This morning I was able to march twenty kilometres. I have regained my old form. Out in the streets there is talk of a possible departure for Paris. The depot may be transferred to some town in the centre of France. We learn that the Government has left Paris for Bordeaux.... This is rather astonishing news. When will this life in depots and barracks come to an end? When others are fighting and being killed, to mount guard by the watering-trough for the purpose of preventing soldiers from washing their socks is intolerable. _Saturday, 5th September._ No marching or drill to-day, since the order to leave may arrive any moment. The English, says the communiqué, have taken ten cannon in the forest of Compiègne.... The Germans at Compiègne?... The train from Paris did not arrive this morning. It is becoming quite stifling here. What is worse than the official dispatches is the multiplication of fantastic news. A famous airman has been shot as a spy; a mined forest in the neighbourhood of Lunéville has been fired, destroying three German army corps.... From Brittany a telegram reaches me dated 31st August. It has been only five days on the road! Just now there returned to the depot with a bullet in his arm a man who left on the 23rd August, like myself. He has been a sergeant-major, belonging to Class 1886, who gave up his stripes and joined again. As I had seen him fall, I imagined he was dead. Like a couple of old soldiers, we recall the plain strewn with projectiles and all the incidents of that day on the battlefield. On the evening of the 25th he counted seventeen villages in flames. Whilst boasting of our campaigns, Reymond, who is just behind us, recites-- Dost remember, Viscount, that half-lune we captured from the enemy at the siege of Arras? What's that thou say'st? A half-lune indeed! It was a full lune, I tell thee.... _Sunday, 6th September._ At the seven o'clock muster the quartermaster reads out the orders for the day-- "Sunday, rest and labour [_travaux_] incidental to the cleanliness of the body." The word _travaux_ will give some faint indication of the trouble needed to get the dirt out of one's skin. Washing of clothes and a bathe in the Mouche. Eager perusal, beneath the apple-tree, of letters and journals three days old. Endless discussion and jokes on the "considerable factor" of which Lord Kitchener can say nothing more than that it will come to the help of the Allies. At Humes the watchword is "_Cherchez le facteur!_" ("Find the postman!") No defeat has been announced, and yet the Germans are at Senlis! No use trying to understand, as we used to say in barracks. Fighting and killing is going on whilst we are doing nothing but chatter beneath the apple-tree. _Monday, 7th September._