The afternoon of June 4 passes, but the communications are not restored. It is impossible to obtain a signal from the fort. Probably there has been no means of registering the position of its sighting gear. On the 5th, however, at three o’clock in the morning, the headquarters of the division see two men arrive. They have issued from the fort--nothing more than that! They belong to the searchlight section. As there were no more pigeons and the signals were not working, they had to come to restore the communications. That is as plain as a pikestaff. “So the fort is not encircled?” “They are on top with a machine-gun, but there is no one at the southern exit.” “That exit is stopped up.” “You jump from a window into the ditch.” Others have made the attempt, but have not succeeded in escaping. These two do not furnish many details. For the time being they are too much absorbed in other matters, for they are professionals. Will the fort hold out? Life is no laughing matter in the interior on account of liquid fire and thirst. Then, too, the place is overcrowded: more than 600 men. Yet the morale is good. Up there, they will try once more to interchange messages. At half-past seven in the morning Fort Vaux is no longer isolated. It speaks and receives an answer.... “The mountains are lofty, massive, and dark, the valleys deep, the torrents swift. Behind and in front of the army the trumpets ring, and they all seem to reply to the horn....” But when Charlemagne’s trumpets ring, Roland is already no more. Imagine him rising up in face of death to listen to those blasts! Fort Vaux informs the High Command as to the position of the enemy. Its message rings with hope: “The enemy is working at the western part of the fort to construct a mine-chamber and blow up the vault. Strike quickly with artillery.” Ten minutes later it becomes insistent: “Where are you?” At eight o’clock, having had no reply, or having been unable to decipher it, it confesses the agony of its suspense: “We do not hear your artillery. The enemy is plying us with gas and liquid fire attacks. Our situation is as bad as can be.” At last, at nine o’clock, this signal is transmitted to it: “Don’t lose heart. We shall soon attack.” Roland, as he was dying, heard Charlemagne’s trumpets. They are so distant, but their music is so sweet. He starts up, he listens, he motions to death to wait awhile. But the French must make haste! Already the shades are closing in around him and his speech grows thick. All day the fort waits. When night falls, it shows signs of impatience. Will not this coming night be the last? will it not be wrapped in its lethal winding-sheet? The opening of the message that it sends is unintelligible, the rest already has the tone of a funeral oration--it speaks of its defenders in the past tense: