On the other hand, the Russians are neither in Berlin nor anywhere near it.... _Allons!_ The war will not come to an end next month. Evidently in Paris they are considering the possibility of a winter campaign. Ladies are knitting woollen vests for us! We shall see. In a soldier's life one must not dwell too much on the future, seeing that the entire situation may change from day to day. _Thursday, 1st October._ At dawn we leave for Le Châtelet, a hamlet perched on the heights overlooking the left bank of the Aisne, in front of Vic. A magnificent view over the valley. The company is to remain quartered here several weeks, to organize the position. The farm in which we are to lodge is surrounded by beautiful meadows. We sleep on mattresses in a loft. If our stay here is to be prolonged, I feel that I shall resume my old habits of cleanliness. _Friday, 2nd October._ Alas! Réveillé at two in the morning. The situation has changed. The 24th goes down to Gorgny, and with arms piled and haversacks on the ground, is waiting in the enclosure of the château. At five comes the order to depart. _En route_ for Courmelles, somewhere to the south of Soissons. A forced march of thirty kilometres through the night. At eleven o'clock we reach Courmelles, utterly worn out. Whilst waiting until our quarters are ready, we lie down _pêle-mêle_ on the road alongside the houses. A Moroccan brigade crosses the village. The moonlight projects a bluish light on to the rapid and silent march of these men, wrapped in great hoods and with enormous haversacks towering above their heads: Mâtho's mercenaries. They are going in a northerly direction. The squadron sleeps in a loft abounding in straw. To cover my body I have a potato sack, which I use as a hood in the daytime. _Saturday, 3rd October._ At ten in the morning we are still asleep, snugly ensconced in the straw. For a month we have not once had a sufficiency of sleep. Lieutenant Roberty summons us: Reymond, Maxence, Verrier and myself. His room is at our disposal for a wash and a change of linen. For this evening he converts his bed into two and shares it with us. I receive a wire from Paris, which was dispatched on the 18th of September. A fortnight on the way! Evidently letters take less time: a good thing, too! Many of the houses in Courmelles have been abandoned. In one of them the squadron makes arrangements for meals, a corporal--in ordinary life a mountebank--acting as cook. He whistles a number of popular airs whilst making a fricassee of three rabbits in an iron foot-pan. It is dinner-time. The rabbits are not fit to eat; they are burnt, and have an after-taste of soap. We turn up our noses, and I am the only one willing to taste the stew. I become nicknamed "the eater of filthy food," but this does not trouble me in the slightest. Luckily there is an enormous dish of fried potatoes, and the baker has consented to sell us some hot white bread.