"Well," he continued, "I've got a man from his part of the world, from Neuville. He wrote a letter to the wife, who is just starting a new baby, to tell her that her husband had been pinked—in case he had not been able to let her know—but that it was nothing serious, and that he would keep her informed!"
Guillaumin now described the arrival of the baggage-master, in the farmyard the other day (I had missed this scene), and the distribution of the letters and cards. Some of them had wept. Others hid themselves to kiss the humble note-paper.
What a singular state of mind! I considered these men around me lying about like a lot of animals, their filthy faces, and obtuse foreheads and dull looks. Bouillon, Gaudéreaux, Judsi, did they dream? Yes.... Perhaps there were visions of children and wives wandering behind the brute-like masks! For the first time I was drawn to them by a brotherly instinct.
I hazarded: "And yet it must be sad to leave some one behind...."
That started Guillaumin off; he was in an eloquent mood. He recognised the agonising character of these wars, which involved in the struggle, not mercenaries, as in olden days, nor even soldiers by profession, volunteers free of all ties, but the living substance of the nations, this youth incapable of breaking the chains of blood and of love at parting. For each man in danger here, how many alarms there would be yonder in the hearts of wives and mothers! What reverberation of despair involved in each agony!
But also what consolation to feel that one was not fighting uniquely for pay or for glory, but for the safety of one's country! For what was one's country but places and people, all that one held dear? Woman above everything! Woman! All that was contained in that word! The sublime exchange of encouragement. Betrothed and wives, they all understood their rôle equally well. This cause was theirs. They had sobbed at the departure of their loved ones, but most of them had made no effort to keep them, but had only prayed Heaven to bring them back victorious.
He warmed to his subject. I listened, and approved. What a noble character he was, and what an hour in which to work upon these thoughts! The din of the battle redoubled. We caught sight of some wounded not very far away dragging themselves to the high road. Henriot signed to us. Shells were falling on a little wood less than a kilometre away from us. We were going to be engaged. I paid homage to a dear vision within me....
Guillaumin cited some examples: Poor little Frémont. He had talked to him a long time, the day before Mangiennes, about Françoise, his sweet Françoise. It was to her that he offered all the privation and weariness, for her sake that he gave proof of such a confident, charming spirit. And De Valpic! Guillaumin suspected him of holding out even when ill, in the touching and feverish longing to prove his valiance to someone....
He suddenly lowered his voice: