He was seated on a staircase, with his head leaning on his clenched fists. He had listened to the whole song, and now he remained for a moment as if waiting. And when he stood up his eyes were slightly red and his lips concealed under a smile the impress of intense emotion.
“It is good,” he said, “very beautiful, my friends, and I congratulate you all. Your song is admirable, it will go with us everywhere, and we will lead it to victory. But who is the author? There must be an author. The devil, there must be an author!”
There was a moment of silence as if each one hesitated to reply, but a big sergeant cried out in a stentorian voice:
“A ban for the author, Lieutenant Delpos, and a couplet for him besides.”
Then the men broke all alignment, pressed around their young sub-lieutenant, joyous, proud and blushing with pleasure, weeping with joy, and burst out at the top of their lungs, with indescribable feeling, which showed all their strength, their will for victory and their unbreakable confidence:
Et comme nous elle attendra
Le grand jour qui déclanchera
L’offensive victorieuse,
Ma mitrailleuse.
Poursuivant le bandit germain,