Milliard makes a gesture expressive of regret.
"You see," he confesses timidly, "Henriot and I have just heard that the 24th is to attack, and so we simply left the letters to look after themselves. We thought you might not be pleased; but then, really, we had not the heart to remain behind."
Henriot the taciturn screws up his courage to add a final sentence—
"We could not leave our mates to be killed all by themselves."
Then a harsh voice is heard saying—
"It's all very fine to come along and get killed with one's comrades. But if you fall, there will be no one to attend to the correspondence. And once more our letters will be left lying about anywhere! You've thought only of yourselves in the whole matter."
At seven o'clock the 24th retires to the grotto to sleep.
Sunday, 8th November.
Sabbath rest until five in the evening. Evidently there is to be an attack. Instead of returning to our huts in the wood, we follow the path leading to Crouy alongside of our former trenches. At half-past six firing is heard; our infantry are beginning the assault. Violent cannonade on both sides. Lights flash through the dark sky. Lying on our backs, with rifle within reach, we wait for the shells to fall in our small corner. We chat and laugh to make the time pass more pleasantly.
I exchange with Reymond a few confidential remarks, justified by the impending danger. Some one on all-fours pulls me by the sleeve. It is Belin, and he wears a most serious look. Belin is no longer our corporal, alas! he was appointed sergeant to the 21st last month.