"no! call yourselves poilus!" bouillon exclaimed.

we looked at each other, and at the strained faces smeared with sweat and powder, the torn greatcoats, the knees and hands covered with earth. but what a feeling of buoyancy! in me most of all! i dared not predict the issue of the battle. victory or defeat, that seemed of very slight importance to me, i admit, compared with the fact that i was still alive.

the night was falling. behind us was the river, indicated by the dark waving of the willow-trees and in the distance the slopes of the farther bank were all enveloped in a haze of wan violet tones.

the captain was on his rounds.

"well, what did you think of it, dreher?" he asked me.

"most interesting, sir!"

he went away, after giving me a cordial glance from his piercing eyes.

i sounded henriot. was there any hope of a distribution of...?

"none at all! ssh! don't let's talk about that!"

certain measures were taken in view of a possible attack, and some rough trenches made. i wondered that volunteers were found for sentry-duty, and others[pg 233] for a fatigue party, led by guillaumin, in search of water.

the latter for that matter looked after everything. he had directed the trench-digging and had made out the casualty returns, and then, being quite indefatigable, he left us to go and get news of the other platoons.

rolled up in my great-coat, i was wishing for nothing so much as a doze, when he reappeared.

"well?"

"i say, i've just heard a heart-breaking bit of news!"

"what? who?"

"poor little frémont!"

i raised myself on my elbow:

"oh. is he hit?"

"badly hit, apparently!"

my heart contracted. what a nightmare! that child who had been with me on the highroad yesterday, whom i had led on...! i saw him growing pale at the sight of the stretchers ... was it a presentiment...? and i had a vision of him on the bench in the garden the other day, folding his darling in his arms.

guillaumin's thoughts had kept pace with mine.

"his wife," he said. "how sad it is! and you know she was expecting ... that they ... had hopes...."

"yes, i know."

we were silent for a moment. dull misery was brewing in me. then guillaumin got up; he wanted to spend his night beside his men.

"and i," i said, in a strangled voice, "you have no suspicions?"

"you! what about it?"

[pg 234]

"my brother...."

"well?"

"has been killed."

"you're mad! how in the world could you know?"

"i heard it this morning."

he stammered:

"you.... your brother ... the subaltern?"

"yes."

he seized my hand.

"michel.... why ... didn't you tell me about it?"

my christian name! i had quite got out of the habit of hearing it. i was touched, and pressed his warm hands. tears rose to my eyes. i experienced the sad and yet sweet consolation which the affection of living people brings in the presence of death. he was a true friend. i admired the delicacy which made him hold his peace; so many people would have thought of nothing at that moment except of lavishing a flow of unmeaning words on me. he silently shared in my mourning.

at last he said simply:

"i am thinking of my sister. if i were killed ... or if she were to die!..."

he lingered for a few minutes, sitting beside me in the grass. there was a hallowed silence.... friendship, the purest of manly sentiments, revealed itself to me in force....

i was the one to suggest he should go; he needed his sleep.

we pressed hands again.

"mind you sleep, michel."

"good-night, claude...."

he went away. i leaned my forehead on my arm,[pg 235] and tried to get to sleep, but my face was burning. what strange tumultuous thoughts besieged me.

i caught myself repeating: "victor, my poor victor!" but this time something was rent asunder. a veil fell. the artificial atmosphere in which all my joys and sorrows had been deadened for so long was dissipated.

my man's heart began to bleed. i became conscious of my grief. without diminishing it i could now compare it, without blasphemy, with that other, into which the death of my mother had formerly plunged me. a double regret, identical, i felt in its essential point, for these two beings were of my blood, my nearest relations, a little of myself. part of my life and future were buried with them. i understood now what an irrecoverable part my brother had played in my life. i had loved him when a child, and my childhood would never be renewed. our gaze and our minds had awakened to the same things. a thousand memories were ours, ours alone. o victor, i remembered the grace of your eighth, your tenth year. our wild games in the big house at tours, and in the summer holidays in the big garden at emberménil. i admired you and adored you, my strong elder brother, who never abused your strength, who used to consent to being the "horse," out of your turn very often, so that i might hold the reins. when you brought friends home you did not like me, the youngest of the band, to be "ticked," and when i was "it" too long, you let yourself be caught on purpose.

i could remember my brother leaving for la flêche as clearly as if it had been yesterday. i was inconsolable. i was seven years old, and in my unhappiness i refused to eat any pudding for a whole week!

