Meanwhile, Lapoulle from time to time hoisted up his knapsack by dint of shrugging his shoulders. Under pretence that he was stronger than his comrades, he was often laden with the utensils of the squad, such as the large stew-pot and the water-can. On this occasion he had also been entrusted with the company's spade, which he had been told it was an honour to carry. He did not complain, however; in fact, he was laughing at a song with which Loubet, the tenor of the squad, was enlivening the long tramp. Loubet's knapsack, by the way, was celebrated for its contents, which comprised something of everything: linen, spare shoes, needles and thread, brushes, chocolate, a metal cup, a spoon and fork, without counting the regulation provisions, biscuits and coffee; and, although he also had his cartridges inside it, and a rolled blanket, a shelter tent and pegs strapped to it outside, the whole seemed to be wonderfully light, so accomplished was he in the art of packing. 'A beastly part!' muttered Chouteau, from time to time, as he cast a disdainful glance at the mournful plains of 'la Champagne pouilleuse.' The vast expanses of chalky soil still stretched out on either side in endless monotony. Not a farm nor a human being was to be seen; nothing but some flights of crows dotting the grey immensity. Afar off, on the left, some dark green pine woods crowned the gentle undulations that limited the horizon; whilst on the right a long line of trees indicated the course of the river Vesle; and on that side, for the last league or so, some dense smoke had been seen rising from behind the hills, its mingled coils at last blotting out the horizon with the huge, frightful cloud of a conflagration. 'What's burning over there?' the men asked on every side.