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But she had a glimpse of Dellarme maintaining his set smile and another of Feller, who had crept up behind the automatic, making impatient "come-on! come-on! what-is-the-matter-with-you?" gestures in the direction of the batteries in front of the castle. "Thur-eesh thur-eesh!"
Over the Gray batteries on the plain an explosive ball of smoke hung in the still air; then another beside it. "Thur-eesh thur-eesh thur-eesh," the screaming overhead became a gale that built a cloud of blue smoke over the offending Gray batteries beautiful, soft blue smoke from which a spray of steel descended.
Then "thur-eesh thur-eesh" above every other sound in a long wail! No man ever forgets the first crack of a shrapnel at close quarters, the first bullet breath on his cheek, or the first supporting shell from his side in flight that passes above him. "That is ours!" called Dellarme. "Ours!" shouted the sergeant. "Ours!" sang the thought of every one of the men.
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