CHAPTER X.
THE WALLS At daybreak there was a stop, and they said to us, "You're there." We got out, yawning, our teeth chattering, and grimy with night, on to a platform black-smudged by drizzling rain, in the middle of a sheet of mist which was torn by blasts of distant whistling.

Disinterred from the carriages, our shadows heaped themselves there and waited, like bales of goods in the dawn's winter.
Adjutant Marcassin, who had gone in quest of instructions, returned at last.

"It's that way." He formed us in fours.

"Forward! Straighten up! Keep step! Look as if you had something about you." The rhythm of the step pulled at our feet and dovetailed us together.
The adjutant marched apart along the little column.

Questioned by one of us who knew him intimately, he made no reply.