They were
advancing in an absurd way, as though they scorned direct lines--in
zig-zags, in curves, in angles. Other pathways, no less complicated,
branched off from this ditch which was the central avenue of an immense
subterranean cavity. They walked . . . and walked . . . and walked.
A quarter of an hour went by, a half, an entire hour. Lacour and his
friend thought longingly of the roadways flanked with trees, of their
tramp in the open air where they could see the sky and meadows. They
were not going twenty steps in the same direction. The official marching
ahead was every moment vanishing around a new bend. Those who were
coming behind were panting and talking unseen, having to quicken their
steps in order not to lose sight of the party. Every now and then they
had to halt in order to unite and count the little band, to make sure
that no one had been lost in a transverse gallery. The ground was
exceedingly slippery, in some places almost liquid mud, white and
caustic like the drip from the scaffolding of a house in the course of
construction.
The thump of their footsteps, and the friction of their shoulders,
brought down chunks of earth and smooth stones from the sides. Little by
little they climbed through the main artery of this underground body and
the veins connected with it. Again they were near the surface where it
required but little effort to see the blue above the earth-works.
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