All day long the guns thundered and roared, and all day long I sat
outside the cafe of the Hotel des Voyageurs in the Place de la Gare. The
station building was right in front of me. I longed for a position which
would enable me to see over the tall buildings on to the battlefield
beyond. Even the roof of the station would have suited. There was a
little crowd of officials already there with their field glasses, and
they could discern what was going on, for I noticed several pointing
here and there whenever a particularly loud explosion was heard.
Two men in civilian clothes sat down beside me and gave me "good day,"
evidently curious as to my nationality. I invited them to join me in
coffee and cognac, and during the ensuing conversation we all became
very friendly, and I was given to understand that one of them was the
volunteer driver of an auto-mitrailleuse who had just come off duty.
I remarked that it would be very interesting to get a sight of what was
going on behind the station.
"Is it very near--the battle?"
"About five kilometers, Monsieur. The German guns are ten kilometers
distant. One of the German shells exploded behind the station this
morning. Would Monsieur like to walk out a little way?"
"But surely the pickets will not let me pass beyond the barrier," said
I.
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