We spent several days at this farm. Every evening when we went to sleep, we expected to have to turn out and start off in the middle of the night. Henriot was eaten up with impatience, and repeated:
"It's madness not to profit by our advantage! We ought to be near Trèves by now!"
He calmed down at last. The captain had laughed at him, and reminded him of endless circumstances in military history, where prudence had dictated an identical line of conduct, which was to recover oneself before entering upon a new enterprise.
Besides that there was a complete lack of any news: not a word of the development of the action in Alsace-Lorraine. We only had the impression of a general movement of our armies towards the Belgian frontier. A big blow would be struck in the North! From time to time I amused myself by goading Guillaumin. How were we getting on over there, I wondered.
He no longer took me seriously, or else retorted:
"My dear chap, we only have to hold out for three weeks. The Russians will be coming along now!"
Again one might have thought we were at manœuvres. The spirit of the men was extraordinary. The fight the other day, the wounded and dead—all that was forgotten, or rather it was taken as a basis for fearing nothing from the future. They took a delight in repeating that the worst was over. Artillery, machine-guns, and rifles had all talked at the same time. The Bosches could not invent anything worse.
I have said that I was on good terms now with the poilus in my section, but I was not intimate with them yet. I made a few tentative advances. I asked one or two of them about their family, or their home life. They answered me politely, but did not expand. I had the feeling that I embarrassed, almost disquieted, them; so I soon stopped. There was no need to bother myself.
The most complete idleness reigned. The battalion sergeant-major no longer multiplied parades. He, Ravelli, had changed in the most extraordinary way since he had been under fire. He took no interest in anything and left his men to themselves. He may have heard—it was Breton who insinuated it—French bullets whistling past his ears!
The Lamalou-Judsi lot organised fishing parties at a pond close to the farm. No notice was taken for the first two days; on the third day they brought back a cartload of fish, having been inspired with the brilliant idea of stretching a net from one side to the other. They had cleared everything. The farmeress protested that the pond belonged to her. The captain lost his temper and threatened the beggars with Court Martial. They did not haul down their colours. Things were getting serious. Lamalou clenched his fist.