Sans t’arrêter, noire et fumeuse,
Ma mitrailleuse.
Some of the men look at him in surprise, look at him and then begin to sing.
And this bruised troop, which had just lost half its effective strength, with its wounded men with their bloody bandages, their torn clothes, their arms in bits, filed by singing this heroic joyful song, expressing in their voices all their hopes and all their triumphs.
It defiled between lines of astonished men who stood respectful, stupefied at so much energy, so much fire and dash in the face of so much death.
In position before his staff, fingers together in the prescribed position of salute, a general stood with bared head, while the company marched by.
CHAPTER VII
EASTER EGGS
Easter—it fell on April twenty-third that year—dawned splendidly, a real day of gladsome spring.