Realization of the dangers to which he must be daily
exposed, now stood forth in high relief. What if he should die in the
intervening moments, before he could see him? . . .
Time dragged by with desperate sluggishness for Don Marcelo. It seemed
to him that the messenger who had been despatched for him would never
arrive. He paid scarcely any attention to the affairs which the Chief
was so courteously showing them--the caverns which served the soldiers
as toilet rooms and bathrooms of most primitive arrangement, the cave
with the sign, "Cafe de la Victoire," another in fanciful lettering,
"Theatre." . . . Lacour was taking a lively interest in all this,
lauding the French gaiety which laughs and sings in the presence of
danger, while his friend continued brooding about Julio. When would he
ever see him?
They stopped near one of the embrasures of a machine-gun position
stationing themselves at the recommendations of the soldiers, on both
sides of the horizontal opening, keeping their bodies well back, but
putting their heads far enough forward to look out with one eye. They
saw a very deep excavation and the opposite edge of ground. A short
distance away were several rows of X's of wood united by barbed wire,
forming a compact fence. About three hundred feet further on, was a
second wire fence. There reigned a profound silence here, a silence of
absolute loneliness as though the world was asleep.
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