"
"It's the finest place in the world" said B.'s voice.
"Thank Heaven, we're out of A.'s way and the ---- _Section Sanitaire_," I
grunted as I placed my boots where a pillow might have been imagined.
"Amen" B.'s voice said.
"If you put your shoes un-der your mat-tress" Monsieur Auguste's voice
said, "you'll sleep well."
I thanked him for the suggestion, and did so. I reclined in an ecstasy of
happiness and weariness. There could be nothing better than this. To
sleep.
"Got a _gottverdummer_ cigarette?" Harree's voice asked of Fritz.
"No bloody fear," Fritz's voice replied coolly.
Snores had already begun in various keys at various distances in various
directions. The candle flickered a little; as if darkness and itself were
struggling to the death, and darkness were winning.
"I'll get a chew from John" Harree's voice said.
Three or four _paillasses_ away, a subdued conversation was proceeding. I
found myself listening sleepily.
"_Et puis_," a voice said, "_je suis reforme...._"
V.
A GROUP OF PORTRAITS
With the reader's permission I beg, at this point of my narrative, to
indulge in one or two extrinsic observations.
In the preceding pages I have described my Pilgrim's Progress from the
Slough of Despond, commonly known as Section Sanitaire Vingt-et-Un (then
located at Germaine) through the mysteries of Noyon, Gre and Paris to the
Porte de Triage de La Ferte Mace, Orne.
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