This was the most dangerous post. From it, an officer was examining
the enemy's line in order to gauge the correctness of the aim of the
gunners. While his comrades were under the ground or hidden by the
branches, he was fulfilling his mission from this visible point.
A short distance from the tower a subterranean passageway opened before
their eyes. They descended through its murky recesses until they found
the various rooms excavated in the ground. One side of the mountain cut
in points formed its exterior facade. Narrow little windows, cut in the
stone, gave light and air to these quarters.
An old commandant in charge of the section came out to meet them.
Desnoyers thought that he must be the floorwalker of some big department
store in Paris. His manners were so exquisite and his voice so suave
that he seemed to be imploring pardon at every word, or addressing a
group of ladies, offering them goods of the latest novelty. But this
impression only lasted a moment. This soldier with gray hair and
near-sighted glasses who, in the midst of war, was retaining his
customary manner of a building director receiving his clients, showed
on moving his arms, some bandages and surgical dressings within his
sleeves, He was wounded in both wrists by the explosion of a shell, but
he was, nevertheless, sticking to his post.
"A devil of a honey-tongued, syrupy gentleman!" mused Don Marcelo.
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