Burette, the quartermaster, spent three months in the heavy artillery. He is an enthusiast on horses, but his equestrian ability is far from equaling his love for it. His style produces many falls, but they don’t discourage him.
I wake up Saux, who gets up dizzily. Is he half drunk, I ask myself. That’s not like him at all.
“Look, Saux, what’s the matter?”
But Saux leaned against the partition, searching for the door with his haggard eyes. He dashed outside seized by nausea. The noise woke up Burette, and he too got up with difficulty.
“Say, what have you two been up to?”
“Oh, mon pauvre vieux, I don’t know, but I’m sick.”
“The fact is there is considerable of an odor here; you might have found a better....”
The horses are troubled by it, too. Kiki jumps about and paws furiously. Burette’s and Saux’s horses are sleeping heavily and their breathing is difficult and oppressive.
There’s something wrong somewhere, although the enemy hasn’t sent over any gas.