Again the mumbling, guiding whisper.
“Oui—oui!” came sobbing, gasping, in response.
So I heard the whispers, the priest’s whispers, and the stertorous choke, the feeble, wailing, rebellious wailing in response. He was being forced into it. Forced into acceptance. Beaten into submission, beaten into resignation.
“Oui, oui” came the protesting moans. “Ah, oui!”
It must be dawning upon him now. Capolarde is making him see.
“Oui! Oui!” The choking sobs reach me. “Ah, mon Dieu, oui!” Then very deep, panting, crying breaths:
“Dieu—je—vous—donne—ma—vie—librement—pour—ma—patrie!”
“Librement! Librement! Ah, oui! Oui!” He was beaten at last. The choking, dying, bewildered man had said the noble words.
“God, I give you my life freely for my country!”
After which came a volley of low toned Latin phrases, rattling in the stillness like the popping of a mitrailleuse.