talion.

I reach the road, and confront the descending mass of the 18th. The
uniforms of these survivors are all earth-yellowed alike, so that they
appear to be clad in khaki. The cloth is stiff with the ochreous mud
that has dried underneath. The skirts of their greatcoats are like
lumps of wood, jumping about on the yellow crust that reaches to their
knees. Their faces are drawn and blackened; dust and dirt have wrinkled
them anew; their eyes are big and fevered. And from these soldiers whom
the depths of horror have given back there rises a deafening din. They
talk all at once, and loudly; they gesticulate, they laugh and sing.
You would think, to see them, that it was a holiday crowd pouring over
the road!

These are the second section and its big sub-lieutenant, whose
greatcoat is tightened and strapped around a body as stiff as a rolled
umbrella. I elbow my way along the marching crowd as far as Marchal's
squad, the most sorely tried of all. Out of eleven comrades that they
were, and had been without a break for a year and a half, there were
three men only with Corporal Marchal.

He sees me--with a glad exclamation and a broad smile. He lets go his
rifle-sling and offers me his hands, from one of which hangs his trench
stick--"Eh, vieux frere, still going strong? What's become of you
lately?"

I turn my head away and say, almost under my breath, "So, old chap,
it's happened badly."

His smile dies at once, and he is serious: "Eh, oui, old man; it can't
be helped; it was awful this time. Barbier is killed."

"They told us--Barbier!"

"Saturday night it was, at eleven o'clock. He had the top of his back
taken away by a shell," says Marchal, "cut off like a razor. Besse got
a bit of shell that went clean through his belly and stomach. Barthlemy
and Baubex got it in the head and neck. We passed the night skedaddling
up and down the trench at full speed, to dodge the showers. And little
Godefroy--did you know him?--middle of his body blown away. He was
emptied of blood on the spot in an instant, like a bucket kicked over.
Little as he was, it was remarkable how much blood he had, it made a
stream at least fifty meters long. Gougnard got his legs cut up by one
explosion. They picked him up not quite dead. That was at the listening
post. I was there on duty with them. But when that shell fell I had
gone into the trench to ask the time. I found my rifle, that I'd left
in my place, bent double, as if some one had