flopped himself on to the flags once more, his face turned towards
Henri.

"S--s--sh! Shut up! They are all on their feet again. Confound that
fellow! It was bad luck his suddenly looking up and finding us sitting
here staring at him. We've got to move," whispered Henri.

"Soon too," Jules told him, "precious soon. My, isn't that Max in a
rage, and aren't the lot of them bothered!"

Yet not so bothered that the noise which followed that piercing scream
did not subside quickly. After all, screams were not unusual in those
days of strenuous combat, when Germans were driven to the assault, time
and again, and death and destruction were so near them--that terrible
shell-fire which smote them from the missiles of the French 75's, the
raking hail of bullets from machine-guns, the detonation of exploding
missiles, the roar, the crash, the smoke, the ever-present danger. All
had told on the nerves, not of one man here and there, but on hundreds
of the Kaiser's soldiers. Men went mad in those days of attack on
Douaumont, just as they went mad in the onslaught at Ypres in October,
1914; just, indeed, as they had lost their reason during other terrible
periods. Yes, your German war lord is no sympathetic commander.
Losses, frightful losses, do not frighten or trouble him so long as he
is reasonably sure of obtaining his objective.

And German losses had been frightful enough in all conscience since the
war started. Those losses were telling upon the German ranks now--had
been telling for a considerable period--and were likely in the months
coming, towards the end of 1916, to tell so severely, that it might be
beyond the power of the Central Empires to hold their lines any longer.
Yes, men went mad often enough, and no doubt the man in question was
another such unfortunate individual.

"Confound him!" growled Max. "Why didn't he get shot as we came to the
fort, or in the attack on that stairway? What's he want to disturb our
rest for when we want every minute of rest we can get? for soon those
Frenchmen will be returning. Turn in again, you men. We'll search for
that rascal in the morning."

But would they? For listen: as the night grew older, as darkness
became denser above the shattered fort of Douaumont, and the fire died
down so that the Brandenburgers holding that central hall were no
longer visible, figures began to collect behind the French
trenches--the active, eager figures of gallant Bretons of the