It's the officers of all the
departments who, under the orders of two colonels, form the Staff of
the Army Corps. But the H.Q., properly so called, which also
includes orderlies, cooks, storekeepers, workpeople, electricians,
police, and the horsemen of the Escort, is bossed by a commandant."
At this moment we receive collectively a tremendous bump. "Hey, look
out! Out of the way!" cries a man, by way of apology, who is being
assisted by several others to push a cart towards the wagons. The
work is hard, for the ground slopes up, and so soon as they cease to
buttress themselves against the cart and adhere to the wheels, it
slips back. The sullen men crush themselves against it in the depth
of the gloom, grinding their teeth and growling, as though they fell
upon some monster.
Barque, all the while rubbing his back, questions one of the frantic
gang: "Think you're going to do it, old duckfoot?"
"Nom de Dieu!" roars he, engrossed in his job, "mind these setts!
You're going to wreck the show!" With a sudden movement he jostles
Barque again, and this time turns round on him: "What are you doing
there, dung-guts, numskull?"
"Non, it can't be that you're drunk?" Barque retorts. "'What am I
doing here?' It's good, that! Tell me, you lousy gang, wouldn't you
like to do it too!"
"Out of the way!" cries a new voice, which precedes some men doubled
up under burdens incongruous, but apparently overwhelming.
One can no longer remain anywhere.
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