the paving-stones are plastered with mud; the straw scattered for
our sleeping is soaked through, by the water that comes through the
holes and by the boots that wipe themselves with it. Besides, if you
sit down, you freeze; and if you lie on the straw, you are troubled
by the smell of manure, and sickened by the vapors of ammonia.
Fouillade contents himself by looking at his place, and yawning wide
enough to dislocate his long jaw, further lengthened by a goatee
beard where you would see white hairs if the daylight were really
daylight.

"The other pals and boys," said Marthereau, "they're no better off
than we are. After breakfast I went to see a jail-bird of the 11th
on the farm near the hospital. You've to clamber over a wall by a
ladder that's too short--talk about a scissor-cut!" says Marthereau,
who is short in the leg; "and when once you're in the hen-run and
rabbit-hutch you're shoved and poked by everybody and a nuisance to
'em all. You don't know where to put your pasties down. I vamoosed
from there, and sharp."

"For my part," says Cocon, "I wanted to go to the blacksmith's when
we'd got quit of grubbing, to imbibe something hot, and pay for it.
Yesterday he was selling coffee, but some bobbies called there this
morning, so the good man's got the shakes, and he's locked his
door."

Lamuse has tried to clean his rifle. But one cannot clean his rifle
here, even if he squats on the ground near the door, nor even if he
takes away the sodden tent-cloth, hard and icy, which hangs across
the doorway like a stalactite; it is too dark. "And then, old chap,
if you let a screw fall, you may as well hang yourself as try to