on? air?"

we certainly looked like marauders. i interfered to reassure the man.

"we'll pay you all right!"

guillaumin whispered:

"don't know so much about that."

[pg 367]

i had my own idea. i opened my purse to show the silver and gold in it.

the old fellow considered me. he looked from my hands to my eyes where he tried to read my intentions.

"for you three?"

"for us, to begin with."

"hm! would an omelette do you?"

"with some ham?"

he would see.

we sat down at the table. the man went to call at an inside door.

"louise!"

a young country girl appeared, with a hypo-critical expression and heavy features. she lacked real grace, but was built on a generous scale, her waist well-marked, and her bosom firm beneath the dress which she had popped on hurriedly.

"my eye!" murmured bouillon.

the old man said a few words in patois and the girl knelt down in front of the grate and began to work a bellows. it was not long before some flames sprang from the dying embers. in a hand's turn she had laid the table for us. five minutes later a frothy golden omelette was dished up for us.

we had never been so ravenous. we simply guzzled. we had taken off our great coats, which were stiff with rain. when his first pangs were assuaged, guillaumin began to cheer up.

"a pretty good idea of mine, what?"

with a glance at the girl i made some joke under my breath, about the servant girl being, perhaps, the old man's mistress.

bouillon was eating too gluttonously to take a part[pg 368] in the conversation, but he laughed continually for no reason at all, pouring down bumpers of some rather poor wine which the old man had brought us with many sour looks. his face was turning purple, his dog's eyes glistened. how i loved him, taking his share of our animal contentment.

the peasant seated at the end of the room had lit a pipe and was watching us out of the corner of his eye.

"it's stupid to pay!" repeated guillaumin. "let's give him an i o u."

his funds must have been coming to an end.

"don't worry! this is my show!" i said.

in order to avoid any trouble, i had made up my mind to pay whatever the old fellow claimed.

guillaumin ventured to suggest:

"i say we ought to take something back to de valpic."

"and to our poilus!"

i called the old man, who got up slowly and came to us looking rather anxious but crafty too.

"and now what about something for our pals?"

"they ain't comin', are they?"

"that depends."

"wot does it depend on?"

"upon what you give us for them."

this seemed to upset him. he sniffed and stopped talking.

"when i say give," i corrected myself, "i mean sell."

"'ow many of 'em is there?"

"about forty."

the peasant threw up his arms like a clockwork figure.

[pg 369]

"forty. jokin', ain't you? now if it 'ad a' bin five or six, p'raps we might 'a managed some'ow!"

guillaumin rapped on the table, and assumed a threatening air, which was rendered even more grotesque and terrifying by his great nose.

"you'd better take care we don't bring them along! i've an idea they'd manage to find something!"

the old man's face hardened. i again intervened.

"i tell you we'll pay. now tell me the price of a chicken."

"ain't got none!"

"what, not in your cellar?"

"ain't got none."

"will you take ten francs apiece?"

"ten francs?"

he rubbed his hands.

"that's talkin',' that is!"

guillaumin exclaimed:

"five francs, not a halfpenny more. it's pure robbery!"

i continued:

"i should want several!"

"how many?"

i looked at the others interrogatively.

"eight or ten—a dozen if you've got them!"

"a dozen chickens at ten francs? that's a hundred and twenty francs?"

"yes."

"i'll just have a look, but i won't promise nothing!" he said as he went off.

when he had gone out, without bothering about the girl who was leaning against the chimney-piece, and watching us slyly, guillaumin slated me. ten francs apiece. he never heard of such a thing. was i[pg 370] crazy? a hundred and twenty francs! no. it couldn't be allowed. i should want the cash some day or other. i didn't realise.... the old chap was sickening. it would serve him right if we cleared him out of everything and left him an order payable at the end of the war. so that was settled? what?

but i shook my head, and stuck to it. i had spent a relatively infinitesimal sum up till now. the chance was too tempting!

the peasant reappeared. he brought the poultry back with him, tied by their legs. they were squalling hard and were certainly very fine birds. his forehead was wrinkled; he must be afraid we might give him the slip and be off with the booty. his face cleared when i laid the purse on the table. but when i pulled a hundred-franc note out of my pocket, the old fellow waved it aside, and pointed to the purse.

"none o' that now! you've got that amount in solid gold!"

"take this note?" i retorted.

"give me gold, gold!"

"why on earth should i?"

i had not foreseen this pretext for cavilling when i had flattered myself on avoiding a scene. i refused to give in. the old chap kicked against the pricks. paper-money? wot good was that to any one nowadays, you wouldn't get a hunk of bread for it!

he obviously distrusted me. i was on the point of losing my temper. guillaumin angrily dubbed the old man a robber and a blooming bosche. the latter got annoyed and made as if to take back his poultry. bouillon kept his eyes fixed on me, and was[pg 371] only waiting for a sign to hurl himself upon the old man.

for a fantastical instant i was tempted to let him have his way. i was enraged, and disgusted. more than that, i was suddenly seized with a longing to loot. it would be a wonderful opportunity. what risk should we run? none at all. it would simply be one more picturesque scene to add to our store of memories.

at that moment, the servant girl happened to cross the bottom of the room. her dress fell into lines which suggested the rounded form beneath. bouillon was looking at her too, and guillaumin also. his big red nose was quivering. the blood rushed to my head, and desire took possession of me. we all three exchanged a look of feverish bestiality. plunder the old man, violate the girl. nothing could be easier—some strange madness urged us on—the beast in us was raising its head.

a vision of jeannine passed through my mind, but it held no power to restrain me, for was it not purely a physical impulse? it did not count in my eyes. no one would ever know anything about it, i repeated to myself. why not indulge this whim? it was a sinister moment. we had each taken a step towards the girl, whose face contracted.