"Is this the 23rd?"
"It is."
"Is there any one here named Verrier?"
Then Verrier himself, pale, emaciated and in rags, rises from the grotto, like Lazarus from the tomb. A Mephistophelean goat-beard, which he has grown, makes his long face appear longer than ever. He sees us holding out our hands to him, but he bursts out, without the slightest greeting—
"Tell me, a war like this can't last a fortnight longer, surely, can it?"
This question puts us into a jovial mood.
"The war, old fellow? It will last a couple of years," we assure him.
"Well, then," sighs Verrier, "let me sit down."
We carry him off to Lieutenant Roberty. Then we place him in the sunshine, bring him coffee and tobacco, and lend him a brush. He feels better.
This evening the men of our detachment are distributed out amongst the various companies. The whole of our squadron becomes the first squadron of the 24th. Roberty is in command of the first section. He obtains permission for Verrier to be transferred from the 23rd to the 24th. How fortunate to be shoulder to shoulder again! It is so much easier to fight with one's friends by one's side.