"How stupid it is to fight!"
I thought how in our camp, and no doubt in the opposite camps too, nearly every individual was privately thinking the same thing! And yet each one bowed his head and went on. Poor human race!
We started off. The night was cool and clear. A good one to march on.
Guillaumin came to keep me company. He announced that he was in "the pink" and joked below his breath with his men and mine, whom he already knew better than I did. He forced me to share his good humour. It may be imagined that I did not rise much, though I avoided looking too anxious. I dreaded a direct question and intended to withdraw into myself alone with my sorrow.
He ended by getting tired of it and left me, but then it was the subaltern's turn to hang on to me. It was difficult to escape him. It was in vain that I purposely arranged to walk so that he was forced to the side of the road, where he kept stumbling over endless obstacles such as ruts and heaps of flints. He did not lose heart, and I had to put up with a new explanation of the situation. Then he tried to make out where we were. Every other minute I saw him consulting his map with the aid of his electric torch.
"Look, we're following this road."
He must have made a mistake, at some cross roads. Contrary to his expectation we did not cross the high road to Étain. Then he tried to take his bearings by the heavens, the Great Wain, and the Polar Star.
I no longer even pretended to take an interest. I thirsted for solitude. I took advantage of a moment when he left me to go to the captain, to sign to Bouillon. With this place filled, I was saved.