[pg 236]

i was just beginning to write. with a great effort i managed to cover a page for him every week. when he came back at christmas, looking very smart in his new uniform, how delighted, how overjoyed i had been.

and then, little by little, we had drifted apart.

my brother! i had not really known him! i never should know him. oh, the anguish of that thought. the fault had been on my side, for he in his affection had made many advances. the hope of putting an end to the misunderstanding between us never left him. even quite lately certain words of his showed his fondness for me. but i had always repulsed him—he was shy, in spite of his handsome energetic appearance—by my arrogance and coldness.

why had i decreed, ever since i was sixteen, that it was absurd for men to kiss, and at our next meeting had put out my hand to stop his customary greeting?

how many times, it was more like a hundred than one, he must have been grieved by my harshness and indifference before having resigned himself to it. and had he ever resigned himself to it?

was it necessary that he should fall, to bring me to repentance. alas! if only he could have seen me now, me the egoist, pouring out bitter, precious tears for him, the first for ten years.

i seemed to have been born anew to the deeper human feelings. access to a sublime region was given back to me. my heart, which had been shrivelled and hardened for so long, softened and expanded. in a transport of generosity i tried to think who there was still left for me to love on earth.

the thought of my sister-in-law occurred to me first. i knew that, in her great love for victor, she[pg 237] would have welcomed me as a brother as eagerly as she had welcomed a father. it was i again who had discouraged her advances. i reproached myself for it. i foresaw the hope of atoning for it. this death would create certain duties for me. madeleine had lost her parents, she had no relations except a married sister at versailles. when once my father had gone, i should be the head of the family, the children's natural guardian.

i thought of the little things' future. i would look after xavier's education, and guide him towards a fine career. and i saw the little girl grow up. we would let her marry where her heart led her.

i thought of my father with reverence too. our sorrow drew us nearer to each other. i imagined him being abandoned by his strength, when he heard the news. my courage and my pity would support him without humiliating him. i even dreamt that his love, robbed of its object, would end by being concentrated entirely upon me. was it only a fancy? i remembered his clasp, and his voice which changed when we bid each other farewell.

thus my thoughts strayed to each of my dear ones. i paused at each vision to enjoy it. but it seemed to me that behind them all another was hiding, undecided whether to appear or not! suddenly a light shone forth ... a silhouette rose up, of a child, slim and fair, with a grave sweet smile, and tender eyes. it was such a dazzling apparition that i thought of adorning it and setting it up as a secret goddess in the inmost depths of my being to preside over my regeneration.

i tried to sweep aside the idol, to dispel the nimbus of illusions.... what did an exchange of post-cards,[pg 238] as a continuation of our talks in the holidays, signify?

the phantom refused to fade away; it reigned, pure and enthralling, in my consciousness. it was becoming an obsession. i decided to get up and take a turn.

the silent night enveloped everything, things and people, our line and the enemy's. most of the men were sleeping, tired out, but the sentries, standing a few yards ahead, peered into the mysterious darkness.

in no. 2 platoon some of the men were still talking below their breath. i recognised the voices of judsi and corporal bouguet.

"there ain't nothing wrong with the lieutenant, but 'e loses 'is 'ead!"

"tell you who's a bit of all right, and that's the sergeants!"

"as for dreher, 'e knocked me silly, that 'e did. 'e's a cove wot won't stop at nothink, 'e is."

i did not listen any longer, but passed by, smiling. i was touched, and surprised at being so. and i thought, "father, father, if only you could hear them!..."