No sooner had I gained the further slope than I understood that what I had seen hitherto was only the background of the battle.  From this spot a violent rifle fire was heard in every direction.  In the meadows were a large number of infantry sections crouching behind every available bit of cover.  On the opposite slope long lines of skirmishers were deployed.  And dotted about everywhere, above their 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 Luneville.  Yes, it was he.  I recognised him by his grey eyes, his hooked nose, and his ringing voice.

“Eh, mon cher! What are you doing here?  You look fresh and fit!...  What are you looking for?  You seem to be at sea.”

I explained my position to him, and asked him to tell me what had happened.

“Oh! that would take too long.  Your fellows were at Charleroi with us; they had some experiences!  But hang it if I know what they are doing with us.  We beat them yesterday, my friend.  Our men and our guns did wonders.  And now there’s talk of our retreating further south.  I don’t understand it all.  Ah! we have seen some hot work, and you will make a rough beginning....  Looking for your regiment, are you?  I haven’t seen it yet to-day.  But you see that Staff right over there behind those stacks?...  Yes, where those shells are bursting....  That’s General T. He can help you; only, you see, he’s not exactly in clover.  T. has been splendid; always under fire, cheering on his men.  They say he wants to get killed so as not to see the retreat....”