indeed--helpless and maimed, move and creep and cringe, worm themselves
into the corners. They are like moles, poor, defenseless beasts, hunted
by the hellish hounds of the guns.

The bombardment slackens, and ends in a cloud of smoke that still
echoes the crashes, in a quivering and burning after-damp. I pass out
through the breach; and still surrounded and entwined in the clamor of
despair, I arrive under the free sky, in the soft earth where mingled
planks and legs are sunk. I catch myself on some wreckage; it is the
embankment of the trench. At the moment when I plunge into the
communication trenches they are visible a long way; they are still
gloomily stirring, still filled by the crowd that overflows from the
trenches and flows without end towards the refuges. For whole days, for
whole nights, you will see the long rolling streams of men plucked from
the fields of battle, from the plain over there that also has feelings
of its own, though it bleeds and rots without end.

XXII

Going About

WE have been along the Boulevard de la Republique and then the Avenue
Gambetta, and now we are debouching into the Place du Commerce. The
nails in our polished boots ring on the pavements of the capital. It is
fine weather, and the shining sky glistens and flashes as if we saw it
through the frames of a greenhouse; it sets a-sparkle all the
shop-fronts in the square. The skirts of our well-brushed greatcoats
have been let down, and as they are usually fastened back, you can see
two squares on the floating lappets where the cloth is bluer.

Our sauntering party halts and hesitates for a moment in front of the
Cafe de la Sous-Prefecture, also called the Grand-Cafe.

"We have the right to go in!" says Volpatte.

"Too many officers in there," replies Blaire, who has lifted his chin
over the guipure curtains in which the establishment is dressed up and
risked a glance through the window between its golden letters.

"Besides," says Paradis, "we haven't seen enough yet."

We resume our walk and, simple soldiers that we are, we survey the
sumptuous shops that encircle the Place du Commerce; the drapers, the
stationers, the chemists, and--like a General's decorated uniform--the
display of the jeweler. We have put forth our smiles like ornaments,
for we are exempt from all duty until the evening, we are free, we are
masters of our own time. Our steps are gentle and sedate; our empty and
swinging hands are also promenadin