He disappears into his kennel. We resume our conversation, though almost in a whisper.
Sunday, 18th October.
The regiment quarters on the other bank of the Aisne, at Billy. Jules has gone on in advance with some of the men, to make preparations. He finds a suitable house. We take advantage of the darkness to slip away without a sound, after telling the rest of the squadron where to find us in case of alarm. The house is comfortable, and there are beds in it. Roberty, feeling unwell, rests on one of them.
Monday, 19th October.
What an extraordinary war! We have had nothing to do for three weeks!
To-day: more "labour" to ensure bodily cleanliness.
At night we loiter slipshod about the house and try to read. We are bored to death.
Tuesday, 20th; Wednesday, 21st; Thursday, 22nd; Friday, 23rd October.
The same monotonous idle life in quarters. A couple of hours' exercise in the morning. Review in the afternoon: hair review, for instance. Before the men, bare-headed and standing at attention, passes the lieutenant, who judges whether or not each individual's hair is of the regulation length. With certain dishevelled shocks facing him, he makes a gesture indicative of despair, as though he would conjure them away. The barber follows, note-book in hand, jotting down the names of those who are to pass through his hands.
What is the reason of this aversion for the clipper? And why does the soldier insist on being long-haired? Is it because the ancient Gauls were long-haired? Anyhow, there is an eternal struggle between the officers, solicitous of the men's health, and the poilus, who think more of the esthetic side of the matter—generally a debatable one.