As we are going back, two strollers come up--Carassus and Cheyssier.
They announce that mess-man Pepere is going to the
rear, to be sent to a Territorial regiment, having come under the
operation of the Dalbiez Act.

"That's a hint for Blaire," says Carassus, who has a funny big nose
in the middle of his face that suits him ill.

In the village groups of poilus go by, or in twos, joined by the
crossing bonds of converse. We see the solitary ones unite in
couples, separate, then come together again with a new inspiration
of talk, drawn to each other as if magnetized.

In the middle of an excited crowd white papers are waving. It is the
newspaper hawker, who is selling for two sous papers which should be
one sou. Fouillade is standing in the middle of the road, thin as
the legs of a hare. At the corner of a house Paradis shows to the
sun face pink as ham.

Biquet joins us again, in undress, with a jacket and cap of the
police. He is licking his chops: "I met some pals and we've had a
drink. You see, to-morrow one starts scratching again, and cleaning
his old rags and his catapult. But my greatcoat!--going to be some
job to filter that! It isn't a greatcoat any longer--it's
armor-plate."

Montreuil, a clerk at the office, appears and hails Biquet: "Hey,
riff-raff! A letter! Been chasing you an hour. You're never to be
found, rotter!"