I got up and walked a few steps. I was limping slightly.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Ever since it had been light, the deafening uproar had redoubled.
Frémont who was lying on his side gave me a friendly wave.
"What are you doing there?"
"Writing my diary."
He waved a bundle of closely written sheets.
"My wife can't grumble! I sent her the same amount yesterday."
"Are you telling her that we can hear firing?"
"Rather not! I'm giving her a description of our humdrum existence at Orne."
"Will you lend me your stylo, when you've finished?" I asked.