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During the night the air was heavy, and I wakened every hour in spite of my great fatigue, but my comrades slept on, some talking in their sleep. Buche did not stir.
Close at hand, on the edge of the forest, our stacked muskets sparkled in the moonlight. In the distance on the left I could hear the "Qui vive,"[1] and on our front the "Wer da. "[2] Nearer to us, our sentinels stood motionless, up to their waists in the standing grain.