Even through the apathy of the morphia he felt a thrill
of terror. He could walk. He got out while Henri pounded at the door.
"_Attention_!" he called. "_Attention_!"
Then he hummed an air of the camps:
Trou la la, ca ne va guere;
Trou la la, ca ne va pas.
When he heard steps inside Henri went back to the ambulance. He got in
and drove it, lights and all, down the street.
Trou la la, ca ne va guere;
Trou la la, ca ne va pas.
Somewhere down the road beyond the poplar trees he abandoned the ambulance.
They found it there the next morning, or rather what was left of it.
Evidently its two unwinking eyes had got on the Germans' nerves.
* * * * *
Early the next morning a Saxon regiment, standing on the firing step
ready for what the dawn might bring forth, watched the mist rise from
the water in front of them. It shone on a body in a Belgian uniform,
lying across their wire, and very close indeed.
Now the Saxons are not Prussians, so no one for sport fired at the body.
Which was rather a good thing, because it moved slightly and stirred.
And then in a loud voice, which is an unusual thing for bodies to
possess, it began to sing:
Trou la la, ca ne va guere;
Trou la la, ca ne va pas.
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