I got a porter to tell me where the military commissary was. He pointed out an Artillery lieutenant, in a cap with a white band, talking to a group of officers. I introduced myself, and asked him if he knew anything about the state of affairs. Like everybody else, he could only give me very vague information. "However," he added, "I can confirm what you have heard about G. The First Corps has just retaken the town, which was defended by the Prussian Guard. It appears that our fellows were wonderful, and that the enemy has suffered enormous losses. However"--the lieutenant's voice trembled slightly, and the shrug of his shoulders betrayed his despair--"I have orders to evacuate the station, with all my men and my papers, so soon as the last train has been unloaded. I am to fall back towards L. How is one to understand what all this means?" We looked at each other, without a word. Everybody felt dejected and doubtful. Not to understand!... To have to obey without understanding why! It was the first time I had really felt the grandeur of military service. You must have a soul stoutly tempered to carry out an order--no matter what, even if that order seems incomprehensible to you. There must have been in that corner of France, on the edge of that frontier which we had sworn should never be violated--there must have been thousands of officers, thousands of soldiers who would have given their lives rather than yield up one inch of ground. Then why abandon that station? Why say so bluntly, "To-morrow you will have no need to go so far north to bring supplies. We shall come nearer to you; _we_ shall withdraw ..."? There I was again, allowing my mind to wander and to suffer. I tried to learn by what means I could get some information about my regiment. "Well, it's very simple," said the Artillery lieutenant, very kindly. "Your commissariat officer will certainly have to come with his convoy to fetch supplies. Try to get hold of him. He will tell you all about it." I grasped his hand and went off, glad indeed at the thought of seeing my regiment's uniform once more. And Providence seemed to guide me, for I thought I saw the very man I was looking for in the little booking office. But I had some difficulty in recognising him. He looked aged and worn. His beard had grown quite grey. Bending over the sill of the ticket office, he was in the act of spreading the contents of a box of sardines upon a slice of bread. Yes, it was he. How tired and disheartened he looked! I pushed the door open and rushed in: "_Bonjour! Comment va?_" "Ah!... It's you! What have you come here for, my poor fellow? Ah! Things aren't looking very rosy...." I plied him with questions, and he answered in short incoherent sentences: "Charleroi? Don't talk of it!... Our men? Grand!... A hecatomb.... Then ... the retreat ... day and night.... The Germans daren't.... Ah! a nice business, isn't it? We're retreating."