Yes, there could be no doubt about it—the blue line still held. And the smoke cloud over "No Man's Land" had vanished.
A wave of joy surged through the aviator's son.
"Ils ne passeront pas!" he exclaimed in a fervent voice to Dunstan, who was now standing beside him.
"No—'ils ne passeront pas!'"
The air they breathed was impregnated with the odor of burning gunpowder; smoke drifted through the trench, and everywhere they looked a bluish haze filled the atmosphere.
Joyous as the ambulanciers were at their deliverance, they could not help but feel saddened at the thought of the many casualties which certainly must have occurred, not only through the great mine explosion itself but on account of the desperate nature of the assault which followed. Though both were intensely anxious to know just what had happened they realized that it was not a time to seek information from the stern-faced soldiers on the firing-step. On looking about, however, they discovered a poilu not much older than themselves leaning heavily against the rear wall.
Don, walking forward, ventured to address him.
"Did the Germans get anywhere near the trench?" he queried, eagerly.
The young soldier nodded.
"I think so," he replied. "Some were almost on top of us before we stopped them. But now that it's all over I can scarcely recall anything clearly. My head's in a whirl. But they tell me that wave after wave of the Boches rolled up, and then thinner waves rolled back again. It was terrible—awful!"