And this bruised troop, which had just lost half its effective strength, with its wounded men with their bloody bandages, their torn clothes, their arms in bits, filed by singing this heroic joyful song, expressing in their voices all their hopes and all their triumphs. It defiled between lines of astonished men who stood respectful, stupefied at so much energy, so much fire and dash in the face of so much death. In position before his staff, fingers together in the prescribed position of salute, a general stood with bared head, while the company marched by. CHAPTER VII EASTER EGGS Easter—it fell on April twenty-third that year—dawned splendidly, a real day of gladsome spring. The company was off duty. We had worked for a month on the fortifications in the front-line trenches and we deserved this fine day. In addition the sector was quiet. There hadn’t been an engagement or a skirmish since February. This large village—more than a village, a town almost—scarcely five miles from the Boche lines, absolutely unprotected, not concealed in the slightest by a bend in the terrain, by a hill or a wood, had not received a single shell in three months. Of course it is true that the church, town hall and some factories were injured, but not very much. They had some large shell holes, but they hadn’t fallen in or tumbled down. The church and town hall still had their roofs, and if the chimneys of the sugar refineries were cut on the bias, it was high up, almost at the top, as if they wanted to blunt them, or spare them, or preserve them. We were now accustomed to this incomprehensible calm, in fact the officers were often heard to say, “This quiet bodes no good to us.” All day and nearly all night, too, we hear the shriek of French and Boche shells in the air. Batteries of heavy artillery search for their marks, but all that misses us and passes over our heads or strikes in front. We know that they aren’t aimed at us, and we take no interest in them. So with that fine carelessness of men long since accustomed to the worst dangers, we live in absolute security. That Easter morning a musical mass was sung in an immense great hall which had been used formerly for entertainments. A crowd of soldiers of every branch of the service and from all the regiments encamped in the neighborhood packed the place. In the crowd was a goodly number of civilians, including women and girls who were wearing their best dresses for the first time in a year. The band of the ... first Territorials played. Someone beside me dared to murmur, “All the same, if a Boche shell fell in that crowd, what a mess it would be!” “Don’t think,” came from several sides at once, “about Boche shells. They fire them. They know we are here. They are afraid—” The chaplain, assisted by two clerical stretcher bearers, began worship on the improvised altar on the stage. Soldiers sang the psalms of the liturgy. * * * * *