"Oh, my dear chap ... such a pretty little woman ... a perfect dream!..."
And the same evening he will say:
"Oh, my dear chap ... such a fraud.... No, not a word!... What a fraud!"
It appears that at Damvillers, a neighbouring village, he has made the conquest of a little woman who sells tobacco. And he still manages to get hold of cigarettes, writing-paper, liqueurs, and even champagne, whereas no one else has been able to lay hands on any of these luxuries for some time past.
When night fell he gave us a sign, and Déprez and I followed him to the door of the guard-house in which loomed the lanky figure of Le Bidois, who was leaning on his sword. The guard-house is an old tumble-down hut only kept erect by the ivy growing round it. The door only boasts one hinge, and the worm-eaten steps leading to the loft are crumbling into dust. But still we found it a snug enough place in which to drink our champagne.
Wednesday, August 19
The first gun has a team which is the joy of the whole battery. This is owing to Astruc and his off-horse Jericho. Astruc, with bright brown eyes and a face like a carrion-crow, is not much taller than a walking-stick and has hardly any legs. Jericho is a vicious brute that kicks, bites, and refuses to be groomed. Astruc holds long conversations with him, and every morning greets him like one greets an old friend who is a little crabbed, but of whom one is really fond:
"Well, Jericho, old boy, what have you got to say? Have you been dreaming of German mares?"
Bréjard pointed out to Astruc that Jericho is a gelding.
"Oh!" retorted Astruc, "I expect he gets ideas in his head all the same."