In the evening we return to Port-Fontenoy. This time the squadron lodges in a goat-shed. It is very warm and intimate. _Friday, 18th September._ The 6th battalion comes down from the outposts. What a state they are in! They have just spent four days and nights in the first line, in trenches improvised and devoid of shelter. And yet _we_ thought ourselves dirty! They look haggard and dazed, and are covered with mud from head to foot. We crowd around. Their first words are-- "Have you any tobacco? All ours is finished." We supply them with tobacco, even with a superior brand of cigarette. Thereupon interest in life returns, and they consent to talk. "And what of Verrier? Is he alive?" "Yes." "Which company?" "The 23rd." Reymond and I run off in the direction indicated. In front of a grotto some men are lying on the ground. "Is this the 23rd?" "It is." "Is there any one here named Verrier?" Then Verrier himself, pale, emaciated and in rags, rises from the grotto, like Lazarus from the tomb. A Mephistophelean goat-beard, which he has grown, makes his long face appear longer than ever. He sees us holding out our hands to him, but he bursts out, without the slightest greeting-- "Tell me, a war like this can't last a fortnight longer, surely, can it?" This question puts us into a jovial mood. "The war, old fellow? It will last a couple of years," we assure him. "Well, then," sighs Verrier, "let me sit down." We carry him off to Lieutenant Roberty. Then we place him in the sunshine, bring him coffee and tobacco, and lend him a brush. He feels better. This evening the men of our detachment are distributed out amongst the various companies. The whole of our squadron becomes the first squadron of the 24th. Roberty is in command of the first section. He obtains permission for Verrier to be transferred from the 23rd to the 24th. How fortunate to be shoulder to shoulder again! It is so much easier to fight with one's friends by one's side. CHAPTER V A BACKWARD GLANCE--THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE This evening, in the goat-stable, Verrier shows us his coat, pierced by seven shrapnel holes. Two of the rents are repeated in the seat of his trousers. There is a hole in his pants; the shrapnel discreetly proceeding no farther. "I've had a rough time of it," affirms Verrier. "Tell us what you've been doing." Verrier, however, is no prattler. "I will read from my note-book," he says; "that will not take so long." And he begins-- "Left Langres September 1st, nine in the evening. After sixteen hours in the train, reached Noisy-le-Sec on the 2nd. The station is filled with wounded from the north. Some moan and lament, others, with half-closed eyes, seem on the point of death. All have enormous dressings, stained with blood. Nurses eagerly attend to their needs.