About noon we reached Revigny-aux-Vaux, a pretty little white-walled town surrounded by fields and pasture-lands, where we parked our guns on the bank of the Ornain, close to the station. As we were leading the horses down to the river a man dressed like an artisan, who was sitting by the side of the road, accosted me:
"Where are you gunners from?"
"From the Hauts-de-Meuse, over by Dun and Stenay. We've been replaced there by fresh troops."
"Replaced?"
"Yes—they say by the 6th Army Corps."
"Pooh, that's all rot!... You've just turned tail!... Yes ... simply that!... Do you know where the Prussians are?" he added, getting up.
I felt chilled by a sudden fear. Misery was plainly written on the fellow's bony, emaciated face. When sitting he had not seemed nearly so tall or thin.
He stretched out a long arm, and with a shaking hand pointed to the north-west.
"They're just outside Châlons, the Prussians!"