l as you look, flea-face," says the shrill and
jeering voice of Mesnil Andre. Obscurely flattered, the other develops
his theme--

"To begin with, you can't know anything about anything."

Says Corporal Bertrand, "There's only one thing you need know, and it's
this; that the Boches are here in front of us, deep dug in, and we've
got to see that they don't get through, and we've got to put 'em out,
one day or another--as soon as possible."

"Oui, oui, they've got to leg it, and no mistake about it. What else is
there? Not worth while to worry your head thinking about anything else.
But it's a long job."

An explosion of profane assent comes from Fouillade, and he adds,
"That's what it is!"

"I've given up grousing," says Barque. "At the beginning of it, I
played hell with everybody--with the people at the rear, with the
civilians, with the natives, with the shirkers. Yes, I played hell; but
that was at the beginning of the war--I was young. Now, I take things
better."

"There's only one way of taking 'em--as they come!"

"Of course! Otherwise, you'd go crazy. We're dotty enough already, eh,
Firmin?"

Volpatte assents with a nod of profound conviction. He spits, and then
contemplates his missile with a fixed and unseeing eye.

"You were saying?" insists Barque.

"Here, you haven't got to look too far in front. You must live from day
to day and from hour to hour, as well as you can."

"Certain sure, monkey-face. We've got to do what they tell us to do,
until they tell us to go away."

"That's all," yawns Mesnil Joseph.

Silence follows the recorded opinions that proceed from these dried and
tanned faces, inlaid with dust. This, evidently, is the credo of the
men who, a year and a half ago, left all the corners of the land to
mass themselves on the frontier: Give up trying to understand, and give
up trying to be yourself. Hope that you will not die, and fight for
life as well as you can.

"Do what you've got to do, oui, but get out of your own messes
yourself," says Barque, as he slowly stirs the mud to and fro.

"No choice"--Tulacque backs him up. "If you don't get out of 'em
yourself, no one'll do it for you."

"He's not yet quite extinct, the man that bothers about the other
fellow."

"Every man for himself, in war!"

"That's so, that's so."

Silence. Then from the depth of their destitution, these men summon
sweet souvenirs--"All that," Barque goes on, "isn't worth much,
compared with the good