As the positions on our left have been forced back and our flank menaced, Chabert's sappers have hastily dug a small trench at the entrance to the village, facing the west. The _poilus_ are waiting stoically for whatever may transpire. A man is curled up and, numb with fatigue, sleeps. One of his companions shakes him and says: "_Mon vieux_, you cannot sleep. Wake up, because each minute we hold them now, it is a VICTORY!" WOUNDED, BEZONVAUX. _Night of February_ 24-25, 1916. Our artillery no longer responds. The order to fall back was given at five o'clock. My men are moving toward Verdun, conducted by Sergeant Thiébaut. I stop at Bezonvaux, hoping to find there my comrade Chabert. I have promised his mother, who has only this boy, that I will watch over him like a brother---- Followed by Corporal Poulet, who has remained with me, I wander around in the violently bombarded village. I enter the empty homes abandoned by their inhabitants, where our poor soldiers, tired out and saying nothing, lie stretched out on the floors. The big _marmites_ arrive at regular intervals, crushing houses and occupants---- Finally I end by discovering one of Chabert's sappers and say to him: "Where is your lieutenant? Take me to him!" "I don't know where he is--I believe he has been killed----" The night is black and the air is filled with smoke and dust. One stumbles above all on plaster and bricks---- Sinister detonations and cries and groans. There is, in the air, the breath of catastrophe, yes, of catastrophe, which oppresses your chest. The man who guides us is lost--he goes and comes, he makes us take wide detours, he is afraid and is nervous---- A large projectile falls at our side--the _poilu_ is knocked down, giving vent to a raucous cry as he falls. I fall myself to my knees and feel the heat of blood which runs down my chest. My left hand rests on the body of the sapper and I am conscious of it covered with warm blood---- Poulet raises me up, giving me a drink of brandy. Stray bullets whistle around us---- I am only slightly wounded and take Poulet's arm to direct ourselves toward Fort Douaumont where I will have it dressed. How long and sad is this road. It is a veritable Calvary for me and I stagger lamentably; these last days have proven almost too much---- "Lieutenant, why doesn't our artillery respond any more?" Poulet asked me several times. "I do not know, _mon petit_, we are going through grave times, but we must not get discouraged. Have confidence!" CÔTE-DE-L'OIE. _February_ 25, 1916. Someone who must be amazed is the surgeon-in-chief of Gondrecourt! I arrived at his hospital in the early morning in Colonel Gency's automobile, who announced my coming by telephone---- A hospital attendant tore off my tunic, cut off my shirt, baring a bloody chest---- "We are going to give you an anti-tetanus injection, radiograph you, and to commence with, I'm going to call the surgeon-in-chief----"