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But that does not make Zackrist less hungry." He took the bowl from her hands and, emptying a little of it into the wooden bidon that hung to her belt, kept that for himself and, stretching his arm across the straw, gave the bowl to Zackrist, who had watched it with the longing, ravenous eyes of a starving wolf, and seized it with rabid avidity.
"Give half to Zackrist," he said. "I know no hunger; and he has more need of it." "Zackrist! That is the man who stole your lance and accouterments, and got you into trouble by taking them to pawn in your name, a year or more ago." "Well, what of that? He is not the less hungry." "What of that? "What has that to do with it?" "This, M. Victor, that you are a fool." "I dare say I am.
"Tiens tiens! I did him wrong," murmured Cigarette. "That is what they are the children of France even when they are at their worst, like that devil, Zackrist. Who dare say they are not the heroes of the world?"
Not that I feel the insects not I; my skin is leather, see you! they can't get through it; but his is white and soft bah! like tissue-paper!" "I see, Zackrist; you are right. A French soldier can never take a kindness from an English fellow without outrunning him in generosity. Look here is some drink for you."
Zackrist himself, who could hear perfectly what was said, uttered no word; but when he had finished the contents of the bowl, lay looking at his corporal with an odd gleam in the dark, sullen savage depths of his hollow eyes. He was not going to say a word of thanks; no! none had ever heard a grateful or a decent word from him in his life; he was proud of that.
And all through the march she gave Zackrist a double portion of her water dashed with red wine, that was so welcome and so precious to the parched and aching throats; and all through the march Cecil lay asleep, and the man who had thieved from him, the man whose soul was stained with murder, and pillage, and rapine, sat erect beside him, letting the insects suck his veins and pierce his flesh.
"What recompense do you think you will get? He will steal your things again, first chance." "May be. I don't think he will. But he is very hungry, all the same; that is about the only question just now," he answered her as he drank and ate his portion, with a need of it that could willingly have made him take thrice as much, though for the sake of Zackrist, he had denied his want of it.
As she glanced round she saw without any linen to cover him, Zackrist had reared himself up and leaned slightly forward over against his comrade. The shirt that protected Cecil was his; and on his own bare shoulders and mighty chest the tiny armies of the flies and gnats were fastened, doing their will, uninterrupted.
It was only when they drew near the camp of the main army that Zackrist beat off the swarm and drew his old shirt over his head. "You do not want to say anything to him," he muttered to Cigarette. "I am of leather, you know; I have not felt it." She nodded; she understood him. Yet his shoulders and his chest were well-nigh flayed, despite the tough and horny skin of which he made his boast.
A smile passed over Cecil's face, amused despite the pain he suffered. "That is one of my 'sensational tricks, as M. de Chateauroy calls them. Poor Zackrist! Did you see his eyes?" "A jackal's eyes, yes!" said Cigarette, who, between her admiration for the action and her impatience at the waste of her good bread and wine, hardly knew whether to applaud or to deride him.
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