We passed on, but could hear her apostrophising the platoons and companies behind us: "You won't stop them!" Her monotonous imprecation possessed our minds for a long time. The night fell, but we marched on and on. What a day's march this was, too. Having had a meal we managed to hold out. We advanced without thinking and yet what extraordinary sights we came across. The enormous column of fugitives was trailing along this roadway too. This time we were going up-stream, pushing northwards from Étain. But what were these soldiers scattered among the heart-breaking band. The moon was beginning to shine. We caught sight of uniforms, at first isolated, then in groups--all the troops mixed, and the ranks, too, apparently.... The strange thing was that it never occurred to us to ask what they were all doing or where they were going.... A few details only struck us. Why so many foot-sloggers on horseback? This problem worried Guillaumin. He sounded me several times. "Mounted scouts, do you think?" I answered drowsily: "Of course!" We advanced in silence, mechanically keeping our intervals, our columns of four. No more peasants, and only an infinitesimal number of civilians drifted down-stream now. The crowd was swelling though. Transports and teams followed each other, rolling along, slipping and sliding. They were all military-limbered waggons, forage waggons, ambulance waggons, munition waggons, a sutler's van. Battery after battery--an extraordinary state of confusion. Here were mud-crushers whipping horses, some of which fell, there hussars on foot, dragging their worn-out beasts along. We passed companies lying in the shade of the ditch, and envied them. There had been no halt for us for two hours at least. We had just climbed a hill; I was marching with half-closed eyes. Guillaumin nudged me: "Heavens above!" I opened my eyes. A large stretch of country lay before us, a dark undulating plain enamelled with monstrous glares. I turned towards my companion. "Villages!" he murmured. Burning! That woke us up. We slowed down bewildered. Bouillon said: "Pore wretches, that's w'y they was doin' a bolt!" I counted the fires. Two to the right of the road, one of which seemed quite near, and had high flames shooting up, which cast a glow all round. Three to the left, and right in front of us at the axis of our march, a huge conflagration. Spincourt? I had heard that name. The guns were growling sullenly. I tried to work, myself up to a generous pitch of fury. These hamlets in flame, this blood-stained earth, was my France, my Lorraine! But I was like a disconnected electric current. We were told to lie down in the ditch where we slept. But not for long. We were made to get up and retire a little, and lie down again--we slept once more--then we returned to our first site. We obeyed without grousing, and this time the rest was more worth having. We dozed until daybreak.