Laboriously we climb the hill, stopping from time to time to get our
breath. Only a few cannon and machine guns trouble the calm of the
night.
At last we arrive close to Grenet's shelter, where several men formed
a group along the embankment. I called one of his sergeants whom I
already knew.
"Do you know Charles Dubois?"
"Yes, lieutenant. You heard then that we recovered his body?"
"He has been killed----?"
"This morning----"
"Where is he?"
The _poilu_ turned--I saw a stretcher, a shapeless mass covered with a
blanket, two heavy shoes which stuck out, shrouded with red soil----
It is night. I gently lift the blanket and scarcely recognize the
contour of his face----