A long march through the forest. More dead horses and that intolerable stench of decomposing flesh which strikes one brutally full in the face like a lash. The roar of cannon draws nearer. We halt in a field. A detachment of prisoners passes along the road. Still the wounded come; in groups of twos, threes and fours they make their way, after a summary dressing of their wounds, in the direction of the ambulance, hobbling along, leaning on sticks or on a comrade's shoulder. They ask-- "Is it far to Villers-Cotterets?" "Fifteen kilometres." "_Ah! Là là!_" Amongst them are men of the 352nd. Having met at the depot we recognize one another, and ask-- "Are the enemy retreating?" "No, it seems as though they were determined to halt by the river." We also learn that shells are beginning to fall a few hundred yards distant. At the entrance to Ambleny, near the Aisne, a staff captain stops Roberty: it is impossible to cross the bridge in the daytime; the headquarters have been transferred to Vic-sur-Aisne, which place it is too late to reach to-day. We are quartered in an abandoned saw-mill. Our last _Rimailhos_ supply us with a solid meal. There comes a knock at the door--a lost soldier in search of food and lodging. We invite him in. On seeing our repast, a broad smile illumines his face, and he remarks-- "How lucky I fell in with you!" As the lieutenant gives him a copious portion and pours out a generous bumper of wine, the man says, his mouth full of food-- "_Merci_, Monsieur Roberty." "What! Do you know me?" "A little. And you also (indicating myself). I am a waiter in Lavenue's restaurant. I served you at lunch the day following the mobilization." Greatly moved, we grasp his hand effusively, and say-- "Excuse us, old man, we did not recognize you." He quite understands, whereupon Roberty adds-- "Now just remain seated; I'm going to serve you myself." Dinner over, we offer him the corner containing the most abundant supply of straw, and fall off to sleep. _Tuesday, 15th September._ A long detour to reach Vic-sur-Aisne. Halt in front of the keep by the castle moat. The lieutenant goes for orders to the staff at headquarters. Whilst awaiting his return we watch German prisoners as they come and go in the enclosure. A hostile aeroplane is hovering above the town. Received with a brisk fusillade and exploding shrapnel, it disappears. The general in command of the corps passes by on horseback, followed by a numerous staff. Lined up, behind our piles of arms, we salute. A fine subject for an Academy picture. Roberty returns; the regiment is in the first line, between Fontenoy and Port-Fontenoy. _En route_ to join it.