"Mon lieutenant, one evening I was hungry...."
"Better and better! If the men begin to eat their reserve supplies whenever they are hungry, there will be no army left!"
That evening we laughingly relate the incident to Belin. Being an old soldier, he cannot get over it.
"Eat one's reserve supplies without orders! If he had been in the Foreign Legion he would have received eight days' prison for every biscuit missing. The lieutenant was right.... You have your dozen biscuits and two tins, at all events?"
"Of course, don't make such a fuss."
Belin makes a friendly review to assure himself of the fact.
Thin and sharp-featured, his capote well brushed and stretched, and the lower part of his trousers rolled inside his leggings, Belin exhibits subtle poisings of his body and impressive movements of his arm as he points to the sky. He knows how to shout out the "Hô Mohâmed!" the rallying cry intended to reach the ears of the comrade who has gone astray.
The ways and manners of civilians in warfare baffle him considerably. Roberty would say to him—
"Strange how much you lack understanding of Parisian humour and fun."
Belin, however, is a brave fellow, he has travelled, read, and fought a great deal. Though we pay him a certain deference, we are very fond of him.