“It’s my opinion, gentlemen, that the Germans, who obviously wanted to furnish the music for our meal, should know that we’ve finished”—and he lighted his cigar and went out on the steps.
The neighborhood was badly shattered indeed. Large holes blocked the street; the artillery observatory had been hit by a well-aimed shell, had fallen on a shed and crushed it. Immense craters had appeared here and there in the garden and the whole front of the house was splashed with steel.
The enemy’s fire was letting up; it had almost ceased.
Heads now appeared at the air-holes of the cellars trying to see what had happened.
We followed the commander along the main street which led to the dressing post. An aeroplane in the azure sky, a small silver bird shining in the sun, went on its giddy way.
With our noses in the air, we watched it pass. The whistle of a shell approached with a noise like a panting locomotive.
“There’s the last.”
A frightful crash, a cloud of greenish smoke, bricks and timbers fall ... cries....
The villa we had just left re-appeared with a large yawning hole, its walls burning and fallen apart. The last shell had fallen into the dining room!
His courage and coolness were not calculated or put on; they were not an effort of the will. They were natural.