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"Number 48," I said. "Lieutenant Louis de Maillefeu, born at Provins, the...." I did not finish. My voice choked. Louis de Maillefeu, my best friend, the friend of my childhood and of Saint-Cyr.... I looked at him and recognized him under the metallic coating. Louis de Maillefeu! I laid my forehead against the cold wall and, with shaking shoulders, began to sob.
If, at that moment, someone had offered to lead me back to the route across the white plain near Shikh-Salah, would I have accepted? Hardly. I tried to feel ashamed of my curiosity. I thought of Maillefeu. "He, too, followed this corridor. And now he is down there, in the red marble hall." I had no time to linger over this reminiscence.
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