What a dinner! The oysters and champagne are the best. Oyster forks in this region made us all think—Ménard had a Prince Albert coat on over his uniform. Where did he get it? Mystery!
There is singing, laughing. They become grave when speaking of the comrades who are no more——
From time to time the ruffled form of one of our poilus passes out the door. They know we have not forgotten them. They carry a bottle, a pâté, or a box of cigars—and so the fête extends even to the advanced posts of the first line.
From the listening post to-morrow they will throw oyster shells at German heads. What faces they will make. Surely they will place them in their geological museum at Berlin.
The flowers on the table, a fantasy of color, cause some to weep with emotion. We have the most profound respect for them: "How come you here in the center of death and destruction—you come to us from the warm, beautiful countryside——"
I glance at my friends, Berthet, Blanc, Grabinski, the brave Grab, Flament, the doctor, and the staunch face of my captain——
We speak of the great Emperor and compare our army with his—How proud he would be of our poilus! What would he have done if he had had airplanes?
The time for champagne has come; Gunther drinks to all: the infantry, artillery, engineers, and the absent comrades. His voice trembles with emotion—"High Hearts! The road will be yet long. France has her eyes on us! Our lives belong to her. We will be happy to give them. If we are killed our children will be proud of us!"
In my turn, I speak to them of the Eparges—At this anniversary I feel the blood of my ancestors tingling in my veins, because I am a great grandson of a veteran of the First Empire.
I drink to Eparges, for each one of its letters is the beginning of a word representing the military virtues we must practice here: