Above our heads is a continuous whistling of shells, cutting like a sword, and the constant djji-djji of the projectiles which tear up the ground. The explosions are so frequent that we perceive only one infernal noise under a rain of fire. We crawl through an indescribable chaos, in a field of terror, in the midst of a pungent, fetid smoke. We reach the first German trench which we conquered yesterday morning. We jump into it; we are dripping with perspiration; our clothes are in rags. Our first act is to raise our masks for we are stifling under them. The asphyxiating shells now fall behind us, and their noxious gas blows in another direction away from us. We stop for some seconds to regain our breaths. We must go on. As we are about to climb out on the field again, I see one of our couriers coming at full speed. I must wait for him and learn where my company is. But he stops, leans backwards, and his hands contract and seem to try to pull something from his breast. He falls inert. I crawl towards him. A spasm still shakes him. He looks at me. “The company! Where is the company?” “——Maisonnette——” he murmurs in a faraway breath, then, with an effort, his shaking hand reaches towards his jacket, but without success. “Sergeant-Major ... there ... there ... to my mother ... in La Ciotat....” “Yes, _mon vieux_, yes.” He is dead. I am trembling but I search for his pocketbook. It is sewed in a handkerchief and in drawing it out it is spotted with blood—his blood. I shall send it to his mother just that way. It is forbidden, but what difference does that make? I have promised. La Maisonnette! It is still three miles, perhaps more. I’ll never get there! The staff-officer leaves me; he is going to the La Chapitre woods to the left. We grasp hands once more. “Thanks.” Yes, thanks! Together we have done a most difficult thing—we have passed through a barrage. Now, I go on across that terrible plateau, alone. Alone! If a splinter of a shell hits me, no one will be with me during my last moments to listen to my final wishes. I continue my way under the rain of shells. Why I have not already been blown to pieces or buried I do not know. How little one feels in the face of this formidable power! I turn around. On both sides and behind me there is no one! I am in a desert in which a hail of fire falls. Will I get there? At every step I cross, touch, jump over, as I run against them, formless corpses, cut to pieces, or doubled into knots. Perhaps in a moment I shall be like them, disemboweled and my brains running out, or like those over there buried under rubbish and dirt. I can see a foot here, an arm there; they are entombed forever. I shall be listed among the missing, and my family and those who love me will cling to this shred of hope—that the missing is perhaps not dead. I go on steadily.