"Several months."
The conversation had almost died out, but it flames up again
fiercely at this vision of the days of plenty.
"We used to see," said Paradis dreamily, "the poilus pouring along
and behind the houses on the way back to camp with fowls hung round
their middles, and a rabbit under each arm, borrowed from some good
fellow or woman that they hadn't seen and won't ever see again."
We reflect on the far-off flavor of chicken and rabbit. "There were
things that we paid for, too. The spondu-licks just danced about. We
held all the aces in those days."
"A hundred thousand francs went rolling round the shops."
"Millions, oui. All the day, just a squandering that you've no idea
of, a sort of devil's delight."
"Believe me or not," said Blaire to Cadilhac, "but in the middle of
it all, what we had the least of was fires, just like here and
everywhere else you go. You had to chase it and find it and stick to
it. Ah, mon vieux, how we did run after the kindlings!"
"Well, we were in the camp of the C.H.R. The cook there was the
great Martin Cesar. He was the man for finding wood!"
"Ah, oui, oui! He was the ace of trumps! He got what he wanted
without twisting himself."
"Always some fire in his kitchen, young fellow. You saw cooks
chasing and gabbling about the streets in all directions, blubbering
because they had no coal or wood. But he'd got a fire. When he
hadn't any, he said, 'Don't worry, I'll see you through.
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