Again I have been made a scout and I ask myself if I will be not soon, in my turn, one of these hideous corpses which I pass each instant and which have been snapped up by death along this damned road. It seems now as if the shells were searching you out and rifle bullets followed you---- In the semi-moonlit shadow I perceive two stretcher-bearers caught by death as they carry their wounded; the one in the lead is on his knees, the other already down, both clutching the handles of the litter. I continue my route. Before arriving at the bifurcation of the two roads to Ornes and Beaumont, I cannot longer recognize my direction, so great has been the change in the aspect of the surroundings during the last three days. I overtake two men who, en _pères peinards_,[22] happy at meeting someone, suggest we go together. They walk without haste; the terrain has become very difficult to follow and it is dark---- Suddenly one of them makes a false step, he has not seen an immense shell-hole, and he falls forward head first---- His comrade, on the edge of the crater, bursts with laughter. "You're not crazy. You know well enough the subway is closed at this time of night!" AT THE WEST CORNER OF CHAUME WOOD, MIDNIGHT. "Who goes there?" "France!" Some _poilus_ hastily cross a part of the trench at the border of the Wood. The officer in command of them is one of my old comrades at Eparges---- "Tell me the news. How is it going?" "I was going to ask the same question?" "It's the third day. The attack will be held!" "Yes, it must be held!" We embraced each other and parted--I have never seen him again! ON THE ROAD FROM CHAMBRETTES TO LOUVEMONT. _February_ 23, 1916. Two men go along the road with a heavy step--we follow them. "It's serious--but we'll get 'em. What an attack!" "What a difference from Champagne!" They stopped before a corpse, curled in a heap; he had certainly fallen to-day because we had not noticed him yesterday. With his big bloated lips and blackened face he might have been taken for a negro---- "How curious is the problem of life and death! Why him and not us?" "Poor chap, poor old fellow. Let's go----" THE POILU WHO HADN'T ANY SUSPENDERS. _The day of February_ 24, 1916. The cannonade is frightful. There is a dumbfounding fire along the route--and we are right in the midst of the stricken zone. "Look out, my friend, please don't stop, we'll all be shot to pieces----" "I must pull up my pants--they've fallen down--I haven't got any suspenders----" "You are not even reasonable--during such days we are living in historic moments--you can use twine just as well----" THE PSYCHOLOGICAL POILU, ORNES. _February_ 24, 1916. It is night---- The sky is ablaze to our left. They will perhaps attack at any moment. Shells rain around us four at a time and at regular intervals.