What luck to end this nightmare. One is sad, however, for the others who come to take your place.
The Eparges soil is red—our uniforms of horizon blue, dirty and covered with this mud, appear tinted with blood.
A sad array. We all have a dejected mien. Several of us will not come back.
Four poilus are carrying one of our wounded. They advance carefully. Night has fallen and the lingering red shadows disappear from the heavens, one after the other, darkening our march.
We meet General Renaux, commanding the Division, who comes to inspect the sector.
Contemplating us dolefully, he said:
"My poor children, what a state you are in!"
"General," replied a poilu, straightening, "that is nothing. It is we—the men of BRONZE!"
MAJOR HÉLY'S VISIT, EPARGES.
December, 1915.