"I hope not," agreed Earl. "It always costs the attacker more."
The strain of the fight let down and a reaction set in. The ground was strewn with the dead and dying and the moans of the wounded were anything but pleasant to hear. During the fight every man nerves himself to face whatever comes; afterwards there is sometimes a complete swing to the other extreme.
Arms and legs stuck out from heaps of earth. Dead men lay all around; blood was on everything. Nauseating odors filled the air. Suddenly from a spot directly behind Earl came a sound that made his blood run cold.
Lippen, the soldier who had fought so valiantly in the château, suddenly sprang to his feet. He uttered a wild, hideous, hysterical laugh and seizing an arm that protruded from the trench in front of him he hurled it far out over the battlefield.
He shrieked raucously and then suddenly sat down and began to sob. His companions gazed at him a moment in surprise and then in pity.
"What is it, Jacques?" demanded Earl. "What ails him?"
"He's crazy," said Jacques quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"He's gone insane; his nerves are shattered."
Lippen sat and sobbed; now and again he raised his head and gazed about him and the look in his eyes showed that all his reason had departed.