Out in the centre of the Court, grouped almost motionlessly, were the men who waited to receive their honours.
We could see our Gégène, standing up very tall and straight among them.
"Isn't he nice?" I said to Madame Marthe, "Isn't he nice?"
But Madame Marthe was crying—funny little tears, and her nose very red. "Oh!" she said, "Oh, what will happen when that man with the gold braid comes to Gégène? He will speak to Gégène, and Gégène cannot answer! He will hold out his hand to Gégène, and Gégène will not be able to take it!"
We clutched each other in panic, and then the music broke out into all the splendour of the Marseillaise.
Empty Memories
Seventeen months after the day when he went out for the first time, he was killed beside his mitrailleuse.
He had been home in the meanwhile twice on leave, and there had been nothing changed. He had won many honours, and she supposed the other woman had been proud of him. For herself she had seen him very little and always pleasantly. She was glad now that it had been only pleasantly.
But it was the day of that first August, the day of his first going, that one day, that one hour, she kept living again and again through. It kept being present with her, curiously.