“Cuvelier, Edouard?”
“Yes; Edouard!”
“Of the 9th Cuirassiers?”
“That’s right: of the ‘9th Cuir’!”
M. Poisson goes out like a madman, followed by M. Perrin and myself. He goes to the mortuary, and he stands before the coffin, dribbles on his tunic, and says quite shortly:
“If it’s not Cuvelier, we have to begin all over again.”
Ah, sir! what a day it was!
The offensive was going on during that time. The dead were filling the place which had been reserved for them. But the very life of the service seemed to have been held up.
You have seen ships come to a stop in the middle of a river and holding up all the traffic? Well, this unknown corpse gave that impression. It was stranded right across our work and began to upset everything, beginning with the health of the unfortunate M. Poisson, who suggested taking sick leave.