One shell, however, burst some ten paces away, covering the company with mould, and although Loubet called to his comrades in a bantering way to get their brushes out of their knapsacks, Chouteau, who was turning quite pale, held his peace. He had never been under fire before, neither had Pache nor Lapoulle, nor, indeed, any man of the squad excepting Jean. Their eyes blinked and grew dim, whilst their voices became shrill and faint as though they had a difficulty in speaking. Maurice, who still retained some measure of self-possession, endeavoured to analyse his sensations: he was not yet frightened, for he did not think he was in danger, and all that he experienced was a slight uneasiness in the epigastrium, whilst his head gradually emptied, so that he could not connect his ideas. All the same, however, his hopefulness had been increasing like growing intoxication ever since he had observed with so much wonderment the capital order of the troops. He had reached a state when he no longer had any doubt of victory, provided they could only charge the enemy with cold steel. 'Hallo!' he muttered; 'what a lot of flies there are.' Thrice already he had heard a buzzing sound. Jean could not help laughing. 'No,' said he; 'they are bullets.' Other light buzzing sounds swept by, and now all the men of the squad turned their heads, greatly interested. It was an irresistible impulse, and one after another they lifted up their necks, unable to keep still. 'I say,' said Loubet to Lapoulle, by way of amusing himself with the simpleton, 'whenever you see a bullet coming you've only got to put a finger in front of your nose--like that--it cuts the air apart, and the bullet passes on the right or the left.' 'But I don't see them coming,' said Lapoulle, whereupon everybody roared. 'Oh my! he doesn't see them! Keep your lamps open, you fool! Why, there comes one--and there's another. Didn't you see that one? It was a green bullet.' And thereupon Lapoulle opened his eyes as wide as he could, and kept one finger uplifted in front of his nose, whilst Pache, touching the scapular he wore, wished he were able to extend it like a breastplate over his chest. Rochas, who had remained standing, exclaimed all at once in his bantering way: 'You're not forbidden to salute the shells, my lads, bub never mind about the bullets, there are too many of them.' At that moment a splinter of a shell shattered the head of a soldier in the front rank. He was not even able to cry out: there was a spurt of blood and brain-matter--that was all. 'Poor devil!' quietly said Sergeant Sapin, who was very calm and very pale; 'whose turn next?'