For some time now I have observed the first gesture of a soldier who has just received a letter. He tears it open hurriedly, and, without pulling it out of the envelope, rapidly fingers it to see whether it contains a postal order.... I was out to-night with Déprez, when a woman, powdered and painted, with podgy cheeks and a chest and stomach forming an undivided mass of shaking fat, accosted us: "Forty-fourth?" "Yes." "Do you know Corporal X? Give him the best wishes from Alice. He'll know.... Alice is my name.... You won't forget?... Poor old Joe!..." Then, as we prepared to go on our way: "Won't you come in?" she said, with the usual glance of invitation. "No, thanks," answered Déprez politely, "we haven't got time." After we had gone a little farther, he added: "That's a message which I'm shot if I'll deliver!" _Saturday, August 8_ At last we have received orders to entrain. Our first taste of war has been a sort of flower-show. A crowd of women and grey-haired men were waiting for us under the trees on the other side of the avenue. Children, their tiny arms full of flowers, ran up to us; their mothers waved their hands and smiled. But how sad the smiles of these women were! Their swollen eyes told a tale of tears, and the lines lurking round their lips, despite their smiles, showed that another breakdown was not far off. The younger children--and quite tiny ones came toddling across the street--were obviously finding the day's proceedings finer than a circus. They laughed and clapped their hands with delight. We passed the fag-end of the morning getting the limbers and wagons ready and furbishing up the harness. Twelve o'clock struck. As the hour of departure approached the tumult in the avenue calmed down, and the crowd waiting in the shade became gradually quiet. There was almost complete silence when the Captain gave the order, in clear resonant tones: "Forward!" Like an echo there rose from the crowd a loud hurrah, through which I nevertheless distinctly heard two heartrending sobs. Never was there a brighter August day. The limber-boxes and gun-wheels, the straps and hooks of the harness--even the muzzles of the guns themselves--were festooned with flowers and ribbons, the bright hues of which were blended together in a harmony of colour against the iron-grey background of the guns. This morning the Captain, Bernard de Brisoult, said to us: "Take the flowers they offer you, and decorate your guns with them. They are the only send-off the women can give you. And, whatever you do, keep calm! Then they'll be much braver when you go off."