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d pious souvenirs which have converted the place into a big bazaar。 Here and in the gardens adjoining the church； he saw wounded convalescents with uniforms stained with traces of the combat。 Their cloaks were greatly soiled in spite of repeated brushings。 The mud； the blood and the rain had left indelible spots and made them as stiff as cardboard。 Some of the wounded had cut their sleeves in order to avoid the cruel friction on their shattered arms； others still showed on their trousers the rents made by the devastating shells。
They were fighters of all ranks and of many racesinfantry； cavalry； artillerymen； soldiers from the metropolis and from the colonies； French farmers and African sharpshooters； red heads； faces of Mohammedan olive and the black countenances of the Sengalese； with eyes of fire； and thick； bluish blubber lips； some showing the good…nature and sedentary obesity of the middle…class man suddenly converted into a warrior； others sinewy； alert； with the aggressive profile of men born to fight； and experienced in foreign fields。
The city； formerly visited by the hopeful； Catholic sick； was now invaded by a crowd no less dolorous but clad in carnival colors。 All； in spite of their physical distress； had a certain air of good cheer and satisfaction。 They had seen Death very near； slipping out from his bony claws into a new joy and zest in life。 With their cloaks adorned with medals； their theatrical Moorish garments； their kepis and their African headdresses； this heroic band presented； nevertheless； a lamentable aspect。
Very few still preserved the noble vertical carriage； the pride of the superior human being。 They were walking along bent almost double； limping； dragging themselves forward by the help of a staff or friendly arm。 Others had to let themselves be pushed along； stretched out on the hand…carts which had so often conducted the devout sick from the station to the Grotto of the Virgin。 Some were feeling their way along； blindly； leaning on a child or nurse。 The first encounters in Belgium and in the East； a mere half…dozen battles； had been enough to produce these physical wrecks still showing a manly nobility in spite of the most horrible outrages。 These organisms； struggling so tenaciously to regain their hold on life； bringing their reviving energies out into the sunlight； represented but the most minute part of the number mowed down by the scythe of Death。 Back of them were thousands and thousands of comrades groaning on hospital beds from which they would probably never rise。 Thousands and thousands were hidden forever in the bosom of the Earth moistened by their death agonyfatal land which； upon receiving a hail of projectiles； brought forth a harvest of bristling crosses！
War now showed itself to Desnoyers with all its cruel hideousness。 He had been accustomed to speak of it heretofore as those in robust health speak of death； knowing that it exists and is horrible； but seeing it afar off 。 。 。 so far off that it arouses no real emotion。 The explosion of the shells were accompanying their destructive brutality with a ferocious mockery； grotesquely disfiguring the human body。 He saw wounded objects just beginning to recover their vital force who were but rough skeletons of men； frightful caricatures； human rags； saved from the tomb by the audacities of sciencetrunks with heads which were dragged along on wheeled platforms； fragments of skulls whose brains were throbbing under an artificial cap； beings without arms and without legs； resting in the bottom of little wagons； like bits of plaster models or scraps from the dissecting room； faces without noses that looked like skulls with great； black nasal openings。 And these half…men were talking； smoking； laughing； satisfied to see the sky； to feel the caress of the sun； to have come back to life； dominated by that sovereign desire to live which trustingly forgets present misery in the confident hope of something better。
So strongly was Julio impressed that for a little while he forgot the purpose which had brought him thither。 。 。 。 If those who provoke war from diplomatic chambers or from the tables of the Military Staff could but see itnot in the field of battle fired with the enthusiasm which prejudices judgmentsbut in cold blood； as it is seen in the hospitals and cemeteries； in the wrecks left in its trail！ 。 。 。
To Julio's imagination this terrestrial globe appeared like an enormous ship sailing through infinity。 Its crewspoor humanity had spent century after century in exterminating each other on the deck。 They did not even know what existed under their feet； in the hold of the vessel。 To occupy the same portion of the surface in the sunlight seemed to be the ruling desire of each group。 Men； considered superior human beings； were pushing these masses to extermination in order to scale the last bridge and hold the helm； controlling the course of the boat。 And all those who felt the overmastering ambition for absolute command knew the same thing 。 。 。 nothing。 Not one of them could say with certainty what lay beyond the visible horizon； nor whither the ship was drifting。 The sullen hostility of mystery surrounded them all； their life was precarious； necessitating incessant care in order to maintain it； yet in spite of that； the crew for ages and ages； had never known an instant of agreement； of team work； of clear reason。 Periodically half of them would clash with the other half。 They killed each other that they might enslave the vanquished on the rolling deck floating over the abyss； they fought that they might cast their victims from the vessel； filling its wake with cadavers。 And from the demented throng there were still springing up gloomy sophistries to prove that a state of war was the perfect state； that it ought to go on forever； that it was a bad dream on the part of the crew to wish to regard each other as brothers with a common destiny； enveloped in the same unsteady environment of mystery。 。 。 。 Ah； human misery！
Julio was drawn out of these pessimistic reflections by the childish glee which many of the convalescents were evincing。 Some were Mussulmans； sharpshooters from Algeria and Morocco。 In Lourdes； as they might be anywhere； they were interested only in the gifts which the people were showering upon them with patriotic affection。 They all surveyed with indifference the basilica inhabited by 〃the white lady；〃 their only preoccupation being to beg for cigars and sweets。
Finding themselves regaled by the dominant race； they became greatly puffed up； daring everything like mischievous children。 What pleased them most was the fact that the ladies would take them by the hand。 Blessed war that permitted them to approach and touch these white women； perfumed and smiling as they appeared in their dreams of the paradise of the blest！ 〃Lady 。 。 。 Lady；〃 they would sigh； looking at them with dark； sparkling eyes。 And not content with the hand； their dark paws would venture the length of the entire arm while the ladies laughed at this tremulous adoration。 Others would go through the crowds； offering their right hand to all the women。 〃We touch hands。〃 。 。 。 And then they would go away