But something turns up which makes the regiment forget the rain and its own sufferings. It passes between lines of strangely still bodies--and those are the bodies of Frenchmen, their brothers. "They seem attired all in new clothes, those still figures, so continuously has the unceasing rain poured down upon them. Their flesh is decomposed. Seeing them so darkened, with lips so swollen, some of the men exclaimed: "'Hullo! These are Turks!'" Their bodies had been "sloped backwards," facing the road, as though "to watch us pass." The Germans, retreating after the days of the Marne, indulged freely in the folly of arranging the bodies of their victims after this fashion. The officer himself was for a moment overcome by this horrifying spectacle, but: "Come! Head erect and fists clenched! No more of that weakness that a moment ago assailed me. We must look unmoved on these poor dead and seek from them the inspiration of hate. It was the Boche in his flight who dragged these sorry things to the side of the road, who arranged this horrid spectacle for our express benefit, and we must never rest until the brute has drunk our cup of vengeance to the dregs." The regiment has come to War; night falls, a night towards the end of September: "The cold became intense ... those wounded who had not yet been recovered moan and cry aloud in their sufferings and distress.... 'Are you going to let me die here?... Drink!... Ah!... Stretcher-bearers!...' "And the soldiers, hearing those agonized cries, but chained to their posts by the word of duty, groan in anguish: 'What are they fooling about, those stretcher-bearers?... (Censored) "'They are like fleas--never to be found when one most wants them!' And the cries continue--voices soft and strained and weary from having called so often and long: (Censored) "'...?' 'Mother! Oh! Mother!--Jeanne!... P'tite 'Jeanne!... Oh! say that you can hear me, 'Jeanne!... I am thirsty ... so thirsty!...' The cries of others make one shudder. 'Still, 'I say I won't ... I won't die here, my God!... 'Stretcher-bearers!... Stretcher-bearers!... 'You joint-shearers, carve me up!... 'Ah!...'" The advance of the regiment is checked. The enemy, following his early retreat, which at times assumed the appearance of a veritable rout, turned at bay. The section in command of our lieutenant dig a trench and pass forty hours in it. It has rained and it is still raining. A furious downpour is succeeded by a trickling stream which drips ceaselessly above their heads: