ff in files of four. All the causeways were garnished
with people, because of us; and at that moment I felt a lofty emotion
and a real thrill of glory.

At the corner of a street I saw Crillon and Marie, who had run on ahead
to take their stand on our route. They waved to me.

"Now, keep your peckers up, boys! You're not dead yet, eh!" Crillon
called to us.

Marie was looking at me and could not speak.

"In step! One-two!" cried Adjutant Marcassin, striding along the
detachment.

We crossed our quarter as the day declined over it. The countryman who
was walking beside me shook his head and in the dusky immensity among
the world of things we were leaving, with big regular steps, fused into
one single step, he scattered wondering words. "Frenzy, it is," he
murmured. "_I_ haven't had time to understand it yet. And yet, you
know, there are some that say, I understand; well, I'm telling you,
that's not possible."

The station--but we do not stop. They have opened before us the long
yellow barrier which is never opened. They make us cross the labyrinth
of hazy rails, and crowd us along a dark, covered platform between iron
pillars.

And there, suddenly, we see that we are alone.

* * * * * *

The town--and life--are yonder, beyond that dismal plain of rails,
paths, low buildings and mists which surrounds us to the end of sight.
A chilliness is edging in along with twilight, and falling on our
perspiration and our enthusiasm. We fidget and wait. It goes gray,
and then black. The night comes to imprison us in its infinite
narrowness. We shiver and can see nothing more. With difficulty I can
make out, along our trampled platform, a dark flock, the buzz of
voices, the smell of tobacco. Here and there a match flame or the red
point of a cigarette makes some face phosphorescent. And we wait,
unoccupied, and weary of waiting, until we sit down, close-pressed
against each other, in the dark and the desert.

Some hours later Adjutant Marcassin comes forward, a lantern in his
hand, and in a strident voice calls the roll. Then he goes away, and
we begin again to wait.

At ten o'clock, after several false alarms, the right train is
announced. It comes up, distending as it comes, black and red. It is
already crowded, and it screams. It stops, and turns the platform into
a street. We climb up and put ourselves away--not without glimpses, by
the light of lanterns moving