We are fitted out from head to foot. First, we receive a blue muff with which each man immediately covers his _képi_. This is the rallying sign. Out in the streets, comrades who see us wearing a blue _képi_ say-- "Ah! So you are one of the complement?" We answer, "Yes," in a tone of modest indifference ill concealed by a big dose of vanity. A score of times every day we receive the order: "Those belonging to the contingent complement are wanted with everything they have at the office." There we receive small packets of provisions, such as coffee, sugar, condensed soup; on another occasion, a _musette_; then again a can, leathern straps, cartridges; for each separate article of our equipment a special journey is necessary. Such incidents as the following are quite common. A man enters the office of the company, salutes, and says-- "Beg pardon, sergeant, but I have no sling for my rifle"; or, "I have no strap for my can"; or, "I have no suspension hooks." The sergeant, busy writing, answers his interrupter-- "Will you go away! And quick, too!" The man disappears, as the sergeant remarks to the company generally-- "Silly fellow, to come and ask me for straps whilst I am distributing _musettes_!" You are asked for the number of your rifle, your full name and address. Then you go to the bureau for your identification disc, your first field-dressing, and lastly you are called upon to give the names and addresses of those to whom information must be sent in case of death. Ah! This is something we had never thought of. Three legal functionaries and five sergeants, without counting the quartermaster, scribble away as fast as they can. Again we are mustered, and the lieutenant sees us arrive one by one. With a despairing gesture, he asks-- "You call this a muster, do you?" The contingent complement gathers round the door, waiting. At first whispering goes on, then voices are raised, there is jest and laughter. Suddenly a sub-officer leaves the sanctum. "Stop this awful noise, will you! One can't hear oneself speak. Besides, what do you want here, lounging about the door? Off you go!" We disappear, though not for long. Within a very few minutes an orderly is seen hurrying about and shouting-- "Quick! You are wanted at the office." The sub-officer who has just dismissed us from the doorstep greets us with the words-- "Come, now, how is it that the men of the contingent complement are never to be found? Has some one to come and take you by the hand?" Rain has been falling ever since the previous day. Humes is now a marsh; the river overflows its banks. _Tuesday, 18th August._ It is again fine. The contingent complement is back from march and drill, and I am resting on a form. All around is a regiment of hens and geese, geese with blue eyes just like those of a lady I once met and whom I suddenly call to mind.