'We have many good soldiers here; English (they do not say much); Scotch—very good men; they speak more, and ask if there is any place where they can buy whisky. I like them all, and I do like Australians best.' The gallant lieutenant beams with joy; but she continues archly, 'Because I always like those best who come last.'
Now the battalion is formed up to march. My batman says to mademoiselle:
'You are very sorry we are going, aren't you?'
'But, yes,' and one could see it was real sorrow.
'I know why,' I ventured to say. 'It is Sunday, and to-day you would have worn your beautiful dress.'
'Ah, oui,' she says sadly, 'you are very wise, and it is true. Come'; and she leads us into the house again, opens the wardrobe, and behold the costume from Paris, très chic, the lovely hat—a creation; the high-heeled boots, they are all there. Quite innocently she tells us that, had we stayed, she, with many another fair one, would have 'made promenade.'
Oh, what we have missed! and what greater pleasure they have missed who would have 'made promenade' to the big church and along the quaint streets of that beautiful village. We have seen them working in the fields, on the railway, in the signal-boxes; but the brave women of this village would have liked us to see another side of their life when in their Parisian costumes they promenaded the streets with the grace which seems natural to every Frenchwoman.
We have had the deep sound of the big guns in our ears for days now, and we are getting so near that we have seen fights in the air. Our band instruments have been packed away, and we are in our last billet before 'going in.'
It is afternoon, the day following. The whole brigade is on the move in readiness to fight. The men march in file under the avenues of poplar-trees. The points where the various companies enter the sector have all been detailed, and officers who have been down to the sector before act as guides. At a cross-road the colonel on his horse watches the men break off for their different directions, and receives reports from time to time; nevertheless, in the darkness, the transport which I am temporarily with goes too far, and we have to halt for instructions.
By this time our guns are booming out. We don't know whether there is some 'stunt' on, or whether they are merely firing to cover our 'changing over.' Some thousands of men are 'coming out' and 'going in.' It is a difficult operation. The noise of shell-fire is great, and now we can see the festoons of flares going up in the Hun lines. The lieutenant has inquired, and he says we are right and must go on. I don't believe it. I have been down the road and I saw a parapet. I wish I had not come with the transport. They are so visible on the white road. At any time we may be discovered and a machine-gun turned on to us. The horses are getting restive. The doctor has kindly lent me his horse, and it is jumping about. I seem so high up and exposed there in the saddle, and yet I cannot hold the beast when I dismount.