We have put forth our smiles
like ornaments, for we are exempt from all duty until the evening,
we are free, we are masters of our own time. Our steps are gentle
and sedate; our empty and swinging hands are also promenading, to
and fro.
"No doubt about it, you get some good out of this rest," remarks
Paradis.
It is an abundantly impressive city which expands before our steps.
One is in touch with life, with the life of the people, the life of
the Rear, the normal life. How we used to think, down yonder, that
we should never get here!
We see gentlemen, ladies, English officers, aviators-recognizable
afar by their slim elegance and their decorations--soldiers who are
parading their scraped clothes and scrubbed skins and the solitary
ornament of their engraved identity discs, flashing in the sunshine
on their greatcoats; and these last risk themselves carefully in the
beautiful scene that is clear of all nightmares.
We make exclamations as they do who come from afar: "Talk about a
crowd!" says Tirette in wonder. "Ah, it's a wealthy town!" says
Blaire.
A work-girl passes and looks at us. Volpatte gives me a jog with his
elbow and swallows her with his eyes, then points out to me two
other women farther away who are coming up, and with beaming eye he
certifies that the town is rich in femininity--"Old man, they are
plump!" A moment ago Paradis had a certain timidity to overcome
before he could approach a cluster of cakes of luxurious lodging,
and touch and eat them; and every minute we are obliged to halt in
the middle of the pavement and wait for Blaire, who is attracted and
detained by the displays of fancy jumpers and caps, neck-ties in
pale blue drill, slippers as red and shiny as mahogany.
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