knew it--his whispered confidence to me that
evening, and up to his death he kept the horrible affair sacred to
himself, with tenacious bashfulness. So we see Farfadet continuing to
live his airy existence with the living likeness of that fair hair,
which he only leaves for the scarce monosyllables of his contact with
us. Corporal Bertrand has still the same soldierly and serious mien
among us; he is always ready with his tranquil smile to answer all
questions with lucid explanations, to help each of us to do his duty.

We are chatting as of yore, as not long since. But the necessity of
speaking in low tones distinguishes our remarks and imposes on them a
lugubrious tranquillity.

* * * * *

Something unusual has happened. For the last three months the sojourn
of each unit in the first-line trenches has been four days. Yet we have
now been five days here and there is no mention of relief. Some rumors
of early attack are going about, brought by the liaison men and those
of the fatigue-party that renews our rations every other night--without
regularity or guarantee. Other portents are adding themselves to the
whispers of offensive--the stopping of leave, the failure of the post,
the obvious change in the officers, who are serious and closer to us.
But talk on this subject always ends with a shrug of the shoulders; the
soldier is never warned what is to be done with him; they put a bandage
on his eyes, and only remove it at the last minute. So, "We shall
see."--"We can only wait."

We detach ourselves from the tragic event foreboded. Is this because of
the impossibility of a complete understanding, or a despondent
unwillingness to decipher those orders that are sealed letters to us,
or a lively faith that one will pass through the peril once more?
Always, in spite of the premonitory signs and the prophecies that seem
to be coming true, we fall back automatically upon the cares of the
moment and absorb ourselves in them--hunger, thirst, the lice whose
crushing ensanguines all our nails, the great weariness that saps us
all.

"Seen Joseph this morning?" says Volpatte. "He doesn't look very grand,
poor lad."

"He'll do something daft, certain sure. He's as good as a goner, that
lad, mind you. First chance he has he'll jump in front of a bullet. I
can see he will."

"It'd give any one the pip for the rest of his natural. There were six
brothers of 'em, you know; four of 'em killed; two in Als