y, out of which the abri was
excavated. A smell of antiseptics from the door of the dressing-station
and of lime and latrines mingling with the greasy smell of the movable
kitchen not far away. They are eating dessert, slices of pineapple
speared with a knife out of a can. In their manner there is something
that makes Martin see vividly two gentlemen in frock-coats dining at a
table under the awning of a cafe on the boulevards. It has a leisurely
ceremoniousness, an ease that could exist nowhere else.

"No, my friend," the doctor is saying, "I do not think that an
apprehension of religion existed in the mind of palaeolithic man."

"But, my captain, don't you think that you scientific people sometimes
lose a little of the significance of things, insisting always on their
scientific, in this case on their anthropological, aspect?"

"Not in the least; it is the only way to look at them."

"There are other ways," says the aumonier, smiling.

"One moment...." From under the packing-box the captain produced a small
bottle of anisette. "You'll have a little glass, won't you?"

"With the greatest pleasure. What a rarity here, anisette."

"But, as I was about to say, take our life here, for an example." ... A
shell shrieks overhead and crashes hollowly in the woods behind the
dugout. Another follows it, exploding nearer. The captain picks a few
bits of gravel off the table, reaches for his helmet and continues. "For
example, our life here, which is, as was the life of palaeolithic man,
taken up only with the bare struggle for existence against overwhelming
odds. You know yourself that it is not conducive to religion or any
emotion except that of preservation."

"I hardly admit that.... Ah, I saved it," the aumonier announces,
catching the bottle of anisette as it is about to fall off the table. An
exploding shell rends the air about them. There is a pause, and a shower
of earth and gravel tumbles about their ears.

"I must go and see if anyone was hurt," says the aumonier, clambering up
the clay bank to the level of the ground; "but you will admit, my
captain, that the sentiment of preservation is at least akin to the
fundamental feelings of religion."

"My dear friend, I admit nothing.... Till this evening, good-bye." He
waves his hand and goes into the dugout.

* * * * *

Martin and two French soldiers drinking sour wine in the doorway of a
deserted house. It was raining outside and