Under his blue trousers he wore also
the red ones of an old uniform, the red showing through numerous rents
and holes.
"You have a letter, comrade!" said the Lieutenant to the other man.
"From my family," was the somewhat sheepish reply.
Round the doorway other soldiers had gathered to see what was
occurring. They came, yawning with sleep, from the straw they had been
sleeping on, or drifted in from the streets, where they had been
smoking in the sun. They were true republicans, those French soldiers.
They saluted the officers without subservience, but as man to man. And
through a break in the crowd a new arrival was shoved forward. He
came, smiling uneasily.
"He has the new uniform," I was informed, and he must turn round to
show me how he looked in it.
We went across the street and through an alleyway to an open place
where stood an old coach house. Here were more men, newly in from the
front. The coach house was a ruin, far from weather-proof and floored
with wet and muddy straw. One could hardly believe that that straw had
been dry and fresh when the troops came in at dawn. It was hideous
now, from the filth of the trenches. The men were awake, and being
advised of our coming by an anxious and loud-voiced member of the
company who ran ahead, they were on their feet, while others, who had
been sleeping in the loft, were on their way down the ladder.
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