"Yes, yes," came faintly from the very tired voice.
"We shall win! The aggressive always wins!" declared Peterkin.
Then the redoubt shook with an explosion and their eyes were blinded with dust.
"I thought it was about time!" said the barber's son.
"Yes, the—!" snarled Pilzer.
The shell had struck some distance away from where they sat, and as the dust settled they heard the news of the result:
"One fellow had his arm broken and another had his head crushed."
"It'll keep us from working on the mine while we mend the breach," said the barber's son.
While the judge's son was telling the news, the colonel of the 128th and Captain Fracasse were eating their biscuits together and making occasional remarks rather than holding a conversation.
"Well, Westerling is a field-marshal," said the colonel.