g, to and fro.

"No doubt about it, you get some good out of this rest," remarks
Paradis.

It is an abundantly impressive city which expands before our steps. One
is in touch with life, with the life of the people, the life of the
Rear, the normal life. How we used to think, down yonder, that we
should never get here!

We see gentlemen, ladies, English officers, aviators-recognizable afar
by their slim elegance and their decorations--soldiers who are parading
their scraped clothes and scrubbed skins and the solitary ornament of
their engraved identity discs, flashing in the sunshine on their
greatcoats; and these last risk themselves carefully in the beautiful
scene that is clear of all nightmares.

We make exclamations as they do who come from afar: "Talk about a
crowd!" says Tirette in wonder. "Ah, it's a wealthy town!" says Blaire.

A work-girl passes and looks at us. Volpatte gives me a jog with his
elbow and swallows her with his eyes, then points out to me two other
women farther away who are coming up, and with beaming eye he certifies
that the town is rich in femininity--"Old man, they are plump!" A
moment ago Paradis had a certain timidity to overcome before he could
approach a cluster of cakes of luxurious lodging, and touch and eat
them; and every minute we are obliged to halt in the middle of the
pavement and wait for Blaire, who is attracted and detained by the
displays of fancy jumpers and caps, neck-ties in pale blue drill,
slippers as red and shiny as mahogany. Blaire has reached the final
height of his transformation. He who held the record for negligence and
grime is certainly the best groomed of us all, especially since the
further complication of his ivories, which were broken in the attack
and had to be remade. He affects an off-hand demeanor. "He looks young
and youthful," says Marthereau.

We find ourselves suddenly face to face with a toothless creature who
smiles to the depth of her throat. Some black hair bristles round her
hat. Her big, unpleasant features, riddled with pock-marks, recalls the
ill-painted faces that one sees on the coarse canvas of a traveling
show. 'She's beautiful,' says Volpatte. Marthereau, at whom she smiled,
is dumb with shock.

Thus do the poilus converse who are suddenly placed under the spell of
a town. More and more they rejoice in the beautiful scene, so neat and
incredibly clean. They resume possession of life tranquil and peaceful,
of that conception of c