"Mon lieutenant, shells are falling in the yard, we shall all be blown to pieces if we stay here!"
Roberty, whose capacity for sleep is quite out of the common, turns over on to his side and growls—
"All right! don't disturb me. To-morrow I will look into the matter."
Jacquard, offended, returns to his post.
Thursday, 17th September.
Standing on a slight eminence, we watch the shells, from early dawn, falling on to the station.
In the evening we return to Port-Fontenoy. This time the squadron lodges in a goat-shed. It is very warm and intimate.
Friday, 18th September.
The 6th battalion comes down from the outposts. What a state they are in! They have just spent four days and nights in the first line, in trenches improvised and devoid of shelter. And yet we thought ourselves dirty!