Suddenly, as we reached the market-place, we saw a group of three dismounted Chasseurs emerging from an alley that ran down steeply to the Marne.  They belonged to F.’s troop.  Two of them were supporting the third, whom we at once recognised.  It was Laurent, a fine fellow, and a favourite with the whole squadron.  It went to our hearts to see him.  His left eye was nothing but a red patch, from which blood was flowing freely, drenching his clothing.  He was moaning softly and, blinded by the blood, allowed himself to be led like a child.  The corporal with him explained:  “A bullet went in just over his eye.  I don’t know if the eye itself was hit.”

The Captain sprang off his horse.  “Cheer up, Laurent, it shall be attended to at once.  Perhaps it will be nothing, my man.  Come with me, we will take you to the Red Cross ambulance close by.”

Then between his groans the wounded man said a thing I shall not easily forget:  “Mon Capitaine, ... haven’t they taken away their guns yet?”

He still took an interest in the battle.  I heard afterwards that F. had sighted the German guns, and that the fire of his troop had been directed upon them.  Laurent would have liked to hear that they had been driven away.  He was carried off to the ambulance.  I went on towards the bridge; the cannon and rifle fire still raged fiercely, but none of the shots reached the bank where we were.  We had to repeat the trying process of crossing the swaying bridge by fours at walking pace.  I led off with four troopers.  It was not so tedious this time, as my eyes were distracted by the view of the green meadows on the opposite side.

The Colonel had disposed the brigade in such a way that he could concentrate his fire upon the bridge and the opposite bank in case we could not maintain our position there.  A squadron on our left, concealed in a sand quarry, was directing its fire upon the heights where the German artillery was posted.  Both up and down stream the Chasseurs d’Afrique lined the river banks, making use of every scrap of cover.  Peeping out over trunks of fallen trees, banks, and ditches inquisitive heads could be seen wearing the khaki taconnet.  But my troubles were not yet over.  Just as I was going to step ashore from the bridge, Captain D. brought me the Colonel’s orders to recross the river with my whole squadron and occupy a clump of houses to the left of the bridge.  It was evidently a wise precaution.  Although no firing had come from this direction, it was quite possible that some of the enemy might have slipped through the woods that come half-way down the slopes.  But I did not expect such a bad time as I was going to have.