econd, that our retreat was merely a
"mouvement strategique."

There was nothing doing at the Signal Office, so we went and had some
food--cold sausage and coffee. Our hostess was buxom and hilarious.
There was also a young girl about the place, Helene. She was of a middle
size, serious and dark, with a mass of black lustreless hair. She could
not have been more than nineteen. Her baby was put to bed immediately
we arrived. We loved them both, because they were the first women we had
met since Mons who had not wanted to know why we were retreating and had
not received the same answer--"mouvement strategique pour attaquer le
mieux." I had a long talk that night with Helene as she stood at her
door. Behind us the dark square was filled with dark sleeping soldiers,
the noise of snoring and the occasional clatter of moving horses.
Finally, I left her and went to sleep on the dusty boards of an attic in
the Chateau.

We were called when it was still dark and very cold (August 30). I was
vainly trying to warm myself at a feeble camp fire when the order came
to move off--without breakfast. The dawn was just breaking when we set
out--to halt a hundred yards or so along. There we shivered for half an
hour with nothing but a pipe and a scrap of chocolate that had got stuck
at the bottom of my greatcoat pocket. Finally, the motor-cyclists, to
their great relief, were told that they might go on ahead. The Grimers
and I cut across a country to get away from the column. We climbed an
immense hill in the mist, and proceeding by a devious route eventually
bustled into Attichy, where we found a large and dirty inn containing
nothing but some bread and jam. The column was scheduled to go ten
miles farther, but "the situation being favourable" it was decided to go
no farther. Headquarters were established by the roadside, and I was
sent off to a jolly village right up on the hill to halt some sappers,
and then back along the column to give the various units the names of
their billets.

We supped off the sizzling bacon and slept on the grass by the side of
the road. That night George burned his Rudge. It was an accident, but we
were none too sorry, for it had given much trouble. There were messages
right through the night. At one in the morning I was sent off to a
Chateau in the Forest of Compiegne. I had no map, and it was a pure
accident that I found my way there and back.

The next day (Aug. 31) was a joyous ride. We went up and dow