He went on to the next. It was done on purpose. Here, a shoulder strap had come unsewn, there one or two buttons missing, this képi had no chin-strap, that bayonet was rusty, a certain rifle was not properly cleaned. Where was the lantern belonging to No. 11 half-section? And the camp gear! It was quite clear that it had been badly distributed. The captain dropped straight on to the weak spot and emphasised it coldly.
When the non-commissioned officers were collected afterwards, he gave vent to his feelings.
"It's lucky we're not going off this evening! That would be a nice state of affairs! No. 3 platoon is a positive disgrace! I am speaking of section No. 2! Sergeant Dreher, at one o'clock I shall inspect your half-sections and I can assure you that if anything goes wrong this time!" He twirled his long moustache. I was frightfully annoyed. What irritated me above everything was the ironical satisfaction shown by several of my fellow N.C.O.'s; I tried to excuse myself.
"It was my day on duty, sir!"
But Ravelli interrupted:
"Oh, it was you, was it? I wondered who it could be.... You never turned up."
I was filled with a wild desire to fall upon my corporals, but Bouguet was waiting for me, bristling with rage. Ready to bite his head off I turned upon Donnadieu, who put on a vexed, sheepish expression.
I swore at the men roundly, in the approved N.C.O. style. Did they think they could snap their fingers at me? Getting me cursed like that! So they weren't even capable of appearing in service marching order? So jolly difficult, wasn't it?