My sergeant and two of his sappers collect the pieces. They carry this
poor corpse, still heaving and stained with mud, into our little wooden
chapel a few steps away----
* * * * *
An hour later, the flurry being over, I go again to see him with
LeBlond. I have taken the flowers of the night before and placed them
respectfully on his breast----
Poor young chap! He is unrecognizable. Can this be the happy little
fellow of the night before?
On leaving the chapel, I notice that LeBlond is terribly affected and I
say nothing to him. We arrive at the dugout where our brave captain,
covered with mud, sobs like a child for his lost friend----
Taking LeBlond by the arm, I say:
"_Mon vieux_, you are down-hearted--go with me along the whole first
line--we have our dead to avenge! we must not weep for them----"
* * * * *
During the night LeBlond and I return to Verdun. Before retiring I
reach in my pockets to empty them. Two letters and a little box rest in
my fingers. I think a long time of these souvenirs of death----
After hesitating some moments, I say to my friend:
"Decidedly, I will send them to-morrow. These poor people will not
learn too soon the unhappiness they bring!"
THE PHILOSOPHICAL POILU, EPARGES.
_December_, 1915.
You will not believe me, but this morning at break of day, we found
ourselves in mud up to our middle!
In the trenches and in the _boyaux_,[18] it was always the same
thing--the sector was completely calm. _Parbleu!_ the others in front
of us must suffer exactly the same hardships.