But, for the present, I have to go and take
the trench at Eparges...."
As he mentioned the name of the accursed Butte, I could not repress a
movement. He saw it and said:
"Sir, I am glad to go there."
And he told me his name and the number of his company. Then he hurried
away.
It chanced that precisely one week later I met one of his officers. I
asked him about the merry fellow.
"That man? He was killed the day before yesterday at Eparges."
And my comrade added in a low voice:
"He was shot down at my side, struck with a bullet square in the
chest. The death agony set in at once. As I was trying to do something
for him, passing my hand gently across his forehead, I said to him:
"Courage, my boy, courage."
He murmured the reply:
"Oh, I'm glad to die."
Glad ... the same phrase, the same words I had heard a week ago, which
can be heard everywhere on the French front--and they are glad to go
into all the trenches and into all the charnel houses, and it is with
a happy heart that they rest in peace.
* * * * *
But France has not only fought with all her courage, with all her
soul, with all her tenacity. She has fought with all her living
strength, with her men, her women, even her children.
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