"Are the enemy retreating?"
"No, it seems as though they were determined to halt by the river."
We also learn that shells are beginning to fall a few hundred yards distant.
At the entrance to Ambleny, near the Aisne, a staff captain stops Roberty: it is impossible to cross the bridge in the daytime; the headquarters have been transferred to Vic-sur-Aisne, which place it is too late to reach to-day. We are quartered in an abandoned saw-mill.
Our last Rimailhos supply us with a solid meal. There comes a knock at the door—a lost soldier in search of food and lodging. We invite him in. On seeing our repast, a broad smile illumines his face, and he remarks—
"How lucky I fell in with you!"
As the lieutenant gives him a copious portion and pours out a generous bumper of wine, the man says, his mouth full of food—
"Merci, Monsieur Roberty."
"What! Do you know me?"