We were in full harness in no time. I went out. I came across Henriot and asked him. "Are we really off?" "Yes, yes." "Any news?" "Hm! I've just had a talk with a subaltern who's come down from the Woevre." "From what part exactly?" "Flirey." The name struck me. I remembered having heard it in my father's mouth. "Is he still there, the subaltern you mentioned?" "I think so; yes, look there!" I caught sight of the silhouette of a cavalry officer. I went up to him spurred on by a singular presentiment. "I hear you've been near Flirey during the last few days, sir...." "Exactly." I tried to make out his regimental number. "Did you by any chance come across the 161st?" "Rather! I was attached to them for rations for three days!" I hesitated. "You don't happen to remember a Lieutenant Dreher?" He repeated: "Dreher?" "Yes." "A big fair fellow; a good-looking chap?" "Yes." "His picket was surprised. He was killed!" "No!" "Excuse me; I saw him being carried away. He had a bullet in his head. Did you know him, Sergeant?" _BOOK V_ _August 12th-13th_ CHAPTER VI ON THE WAY TO THE FIRING LINE My brother! My brother killed! I went off, without a word in reply, and lost myself in the darkness. I was stupefied. My brother killed! I was on the point of fainting. And then, in a few minutes, I regained my control. I had the impression of having advanced a stage; of an awakening. Finished, and done with my rôle as on-looker in all these things. No more detached, distant pity for me like that with which I had been inspired by those dying men just now. How my blood rushed through my veins. I conjured up a vision of my brother alive, leading his men. I saw him totter and fall. They picked him up, stone dead! With a hole through his forehead! That was the end. There was no more to be done but to make the sign of the cross over all that remained of him! Henriot passed me again, buckling the strap of his revolver. He asked me casually: "Well, did you speak to him?" I was on the point of saying to him. "My brother ... you know, my brother." But a feeling of shyness prevented me, the idea of confiding in anyone was repugnant to me.... Guillaumin appeared in his turn, his képi worn square; I did not say anything to him either: the idea of forcedly conventional phrases sickened me. We formed into platoons. Roll-call. Nobody missing in our lot. The men were joking in spite of our instructions. Judsi's nasal intonations could be distinguished. "Halloa, Loriot, you old rotter, you going to march? Didn't the M.O. recognise you?" Each one's a bigger fool than the last! Loriot shrugged his shoulders. Corporal Donnadieu was the only one who looked thoughtful and absorbed. An agriculturalist, with delicate features, and a sandy moustache; I liked him for his conscientiousness and zeal. He suddenly turned to me, and said in a whisper: "So we're going up to the front, you think, Sergeant?" "I believe so." "Already?" "Already."