yourselves. Keep under cover. If the General sees you in the street,
he will have you put to fatigues at once. He must not see a single
soldier. Stay where you are all day in your quarters. Do what you
like as long as no one sees you--no one!"

We go back into the barn.

* * * * * *

Two o'clock. It is three hours yet, and then it will be totally
dark, before one may risk going outside without being punished.

Shall we sleep while waiting? Fouillade is sleepy no longer; the
hope of wine has shaken him up. And then, if one sleeps in the day,
he will not sleep at night. No! To lie with your eyes open is worse
than a nightmare. The weather gets worse; wind and rain increase,
without and within.

Then what? If one may not stand still, nor sit down, nor lie down,
nor go for a stroll, nor work--what?

Deepening misery settles on the party of benumbed and tired
soldiers. They suffer to the bone, nor know what to do with their
bodies. "Nom de Dieu, we're badly off!" is the cry of the
derelicts--a lamentation, an appeal for help.

Then by instinct they give themselves up to the only occupation
possible to them in there--to walk up and down on the spot, and thus
ward off anchylosis.