the four horsemen of the apocalypse-第84节

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fficer　showing　off　the　batteries　and　turrets　of　his　battleships。　　He　was　the　Chief　of　the　battalion　occupying　this　section　of　the　trenches。　Don　Marcelo　studied　him　with　special　interest；　knowing　that　his　son　was　under　his　orders。

To　the　two　friends；　these　subterranean　fortifications　bore　a　certain　resemblance　to　the　lower　parts　of　a　vessel。　　They　passed　from　trench　to　trench　of　the　last　line；　the　oldestdark　galleries　into　which　penetrated　streaks　of　light　across　the　loopholes　and　broad；　low　windows　of　the　mitrailleuse。　　The　long　line　of　defense　formed　a　tunnel　cut　by　short；　open　spaces。　　They　had　to　go　stumbling　from　light　to　darkness；　and　from　darkness　to　light　with　a　visual　suddenness　very　fatiguing　to　the　eyes。　　The　ground　was　higher　in　the　open　spaces。　　There　were　wooden　benches　placed　against　the　sides　so　that　the　observers　could　put　out　the　head　or　examine　the　landscape　by　means　of　the　periscope。　　The　enclosed　space　answered　both　for　batteries　and　sleeping　quarters。

As　the　enemy　had　been　repelled　and　more　ground　had　been　gained；　the　combatants　who　had　been　living　all　winter　in　these　first　quarters；　had　tried　to　make　themselves　more　comfortable。　　Over　the　trenches　in　the　open　air；　they　had　laid　beams　from　the　ruined　houses；　over　the　beams；　planks；　doors　and　windows；　and　on　top　of　the　wood；　layers　of　sacks　of　earth。　　These　sacks　were　covered　by　a　top　of　fertile　soil　from　which　sprouted　grass　and　herbs；　giving　the　roofs　of　the　trenches；　an　appearance　of　pastoral　placidity。　　The　temporary　arches　could　thus　resist　the　shock　of　the　obuses　which　went　ploughing　into　the　earth　without　causing　any　special　damage。　　When　an　explosion　was　pounding　too　noisily　and　weakening　the　structure；　the　troglodytes　would　swarm　out　in　the　night　like　watchful　ants；　and　skilfully　readjust　the　roof　of　their　primitive　dwellings。

Everything　appeared　clean　with　that　simple　and　rather　clumsy　cleanliness　exercised　by　men　living　far　from　women　and　thrown　upon　their　own　resources。　　The　galleries　were　something　like　the　cloisters　of　a　monastery；　the　corridors　of　a　prison；　and　the　middle　sections　of　a　ship。　　Their　floors　were　a　half　yard　lower　than　that　of　the　open　spaces　which　joined　the　trenches　together。　　In　order　that　the　officers　might　avoid　so　many　ups　and　downs；　some　planks　had　been　laid；　forming　a　sort　of　scaffolding　from　doorway　to　doorway。

Upon　the　approach　of　their　Chief；　the　soldiers　formed　themselves　in　line；　their　heads　being　on　a　level　with　the　waist　of　those　passing　over　the　planks。　　Desnoyers　ran　his　eye　hungrily　over　the　file　of　men。　　Where　could　Julio　be？　。　。　。

He　noticed　the　individual　contour　of　the　different　redoubts。　　They　all　seemed　to　have　been　constructed　in　about　the　same　way；　but　their　occupants　had　modified　them　with　their　special　personal　decorations。　The　exteriors　were　always　cut　with　loopholes　in　which　there　were　guns　pointed　toward　the　enemy；　and　windows　for　the　mitrailleuses。　The　watchers　near　these　openings　were　looking　over　the　lonely　landscape　like　quartermasters　surveying　the　sea　from　the　bridge。　Within　were　the　armories　and　the　sleeping　roomsthree　rows　of　berths　made　with　planks　like　the　beds　of　seamen。　　The　desire　for　artistic　ornamentation　which　even　the　simplest　souls　always　feel；　had　led　to　the　embellishment　of　the　underground　dwellings。　　Each　soldier　had　a　private　museum　made　with　prints　from　the　papers　and　colored　postcards。　　Photographs　of　soubrettes　and　dancers　with　their　painted　mouths　smiled　from　the　shiny　cardboard；　enlivening　the　chaste　aspect　of　the　redoubt。

Don　Marcelo　was　growing　more　and　more　impatient　at　seeing　so　many　hundreds　of　men；　but　no　Julio。　　The　senator；　complying　with　his　imploring　glance；　spoke　a　few　words　to　the　chief　preceding　him　with　an　aspect　of　great　deference。　　The　official　had　at　first　to　think　very　hard　to　recall　Julio　to　mind；　but　he　soon　remembered　the　exploits　of　Sergeant　Desnoyers。　　〃An　excellent　soldier；〃　he　said。　〃He　will　be　sent　for　immediately；　Senator　Lacour。　。　。　。　　He　is　on　duty　now　with　his　section　in　the　first　line　trenches。〃

