"My walk had a definite purpose, you see," he adds.
Down below, we hear the faint tinkling of a bell, suspended from the neck of an enormous dog, which we have nicknamed the chien à sonnettes.
In spite of his manifestly gentle disposition, this animal fills us with terror. He is always lying stretched at the foot of the ladder, and frequently in the dark we step on his head. To our amazement, he has bitten no one, so far.
Thursday, 20th August.
Is this the last réveillé in the loft? It has become a very comfortable spot. In the hay, where I lie wrapped up in a quilt, with a cotton nightcap coming over my ears, I would gladly sleep on into the middle of the morning. But it is five o'clock, and we must rise.
Drill and march. In the afternoon, siesta and conversation beneath the apple-tree. The weather is gloriously fine. We wash our socks in the Mouche.
Reymond has managed to secure an order; the lieutenant says to him—
"Since you are a painter, paint my name on my canteen."
He takes advantage of this diversion to avoid drill. He paints two white letters every day, and even then....
Friday, 21st August.