"I was all right. Never would those people suspect that I would risk my life to save dead bodies. So I had the joy of getting them all back—there were sixty-seven. And can you believe it, madame, there were two men still living. They are in a good way to getting well, and they can indeed say they came back from pretty far off. We buried the others. They are now sleeping peacefully. But I couldn't resist letting those in the opposite trench know. Not a bad trick, was it, madame?"
VI—"THEY WILL PAY FOR THIS MISERY"
What have I seen.... The other morning among the men who came to the vestiaire (wardrobe), where I am occupied part of the time, and who are generally very gay and good-humoured, there was a young soldier with a sober, set, disagreeable face. I shook him up with, "Why, what's the matter that a French soldier makes such a face? Won't you look me in the face and make me a nice smile?" But he didn't change expression. I took him to one side. "What's the matter with you, my child? First of all, where are you from?"
"I am from the North, madame."
"Oh, then I understand why you are sad. You do not know where your dear ones are."
He looked at me with a fierce, wild expression and suddenly replied: "I do know, madame. My elder brother was killed beside me, struck by the same shell that wounded me. That is war. They have burned my home, killed my mother and my father. My sister, sixteen years old, has been violated and abused; my little sister, of nine years, has disappeared." A black flame burned in the sombre look of the boy and made it unbearable. I received that look straight in my eyes. "Tell me, madame, we will get to their country, won't we, won't we?"
"Why, certainly, my boy—nothing surer."
"Oh, madame, they will pay for all this misery. But do not fear, their women and children will not be touched."
"Their women and children will not be touched." That is what this martyr of barbarism and of the cruelty of the enemy found in his heart to say—this sombre, uncultivated child of a northern village. I shook his rough hand—I squeezed it—I kissed the poor cheeks of this orphan with maternal kisses, and I said: "I thank thee."
VII—"THE CHILDREN WHO ARE MUTILATED"