The
circular pools were the hollows dug by the German shells in the limy,
non-porous soil which preserved all the runnels of rain.
The visiting party had left their automobile at the foot of the
mountain. One of the officers, a former artilleryman, explained
this precaution to them. It was necessary to climb this roadway very
cautiously. They were within reach of the enemy, and an automobile might
attract the attention of their gunners.
"A little fatiguing, this climb," he continued. "Courage, Senator
Lacour! . . . We are almost there."
They began to meet artillerymen, many of them not in uniform but wearing
the military kepis. They looked like workmen from a metal factory,
foundrymen with jackets and pantaloons of corduroy. Their arms were
bare, and some had put on wooden shoes in order to get over the mud with
greater security. They were former iron laborers, mobilized into the
artillery reserves. Their sergeants had been factory overseers, and many
of them officials, engineers and proprietors of big workshops.
Suddenly the excursionists stumbled upon the iron inmates of the woods.
When these spoke, the earth trembled, the air shuddered, and the native
inhabitants of the forest, the crows, rabbits, butterflies and ants,
fled in terrified flight, trying to hide themselves from the fearful
convulsion which seemed to be bringing the world to an end.
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