A new and formidable detonation put the subtle metre of rhyme out of his head; discouraged, he tried another:
"Croyez pas que je moralise,
Si je vous envoie ces bobards,
C'est que notre mess analyse
Ce soir la question du hasard..."
Another shell fell so close that the colonel got up suddenly.
"They are beginning to bombard the château again," he said. "I am going to see where that one fell."
Major Parker and the doctor followed him into the street, but Aurelle, who was again rhyming, stayed with the padre, who had just begun the same patience for the fourteenth time that evening. The three officers had gone about a hundred yards when another explosion took place behind them.
"That one was not far from the Mess," said the doctor. "I am going to tell Madame to go down into the cellar."
He retraced his steps and found a new shell-hole in front of the house. The house seemed all right; through the broken window the doctor saw the padre and called out to him:
"A near thing that time, padre. Are you all right? Where is Aurelle?"
But the padre did not move: with his head leaning on his arms crossed over the scattered cards, he appeared to be gazing vaguely at the doctor, who entered at a bound and touched the padre on the shoulder.
He was dead. A piece of shell had entered his temple, which was bleeding slowly. Aurelle had fallen on the floor. He was unconscious and covered with blood, but the doctor, bending over him, found that he still breathed. As he was unfastening his tunic and shirt, the colonel and Parker arrived with their measured tread and stopped abruptly at the door.