"Tas de casse-geules!" rumbled Wildresse, and spat into the dust.
They crossed the pontoon, the troopers dismounting and leading their horses, then into the saddle again, across the river meadows, and so around to the lodge gates.
Across the road they were opening trenches for dead horses, and on the plateau hundreds of soldiers' graves were being dug.
Wildresse glanced at them askance, and his bull neck roughened with shivers as he thought of the quick-lime.
It was then that the first convulsive twitch jerked his face and left the right eye turned slightly outward in a sort of cast. After that something seemed to loosen in his cheek, and his jaw was inclined to sag unless controlled with conscious effort.
Fantassins on guard passed forward prisoner and escort with monotonous formulae; the sentry on the terrace summoned assistance; a staff officer came; two line soldiers arrived later, halted, fixed bayonets, and loaded their pieces.
Half a dozen staff officers in the music room rose and stepped aside, opening a lane to the table where General of Division Raoul Delisle sat at the telephone. A cool-eyed major of dragoons relieved him of the apparatus; the General turned and looked up at Wildresse.
"You are Constantine Wildresse?"
"Yes, General."
"Otherwise Constantine Volmark?"