The rest at last reach the top of the rise; and just at that moment the lieutenant cries in a clear and heartrending voice:
"Good-by, my lads!"
We see him fall, and he is carried away by the survivors around him.
From the summit we go a few steps down the other side, and lie on the ground in silence. Some one asks, "The lieutenant?"
"He's dead."
"Ah," says the soldier, "and how he said good-by to us!"
We breathe a little now. We do not think any more unless it be that we are at last saved, at last lying down.
Some engineers fire star-shells, to reconnoiter the state of things in the ground we have evacuated. Some have the curiosity to risk a glance over it. On the top of the first hill—where our guns were—the big dazzling plummets show a line of bustling excitement. One hears the noises of picks and of mallet blows.
They have stopped their advance and are consolidating there. They are hollowing their trenches and planting their network of wire—which will have to be taken again some day. We watch, outspread on our bellies, or kneeling, or sitting lower down, with our empty rifles beside us.
Margat reflects, shakes his head and says:—