Our feet wet with dew, we once again became motionless and awaited the enemy. About midday we received orders to move to the edge of the plateau, and take up position behind a clump of trees, in order to command the Tailly valley and the hills on the south of Stenay. And, continually, successive regiments of infantry emerged from the forest and passed us, falling back. "Dashed if I can fathom it!" said Hutin. "Nor can I!" It was very hot, and we were thirsty, but our water-bottles were empty. We continued to wait until dusk, but the enemy did not appear. Night had fallen when we were sent to encamp on the other side of the woods. The moon was rising clear of the tree-tops. The regular clatter of hoofs and the monotonous roll of the vehicles blended together into a sort of weary cradle-song, and made us sleepy after a time. In order to suffer uncomplainingly all the hardships and miseries of war, we would have asked no more than one hour of affection, of sympathetic tenderness, in safety, at evening-time, after the long day spent in watching or fighting. The road was level, and we were hardly shaken at all; no one spoke, and most of us slept or dozed. No sound disturbed the stillness of the warm night save that of the column on the march. Gradually we lost ourselves in pleasing reveries and memories of the past, forgetting present dangers and distress. On we jogged through space and time.... Lyons at night-time ... long rows of lamps lighting the wharves and reflected in the Rhône ... above the river the amphitheatre of Croix-Rousse with its lights scintillating like golden points, and above them, again, the stars.... Where did the town end, or where did the sky begin?... And the Mayenne in the bright days of autumn and summer, its sombre waters sparkling like black diamonds.... The memories which rose up before me gradually blurred the scene of illusive reflections. And perhaps I should die in a few hours' time.... Almost as if I myself had been able to write those beautiful verses of Du Bellay, I felt the aching nostalgia of his words: _Quand reverrai-je, hélas! de mon petit village Fumer la cheminée, et en quelle saison Reverrai-je le clos de ma pauvre maison, Qui m'est une province et beaucoup d'avantage?_ I repeated the lines to myself several times. _Sunday, August 30_ This morning we marched for hours through clouds of dust, the sun scorching the backs of our necks. The men were thirsty and continually spat out the clayey saliva which clogged their mouths. The battery halted in a valley on the outskirts of a village--Villers-devant-Dun, I think it was--where the sound of the guns seemed to come from the west and south as well as from the east and north. This was a surprise, and at first made us uneasy. Janvier, for the hundredth time, said: "That's it! We are surrounded!"