He was a school-master too, but from Paris. Playoust's set had immediately tried to get hold of him, but he made it quite clear that he intended to remain neutral, on good terms with us. He had an interesting head. He was sunburnt, and had intensely blue eyes, a big nose with a narrow bridge, and a determined chin. Besides that, he was slim and muscular, and had a graceful carriage. There was a look of a musketeer or condottiere about him—a look which was deceptive for that matter, as I soon realised. He was a good sort, but nothing beyond that. His intelligence was limited.
During his weeks at the depôt everything seemed to have rolled off him, like water off a duck's back, without making the faintest impression. He was eager for news, no doubt, but he was far from attaching to it the tragic and capital importance which clothed the least occurrence in this hour of our history.
It was disappointing and exasperating to me. I would have given a lot to meet Fortin and have a talk with him. We had just heard that he had become a humble private again, and was with the reinforcement detachment.
However, I set about extracting all the news from Langlois, bit by bit, and finished by attaining my end.
To begin with, the period of optimism had continued. The enemy had been intercepted on the Meuse, and at Liège, Namur, and Dinant. Our offensive was developing at Mulhouse and towards Morhange. That had gone on until Friday, the 21st. That day's communiqué still gave a favourable picture of the situation. There were two shadows on it, however: the day was described as having been "less fortunate" in Lorraine, and the occupation of Brussels. The next day, there was nothing very new. A huge battle was going on. The guns were talking.
Complete silence for two days. On the third—it was Tuesday—the communiqué announced, in terms very flattering to our troops, that the attack had had no decisive results and that we had fallen back on our covering positions. The casualties were heavy on both sides. One paper claimed to see a second Valmy in the engagement.
But since then things had been going from bad to worse! To how great an extent? I pressed Langlois, and implored him to try and recall the smallest details—the text even of the bulletins. We were holding out? Apparently. Towards Nancy our luck seemed to be re-establishing itself. In the North? Oh. Langlois admitted that he really knew nothing about the North. I pretended to be as calm as possible in order to encourage him. Come along! The daily reports? What did they point to? They were perplexing—"The English have lost a little ground on our extreme left...." "We have had to bring our line slightly farther back...." What else? Ever since the day following "Charleroi" they had talked of German patrol parties venturing right up to near Douai and Valenciennes. A note which had an official twang about it had appeared on this subject. There was no cause for alarm! Merely isolated instances! That was all very well! But the same day we read in the socialistic manifesto that "Our richest and most cultivated regions are invaded."
"And what about the Russians?" I asked. "Haven't they come in yet?"
"Yes—things are going all right down there apparently."