red, rocked and
reeled, and then halted. Torn by shrapnel from above, its lines rent
by machine-gun and rifle-firing, the attackers stood and rallied for a
moment; then shouts burst from them of terror, of hatred, and of
execration, only to be followed by hoarse commands to move forward.
Then the masses broke. Isolated units started to charge up the slopes,
and soon the mass of men, now no longer shoulder to shoulder, scattered
over the slope, keeping yet so close together that bullets could scarce
miss individuals, came doubling uphill, their heads down, their
bayonets flashing in the wintry sun, their feet carving wide zigzag
paths in the snow with which the ground was covered.

"They come! Fire on them! Let go! And prepare, if they come closer,
to meet them with the bayonet."

The shout went along that shattered trench-line, and men stood on what
was left of the firebank, or leaned their pieces on the edge of a
shell-crater or some pit into which they had crawled for shelter, and,
turning the muzzles on the enemy, blazed into their masses. Rifles
grew hot, ammunition became exhausted, and yet only for a little while,
for men fell on every side, and their comrades gripped at the contents
of their pouches. Half in and half out of a trench, the sides of which
had been blown into the interior almost filling it up, lying full
length on his stomach, Henri poured bullets into the enemy, as cool as
any cucumber, while Jules lay beside him, picking off his man at every
shot, laughing, gesticulating, and quivering with excitement.

"Tiens! It's done! They fly! Bravo!"

The sergeant of Henri's platoon, one arm dangling helpless by his side,
stretched out a brawny hand and gripped our hero's, while Jules--the
somewhat hysterically inclined Jules--laughing uproariously, would have
embraced the gallant Henri if the latter would have allowed it.

Officers shook hands with their men, while _poilus_ turned and
congratulated one another: for the thing was done. That handful of men
which manned what was left of the French trenches had shattered the
first German attack made upon the Verdun salient; and, with the help of
the deadly soixante-quinze, had driven the Germans back to the place
from which they had started--had driven back all who were still living.

"See them, those Germans still lying out there in the open," cried the
Sergeant, standing now, his head and shoulders exposed, forgetful of
his wounds, pointing do