heads, rose puffs of smoke--white, black, and yellow--the German
shells bursting. The noise of them was incessant, and the spot where
we were seemed to me very quiet, in spite of the firing of the two
batteries close behind us.

Everything was wonderfully coloured by the sunshine. The red trousers
of the soldiers, lying in the grass, showed up brightly. The mess-tins
on their knapsacks and the smallest metal objects--buttons,
bayonet-hilts, belt-buckles--glittered at every movement. On my left,
in a dip of ground with a little river running down it, a gay little
village seemed to be overflowing with troops. I rode towards it in
haste, hoping to find a Staff there which could give me some
information.

The streets were, in fact, full of infantry, lying about or sitting
along the houses on both sides. In the middle of the main road was a
crowd of galloping orderlies, cyclists and motor-cyclists. I felt
rather bewildered in all this bustle. However, these people seemed to
know where they were going. They were, no doubt, carrying orders or
information. And yet I could see no chief officer who appeared to be
busying himself about the action or directing anything. Those who
were not sleeping were chatting in little groups. The soldiers of
different arms were all mixed together, which had, perhaps, a
picturesque effect, but was disconcerting.

Suddenly I heard some one call me by my name. I turned round and
hesitated a moment before I recognised in an artillery captain with a
red beard, a former friend who had been a lieutenant in a horse
battery at Lunéville. Yes, it was he. I recognised him by his grey
eyes, his hooked nose, and his ringing voice.