The　father；　in　his　anxiety　to　see　him；　proposed　that　they　betake　themselves　to　that　advanced　site；　but　his　petition　made　the　Chief　and　the　others　smile。　　Those　open　trenches　within　a　hundred　or　fifty　yards　from　the　enemy；　with　no　other　defence　but　barbed　wire　and　sacks　of　earth；　were　not　for　the　visits　of　civilians。　　They　were　always　filled　with　mud；　the　visitors　would　have　to　crawl　around　exposed　to　bullets　and　under　the　dropping　chunks　of　earth　loosened　by　the　shells。　　None　but　the　combatants　could　get　around　in　these　outposts。

〃It　is　always　dangerous　there；〃　said　the　Chief。　　〃There　is　always　random　shooting。　。　。　。　　Just　listen　to　the　firing！〃

Desnoyers　indeed　perceived　a　distant　crackling　that　he　had　not　noted　before；　and　he　felt　an　added　anguish　at　the　thought　that　his　son　must　be　in　the　thick　of　it。　　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　themthe　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。

〃There　are　the　trenches　of　the　Boches；〃　said　the　Commandant；　in　a　low　tone。

〃Where？〃　asked　the　senator；　making　an　effort　to　see。

The　Chief　pointed　to　the　second　wire　fence　which　Lacour　and　his　friend　had　supposed　belonged　to　the　French。　　It　was　the　German　intrenchment　line。

〃We　are　only　a　hundred　yards　away　from　them；〃　he　continued；　〃but　for　some　time　they　have　not　been　attacking　from　this　side。〃

The　visitors　were　greatly　moved　at　learning　that　the　foe　was　such　a　short　distance　off；　hidden　in　the　ground　in　a　mysterious　invisibility　which　made　it　all　the　more　terrible。　　What　if　they　should　pop　out　now　with　their　saw…edged　bayonets；　fire…breathing　liquids　and　asphyxiating　bombs　to　assault　this　stronghold！　。　。　。

From　this　window　they　could　observe　more　clearly　the　intensity　of　the　firing　on　the　outer　line。　　The　shots　appeared　to　be　coming　nearer。　　The　Commandant　brusquely　ordered　them　to　leave　their　observatory；　fearing　that　the　fire　might　become　general。　　The　soldiers；　with　their　customary　promptitude；　without　receiving　any　orders；　approached　their　guns　which　were　in　horizontal　position；　pointing　through　the　loopholes。

Again　the　visitors　walked　in　single　file；　going　down　into　cavernous　spaces　that　had　been　the　old　wine…cellars　of　former　houses。　　The　officers　had　taken　up　their　abode　in　these　dens；　utilizing　all　the　residue　of　the　ruins。　　A　street　door　on　two　wooden　horses　served　as　a　table；　the　ceilings　and　walls　were　covered　with　cretonnes　from　the　Paris　warehouses；　photographs　of　women　and　children　adorned　the　side　wall　between　the　nickeled　glitter　of　telegraphic　and　telephonic　instruments。

Desnoyers　saw　above　one　door　an　ivory　crucifix；　yellowed　with　years；　probably　with　centuries；　transmitted　from　generation　to　generation；　that　must　have　witnessed　many　agonies　of　soul。　　In　another　den　he　noticed　in　a　conspicuous　place；　a　horseshoe　with　seven　holes。　Religious　creeds　were　spreading　their　wings　very　widely　in　this　atmosphere　of　danger　and　death；　and　yet　at　the　same　time；　the　most　grotesque　superstitions　were　acquiring　new　values　without　any　one　laughing　at　them。

Upon　leaving　one　of　the　cells；　in　the　middle　of　an　open　space；　the　yearning　father　met　his　son。　　He　knew　that　it　must　be　Julio　by　the　Chief's　gesture　and　because　the　smiling　soldier　was　coming　toward　him；　holding　out　his　hands；　but　this　time　his　paternal　instinct　which　he　had　heretofore　considered　an　infallible　thing；　had　given　him　no　warning。　　How　could　he　recognize　Julio　in　that　sergeant　whose　feet　were　two　cakes　of　moist　earth；　whose　faded　cloak　was　a　mass　of　tatters　covered　with　mud；　even　up　to　the　shoulders；　smelling　of　damp　wool　and　leather？　。　。　。　　After　the　first　embrace；　he　drew　back　his　head　in　order　to　get　a　good　look　at　him　without　letting　go　of　him。　His　olive　pallor　had　turned　to　a　bronze　tone。　　He　was　growing　a　beard；　a　beard　black　and　curly；　which　reminded　Don　Marcelo　of　his　father…in…law。　　The　centaur；　Madariaga；　had　certainly　come