Immediately I imagined that the poor boy had been killed. My clothes
had been scattered around the room and I descended the stairs four at a
time without taking the time to even put on my trousers----
"Habert! Habert!"
He wasn't in the dining-room, nor in the kitchen where there were some
broken glasses----
I opened the cellar door. The rascal was behind it with a bottle of my
prune brandy in one hand and a little glass in the other----
"_Nom de Dieu!_ I catch you at it! You carry away and drink my prune
brandy while your lieutenant is shelled in bed. To-morrow you will
go into the first-line trenches, _misérable_--to the trenches, you
understand me----"