Then he hummed an air of the camps:
Trou là là, ça ne va guère;
Trou là là, ça ne va pas.
When he heard steps inside Henri went back to the ambulance. He got in and drove it, lights and all, down the street.
Trou là là, ça ne va guère;
Trou là là, ça ne va pas.
Somewhere down the road beyond the poplar trees he abandoned the ambulance. They found it there the next morning, or rather what was left of it. Evidently its two unwinking eyes had got on the Germans' nerves.
Early the next morning a Saxon regiment, standing on the firing step ready for what the dawn might bring forth, watched the mist rise from the water in front of them. It shone on a body in a Belgian uniform, lying across their wire, and very close indeed.
Now the Saxons are not Prussians, so no one for sport fired at the body. Which was rather a good thing, because it moved slightly and stirred. And then in a loud voice, which is an unusual thing for bodies to possess, it began to sing: