"Yes, but we would have heard officially--news like that would never be kept from us." "That's true enough--I expect the thing is being discussed and a decision will be reached before long." We all agreed that as soon as the fighting ceased, we would be informed. The news of the Armistice would be telegraphed to every unit and it would reach us within a few minutes from the actual signature. And then, what would we do then? How would our feelings find an outlet? It was impossible to say. Shouting, singing, dancing, would they give us relief? Speculation was useless, painfully useless. And yet what else could we think about? Peace--peace did not matter so very much, if only the slaughter would stop. To us soldiers, and most of all to soldiers in the line, an Armistice would mean more than any words could tell. And, therefore, we would be the first to receive the news. Bad as the army was, it was not so bad as to keep such tidings from us. Besides, everybody would rejoice so much, that all distinctions of rank would disappear and the general would be no more privileged than the private. Still, the war was not over yet, and it would be better not to hope too much. It was Sunday, the 10th of November. We had no work to do and wandered restlessly round the town. An official communique was posted up outside the Mairie, but it contained nothing new. There was a crowd of soldiers round a Belgian boy who was selling English papers. We bought the last copies, but they were of the previous Thursday and did not add to our knowledge. The suspense was becoming unbearable. My conviction that the Germans would reject the terms of the Allies was shaken--not by any further evidence, but by the general atmosphere of excitement and hopeful expectation which communicated itself to me. I kept on repeating to myself, "They will not sign, they will not sign," and intellectually I believed my own words. And yet I was continually imagining the war already over and what I merely thought seemed unessential and irrelevant. The stress of wild hopes and mental agitation became almost a physical pain. Darkness came on and we retired to our tents. I gradually became aware of a faint noise, so faint that I hardly knew whether it was real or not. As soon as I listened intently I could hear nothing. Then one of us said: "What's that funny noise?" There it was again, a low, hollow sound like that of a distant sea. It grew louder and then ceased. Then it became audible once more and grew louder and still louder. Suddenly we realized what it was--it was the sound of cheering. It came nearer and nearer, gathering speed. It flooded the whole town with a great rush, paused a moment, and then burst over our camp.