When they had gone, Hugo spent a disturbed afternoon. He had not been so moved in many, many months.
Now the streets of Paris were assailed by the colour of olive drab, the twang of Yankee accents, the music of Broadway songs. Hugo watched the first parade with eyes somewhat proud and not a little sombre. Each shuffling step seemed to ask a rhythmic question. Who would not return to Paris? Who would return once and not again? Who would be blind? Who would be hideous? Who would be armless, legless, who would wear silver plates and leather props for his declining years? Hugo wondered, and, looking into those sometimes stern and sometimes ribald faces, he saw that they had not yet commenced to wonder.
They did not know the hammer and shock of falling shells and the jelly and putty which men became. They chafed and bantered and stormed every café and cocotte impartially, recklessly. Even the Legion had been more grim and better prepared for the iron feet of war. They fell upon Hugo with their atrocious French--two young men who wanted a drink and could not make the bar-tender understand.
"Hey, _fransay_," they called to him, "_comment dire que nous voulez des choses boire?_"
Hugo smiled. "What do you birds want to drink?"
"God Almighty! Here's a Frog that speaks United States. Get the gang. What's your name, bo?"
"Come on an' have a flock of drinks on us. You're probably dying on French pay. You order for the gang and we'll treat." Eager, grinning American faces. "Can you get whisky in this God-forsaken dump?"
"That's the talk. Straight, Dan. We're in the army now."
Hugo drank with them. Only for one moment did they remember they were in the army to fight: "Say, Dan, the war really isn't as tough as they claim, is it?"
"I don't know how tough they claim it is."
"Is it true that the Heinies--?" His hands indicated his question.
"Sometimes. Accidentally, more or less. You can't help it."
"And do them machine guns really mow 'em down?"
Hugo shrugged. "There are only four men in service now who started with my company."
"Ouch! _Garçon! Encore!_ An' tell him to make it double--no, triple--Dan, old man. It may be my last." To Hugo: "Well, it's about time we got here an' took the war off your shoulders. You guys sure have had a bellyful. An' I'm goin' to get me one right here and now. Bottoms up, you guys."