The Alsatian corporal, a typical poilu, still kept very close to his late prisoner, but there was an altogether different look in his eyes now.
"I should never have forgiven myself, mon lieutenant," he blurted out, as he slung his rifle behind his back and festooned himself with racket bombs. "I hope monsieur will bear me no ill will for my stupidity."
"It is nothing, my friend," said Dennis laughing. "A brave man should do what he thinks to be his duty, and you did yours. What is the distance to the enemy trench?"
"About a hundred metres, mon lieutenant," replied the corporal, "and uphill all the way. Voilà! There goes the signal!"
A low blast on a whistle, and the long grey-blue line went quickly forward among the trees, and jumped down into the deep excavation which wound like a dirty white ribbon along the outskirts of the wood.
The 75's were barking loudly in their rear, the shells now falling behind the enemy trench, the sandbags of which showed in an irregular line on the slope against the sunrise.
The liaison officer had come with them thus far, and was looking at his watch.
"Bon chance, lieutenant," he said. "Unhappily, I may only see the attack launched, but I hope this will not be our last meeting."
"My boys, it is time!" cried the commandant. "En avant!" And, climbing swiftly over their parapet, the active little poilus scampered up the hill through the yellow charlock.
Half-way up every man flung himself flat upon his face, and looking back, Dennis saw the second line coming over to their support. Again the whistle sounded, the little blue figures jumped up, scurrying like rabbits, and the machine-guns on the German trench opened fire.