As they might not spread themselves on
the falling earth that was ready to spread itself on them, they have
supported each other, clasping each other's shoulder; and thus
plunged in the ground up to their knees, they have gone to sleep.
We respect their stillness, and withdraw from the twin statue of
human wretchedness.
Soon we must halt ourselves. We have expected too much of our
strength and can go no farther. It is not yet ended. We collapse
once more in a churned corner, with a noise as if one shot a load of
dung.
From time to time we open our eyes. Some men are steering for us,
reeling. They lean over us and speak in low and weary tones. One of
them says, "Sie sind todt. Wir bleiben hier." (They're dead. We'll
stay here.) The other says, "Ja," like a sigh.
But they see us move, and at once they sink in front of us. The man
with the toneless voice says to us in French, "We surrender," and
they do not move. Then they give way entirely, as if this was the
relief, the end of their torture; and one of them whose face is
patterned in mud like a savage tattooed, smiles slightly.
"Stay there," says Paradis, without moving the head that he leans
backward upon a hillock; "presently you shall go with us if you
want."
"Yes," says the German, "I've had enough." We make no reply, and he
says, "And the others too?"
"Yes," says Paradis, "let them stop too, if they like." There are
four of them outstretched on the ground.
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