Suddenly, over there, toward the German lines, a rifle shot broke the stillness of the night, followed by the well-known machine-gun serenade; immediately rockets, star shell and the artillery came to life——
Reymond rises, standing very stiff and straight.
"Ah, hang it! The poor devil must be shot to pieces——"
Our own cannon begin to mix in the fray. Reymond decides to send some men after the others. He is visibly concerned about our soldiers and is on the verge of going himself.
Just then the poilu stands before him for the third time, saluting respectfully:
"Captain—I have killed him!"
And he said it with a kind of accent that made a shiver run down the spine.
The sky commences to resolve itself into long yellow and gray stripes—ah, Flanders!—ah, Flanders!——
SIGNS ALONG THE YSER, BEFORE ST. GEORGES.
May, 1915.