[Footnote 1:  As a precaution against “scrimshanking,” a penalty attaches to “consultations” which are adjudged uncalled-for.—­Tr.]

“Consultations,” which merely send the soldier back into the ranks continued indefinitely.  No one was exempted from marching.  Once we heard the husky and pitiful voice of a simpleton who was dressing again in recrimination.  The doctor argued, in a good-natured way, and then said, his voice suddenly serious, “Sorry, my good man, but I cannot exempt you.  I have certain instructions.  Make an effort.  You can still do it.”

We saw them come out, one by one, these creatures of deformed body and dwindling movement, leaning on each other, as though attached, and mumbling, “Nothing can be done, nothing.”

Little Melusson, reserved and wretched, with his long red nose between his burning cheekbones, was standing among us in the idle file with which the morning seemed vaguely in fellowship.  He had not been to the inspection, but he said, “I can carry on to-day still; but to-morrow I shall knock under.  To-morrow——­”

We paid no attention to Melusson’s words.  Some one near us said, “Those instructions the major spoke of, they’re a sign.”

* * * * * *

On parade that same morning the chief, with his nose on a paper, read out:  “By order of the Officer Commanding,” and then he stammered out some names, names of some soldiers in the regiment brigaded with ours, who had been shot for disobedience.  There was a long list of them.  At the beginning of the reading a slight growl was heard going round.  Then, as the surnames came out, as they spread out in a crowd around us, there was silence.  This direct contact with the phantoms of the executed set a wind of terror blowing and bowed all heads.

It was the same again on the days that followed.  After parade orders, the commandant, whom we rarely saw, mustered the four companies under arms on some waste ground.  He spoke to us of the military situation, particularly favorable to us on the whole front, and of the final victory which could not be long delayed.  He made promises to us.  “Soon you will be at home,” and smiled on us for the first time.  He said, “Men, I do not know what is going to happen, but when it should be necessary I rely on you.  As always, do your duty and be silent.  It is so easy to be silent and to act!”

We broke off and made ourselves scarce.  Returned to quarters we learned there was to be an inspection of cartridges and reserve rations by the captain.  We had hardly time to eat.  Majorat waxed wroth, and confided his indignation to Termite, who was a good audience, “It’s all the fault of that unlucky captain—­we’re just slaves!”

He shook his fist as he spoke towards the Town Hall.

But Termite shrugged his shoulders, looked at him unkindly, and said, “Like a rotten egg, that’s how you talk.  That captain, and all the red tabs and brass hats, it’s not them that invented the rules.  They’re just gilded machines—­machines like you, but not so cheap.  If you want to do away with discipline, do away with war, my fellow; that’s a sight easier than to make it amusing for the private.”