It
seems as if we no longer know how to talk. Something like discontent
irritates my comrades and knits their brows. They look as if they
are becoming aware that they have not done their duty at an
important juncture.
"Fine lot of gibberish they've talked to us, the beasts!" Tirette
growls at last with a rancor that gathers strength the more we unite
and collect ourselves again.
"We ought to have got beastly drunk to-day!" replies Paradis
brutally.
We walk without a word spoken. Then, after a time, "They're a lot of
idiots, filthy idiots," Tirette goes on; "they tried to cod us, but
I'm not on; if I see them again," he says, with a crescendo of
anger, "I shall know what to say to them!"
"We shan't see them again," says Blaire.
"In eight days from now, p'raps we shall be laid out," says
Volpatte.
In the approaches to the square we run into a mob of people flowing
out from the Hotel de Ville and from another big public
building which displays the columns of a temple supporting a
pediment. Offices are closing, and pouring forth civilians of all
sorts and all ages, and military men both young and old, who seem at
a distance to be dressed pretty much like us; but when nearer they
stand revealed as the shirkers and deserters of the war, in spite of
being disguised as soldiers, in spite of their brisques. [note 1]
Women and children are waiting for them, in pretty and happy
clusters. The commercial people are shutting up their shops with
complacent content and a smile for both the day ended and for the
morrow, elated by the lively and constant thrills of profits
increased, by the growing jingle of the cash-box.
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