"Come along! Donnadieu, Trichet!..."
The ground sloped down towards the river. We were surprised by a strange, fetid smell in the air, which was oddly out of keeping with this harmonious countryside, gilded by the summer. We tried to make out what it was.
"Corpses!"
"And not French ones either!"
It was a fact that these grey forms lying in the grass were Germans—a regular hecatomb. Rows upon rows of dead bodies, which, in some places, we had to step over.... When had they fallen there? A day or two before no doubt. The men drew each other's attention to some ravens wheeling overhead or perched near by, croaking.
Pouah!
I thought of nothing but how to keep my nose covered. The men were less horrified, and seemed on the contrary interested, some of them almost amused. They were brutes, at heart, with no respect for anything!
Lamalou made a vile remark, revived from Sylla:
"It's Bosche. It smells good!"