"There's the postmaster!"
"At last!"
"Letters! letters! A man to each gun!"
For eight days we had been waiting for news, and each man drew a little aside in order to be alone as he read.
It seems certain that the battle of Saturday the 22nd will be known as the battle of Virton.
Thursday, August 27
It had poured all night, and rain was still falling when we rose. The thought of all the misery such weather must inevitably cause spoiled the satisfaction we experienced at feeling fit and fresh after ten hours' delicious sleep in a well-closed barn. Our horse-cloths thrown over our heads like hoods and flapping against our calves, we silently marched in scattered order along the churned-up road, our feet squelching in the mud, and finally regained the park under the lashing rain.
The horses, motionless, glistening with water but resigned, endeavoured unceasingly to turn their tails to the rain. The stable-pickets had succeeded in lighting fires but they had had to dig new hearths, for those of the day before were swamped and black pieces of charred wood were floating in them.