A joyless day seems in store for us. Shall we be attacked? Or are we to attack?
A brief distraction takes the form of a young mouse, which comes out of its hole close to our feet, and is by no means startled by the sight of six poilus seated around on the floor. Soon it scampers away, but immediately reappears and fastens its impudent eyes upon us. The roar of the cannon does not seem to disturb its tiny ears. It is neutral. I quietly put out my hand, but evidently the gesture is too familiar, for the mouse re-enters its trench and appears no more.
At two o'clock the 24th are ordered to equip and muster. It appears that we are to relieve the 23rd in the first line.
News arrives: our attack in the direction of Crouy has succeeded only partially. The artillery duel is coming to an end. We appreciate the silence that follows.
We are fixed up in the first line. I spend a couple of hours with Verrier at the listening post, anything but a pleasant spot. The Germans are fifty yards away. By risking an eye at the loop-hole we distinctly make out their wires and the mounds of earth behind which they are. At night we have to keep our ears alive to the faintest sound to prevent ourselves from being taken prisoners or massacred by a patrol party.
An interlude. The Germans are imitating the cries of various animals: cock and dog, calf and pig.
We ask for news of the Kaiser. They reply—
"He's quite well, thanks. We'll see you again shortly in Paris."