I found my comrades of the first gun—Hutin, Millon, and Déprez—covered with mire and black with powder, their faces gaunt with weariness.
"Hallo!"
"Ah, Lintier!" said Hutin. "We've had a bad time of it to-day! I really don't know how it is we are still here!... I don't know.... Ask Millon...."
Millon nodded his head. He seemed at the end of his strength.
"Gratien is dead."
"Oh!"
"Killed as he was mounting his horse ... a small splinter in the spine. He didn't move.... A shell came right through the shield of the third gun without bursting.... And another fell not two yards off our trench!"
"Ah! That one did burst. We were badly shaken.... My hair and beard were singed."
"No one wounded?"