I suffer as though he had been my own brother.
That night, when the storm of fire has ceased, we try to search carefully through the darkness of the terrain where our missing men have fallen. Groans tells us that they are there, but in their fever and pain no one answers our calls.
At daybreak, at the risk of the bullets which still whistle above the trench, we are able to see them.
There he was scarcely twenty yards away, his large eyes open and looking towards us ... beyond us ... very far. But I know where!!!
The day begins quietly. Doubtless the enemy is meditating a revenge for yesterday’s surprise; not a shot on our side or on the other. It is the silence after the storm. I begin to hope for a sudden attack which will let us go out and bring back our wounded.
A man brings the letters with our morning coffee. There was one for him and I call and tell him. He answers with a sigh. I guess rather than hear what he wants.
“Read me the letter, very loud so I can hear it.” And in a voice which I force myself to make firm and almost joyous, while sobs choke me, I read this letter:
“My darling Papa:
“You did not expect a letter from me to-day for it’s not my usual day. I wanted to surprise you. To-morrow is mamma’s birthday. With the economies I made out of the allowance, I had my picture taken. I put on for the occasion her beautiful necklace and pretty red silk blouse which is so becoming to me. The neighbors already see how much I look like her.
“And that my little souvenir might be still more precious, I have copied on the back of the picture the song which you taught me when I was very small so that I could sing it before mamma’s portrait.