"My brother ... you know, my brother."
But a feeling of shyness prevented me, the idea of confiding in anyone was repugnant to me.... Guillaumin appeared in his turn, his képi worn square; I did not say anything to him either: the idea of forcedly conventional phrases sickened me.
We formed into platoons. Roll-call. Nobody missing in our lot.
The men were joking in spite of our instructions. Judsi's nasal intonations could be distinguished.
"Halloa, Loriot, you old rotter, you going to march? Didn't the M.O. recognise you?"
Each one's a bigger fool than the last!
Loriot shrugged his shoulders.
Corporal Donnadieu was the only one who looked thoughtful and absorbed. An agriculturalist, with delicate features, and a sandy moustache; I liked him for his conscientiousness and zeal. He suddenly turned to me, and said in a whisper:
"So we're going up to the front, you think, Sergeant?"
"I believe so."