“Poor devil! Ah, but you see the same sort of thing might happen to me.” More often than not, nobody came, absolutely no one, and the day was endured only by being taken in small mouthfuls, like their meat at dinner. Once a great event happened. Mery was taken out and placed under the X-rays. He came back, well content, remarking: “At least, it isn’t painful.” Another time Revaud’s leg was amputated. He had murmured when giving his consent: “I’d done my best to keep it, this old leg of mine! Well! well! So much the worse, so get on with it. Poor old thing!” He burst out laughing once again; and no one has laughed, and no one will laugh again, as Revaud did that day. His leg then was to be amputated. The noblest blood in France flowed once more. But it took place between four walls, in a little room white-washed like a dairy, and no one heard of it. Revaud was put back to bed behind the door. He awoke, and like a child said: “They’ve set me back quite warm and ‘comfy’ with this leg.” Revaud had rather a good night, and when, on the next day, Mme. Baugan came into the room, he said to her, as he now was in the habit of saying: “Fine, Madame Baugan. I’ve had a good night.” With this, his head dropped on one side, his mouth opened little by little, and, without further remark or movement, he was dead. “Poor Revaud!” exclaimed Mme. Baugan. “Oh! he is dead.” She kissed his brow, and at once began to lay him out, for a long day faced her and she could not afford to waste time. As Mme. Baugan dressed Revaud, she grumbled and scolded good-naturedly because the corpse was difficult to manage. Sandrap, Mery and Remusot said nothing. The rain streamed down the panes, which never stopped rattling because of the gunfire. ON THE SOMME FRONT I hadn’t the heart to laugh, but sometimes I felt vaguely envious. I thought of the men who were carrying on the war, in the newspapers--those who wrote: “The line has been pierced; why hesitate to throw in fifty divisions?” Or: “we have only to bring our reserves right up to the line. A hundred thousand men must at once fill the gap.” I longed to see that brave set compelled to find between Fouilly and Maricourt a little corner as secure as their little heaps of paper plans, on which a purring cat might find repose. I swear they would have found it rather difficult. I thought abstractedly about my work as I went along; from time to time I glanced round at the scene, and I assure you one hit upon some queer things.