The wounded man sinks into a meditative mood. All through the night we roll along until we reach our station, when we descend and march away for the front. _Friday, 11th September._ About noon we enter the devastated zone at Dammartin: the telegraph lines have been torn down. Right and left of the road trees lie stretched on the ground; heaps of ashes are all that remains of the hayricks. In a ditch lies a corpse in red trousers and blue coat. Most of the men of the detachment have not yet been in the fighting line, and this is the first dead man, left lying on the ground, that they have seen. They are considerably moved, and even surprised. We reach Nanteuil-le-Haudouin. The station has been destroyed. A convoy of provisions and supplies passes, escorted by cuirassiers. A glorious sunset. A prolonged halt in front of the _mairie_. The place is full of troops and the mayor is at loss where to put us up. "Go to Wattebled's farm," he says to the lieutenant. This is a fine farm, though situated at the farther end of the town. The farmer is serving. Officers of the enemy have lodged in the building and have left the place in a dreadful condition. All the cupboards and wardrobes have been ransacked, and the contents flung about the rooms. The cellar is empty; broken bottles lie in every corner. The beds, however, have been left intact. We quickly stretch ourselves at full length, delighted to rest after travelling for two nights and three days. The dinner has been nothing to boast of--neither bread nor wine, and scarcely any light. _Saturday, 12th September._ Whilst awaiting fresh supplies, which postpone our departure several hours, we explore the district. Those stores whose proprietors were absent have been methodically pillaged; whatever could not be carried away has been broken to pieces. In the wine and tobacco shops nothing but the walls are left standing. On the doors, chalk inscriptions indicate which German troops were quartered there. The inhabitants are still somewhat scared; they can hardly believe in their good fortune at finding themselves safe. We obtain as much rum and wine as we want from a wholesale wine dealer! The Germans had had time neither to remove nor to destroy his barrels and hogsheads. The news spreads like wildfire through the quarters. Each squadron delegates a man laden with cans slung over his shoulder. They press around the barrels in an endless file. An artillery officer wishes to prevent the infantry from approaching the wine store, especially his own men. Howls and protests. Lieutenant Roberty has to intervene before we can enter the place.