How set he was on doing away with himself! At the inquest, a letter which had been discovered established the fact that the only motive for this act had been ... fear. Yes, simply the stupid fear of going to the front.... Poor wretch. What a fine funeral ovation they gave him. Good-for-nothing, rotter, and funk were the mildest terms employed. If he had accounted for a Bosche, his skin would have been of some use. * * * * * On the fourth day, Friday, the order arrived in the morning to assemble for field-parade. Guillaumin was triumphant. "There now, you see! Didn't I tell you so? They're coming all right--even to us!" The men were taking their valises. And what about us; no, we agreed not to. We started off. A fig for marching at attention! That was not expected of us. We followed the railway lines. A train was just passing, the carriages decorated with flowers. Soldiers were laughing at the windows. The 104th Argentan. "Halloa, you chaps! Wait for us! We're going on foot to have a look at the Bosches!" Judsi shouted. We halted farther on in a field by the roadside. Suddenly a whistle was blown, and the word was passed round that the captain was there! In the twinkling of an eye we were formed up again and got into line as well as might be. Delafosse, the first lieutenant, gave the order: "Present ... arms!" Captain Ribet rode up, mounted on a beautiful grey mare. He was a tall spare man with a crisp moustache and very bright eyes. An ex-officer in the regulars; we knew he had retired when quite young after having won the _légion d'honneur_. He saluted, and without any preliminaries pointed imperiously at the first section. "Skirmishing order," he shouted. We had about fifty yards to cover at a double. "Kneel!" We knelt down. "Advance!" We stood erect, and then immediately had to operate a change of front. The words of command and evolutions followed each other in rapid and varied succession. The captain gave the order and looked on coldly at the execution of it without uttering a word. We all lacked enthusiasm but it did not go badly, all the same. Our covering sergeants knew what they were about, and Henriot slipped in the necessary explanations. I acquitted myself passably in my thankless rôle of supernumerary. The men charged and deployed, and then returned to their first formation, their movements facilitated by their long experience in former days. During the short intervals of respite, reflections were heard: "How's that for manoeuvres!" "We are having a dose." At last arms were piled and while the men amused themselves by pulling out pipes or chunks of bread, the captain blew his whistle again. "The non-commissioned officers!" The first thing he did was to find fault with us. "Why haven't you got your valises?" The subaltern opened his mouth.... "That will do. We'll consider it as said!" He had a few words of praise for the way we drilled.