At the back near the altar a small lantern lightens the darkness ... we approach.
On the ruined harmonium, forever silent now, “Father Music” sleeps....
CHAPTER XII
“WE HAVE TAKEN A PICKET POST”
(“Communique du”)
The asphyxiating shells which have been falling around us for forty-eight hours without a let-up have ceased. This morning the first rays of the sun filtered through the layers of gas and seemed to evaporate them. This lull was opportune. Our masks have long since been glued to our faces, and loosened by our heavy breathing they no longer adhere hermetically and begin to let in the toxins.
At last we are able to breathe at will and swallow our share of pure air.
Our sap opens on the side of a great quarry and commands the whole valley of the Somme. At our feet is the canal and towpath, at the right in a group of trees in the middle of the marshes are the ruins of Froissy; opposite us, behind the buttress of the La Vache woods, is the steeple of Éclusier.