I am just about to start writing in my room, when suddenly, a boche shell explodes some place in the house.
A loud detonation—smoke—shell fragments and debris strike around me—a little dust on my uniform—that's all——
A horrible cry comes from the ground floor—I descend in jumps——
Our corporal-secretary lies in a pool of blood, gravely wounded in the thigh.
The "little fellow," shod in his sandals which he never has off, is already at his side. He believed it was I that was struck. With him I carry the wounded corporal into the kitchen where Simyan, the king of cooks and cowards, turns white with fear on seeing us enter——
AN IDEA OF JEAN GOUIN,[12] BEFORE ST. GEORGES.
August, 1915.
Just now Reymond and I are sharing breakfast in a first-line trench——
Richard in the midst of his comrades.