The fusillade and the machine-guns joined in the concert. Who would guess what they reminded me of? The mock symphony with which Miquel had amused at the Globe Café.
It will be seen that I was far from feeling the same enervation as I had the other week. I had become a fatalist.... We knew all about being under fire. We had already been through it.
I should certainly have been badly bored without Guillaumin's precious and almost continual society. We began by discussing the situation at length. He maintained that it was not serious.
He passed on some of his serenity to me. His eyes shone when he said:
"And our poilus, what!"
"Admirable!"
He added:
"What a fine race they are!"
I wondered whether he was speaking of the French or the Beaucerons.