Call us beaten men? Nonsense! About-to-be victors!
Only one thing worried me. The almost empty cartridge-pouches.
Just then we unexpectedly came across the train of company waggons. We halted, and while the replenishment was going on, our men slanged the drivers roundly. Slackers who had not been able, or had not wanted, to find us!
As for me, I looked for Playoust, determined that he should pay for some of his delinquencies. But at the sound of his name a corporal looked up:
"A sergeant of that name?"
"Exactly."
"Well, he didn't last long!"
"What?"
"He was killed yesterday morning, just as we left Nanteuil. We hardly saw him as a matter of fact. A shell splinter."
"You don't mean it!" I said, astounded.