The
senator seemed surprised; his expression seemed to say, "And is that
all?" . . . The heaps of earth above them had deadened the report, so
that the discharge of the great machine seemed no more than the blow
of a club upon a mattress. Far more impressive was the scream of the
projectile sounding at a great height but displacing the air with such
violence that its waves reached even to the window.
It went flying . . . flying, its roar lessening. Some time passed before
they noticed its effects, and the two friends began to believe that
it must have been lost in space. "It will not strike . . . it will not
strike," they were thinking. Suddenly there surged up on the horizon,
exactly in the spot indicated over the blur of the woods, a tremendous
column of smoke, a whirling tower of black vapor followed by a volcanic
explosion.
"How dreadful it must be to be there!" said the senator.
He and Desnoyers were experiencing a sensation of animal joy, a selfish
hilarity in seeing themselves in such a safe place several yards
underground.
"The Germans are going to reply at any moment," said Don Marcelo to his
friend.
The senator was of the same opinion. Undoubtedly they would retaliate,
carrying on an artillery duel.
All of the French batteries had opened fire. The mountain was
thundering, the shell whining, the horizon, still tranquil, was
bristling with black, spiral columns.
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