Until further orders the company will spend one night in the trenches and one in the grotto alternately.
The letters! Milliard the postman's service has become an official one. Henriot has been appointed to help him. No fear of this latter botching the correspondence; he passes the whole of his time in writing endless letters which his wife answers with equal patience and enthusiasm. Whenever by chance the post brings him nothing, Henriot falls into a state of grim silence and replies to all questions with an injured sneer.
Friday, 30th October.
Since last evening there has been a continuous fusillade in the direction of the fort of Condé. The Germans are furiously bombarding the second line of our sector. A convoy of munitions passes along the road. Two gunners are wounded. We hear them cry out in the night—
"This way, comrades! Help! Ah! ah!"
An aeroplane skims over the lines. We judge by the sound of the motor that it is flying very low.
At daybreak the bombardment redoubles in intensity, and continues all day long. Our batteries reply, the 155's, as they pass over the trenches, making a sound which resembles the rustling of a gigantic silk dress.
Silence follows. We needed it badly. Fortunately, the company sleeps in the grotto. At eight o'clock, well wrapped in their bed-covers and with a muffler round the neck and head resting on haversack, the men sleep the sleep of perfect security.
Saturday, 31st October.
The section is on picket. Every time an aeroplane passes and the lieutenant, armed with his glasses, declares it to belong to the enemy, we fire at it. From time to time the machine may pitch a little, or ascend out of reach. Assuredly, this is not the sort of game for foot-soldiers.