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Updated: June 13, 2025
But something inside of me shouted: 'Fight on! It is for France. It is for "L'Alouette," thy farm; for thy wife, thy little ones. Wilt thou let them be ruined by those beasts of Boches? What are they doing here on French soil? Brigands, butchers, Apaches! Drive them out; and if they will not go, kill them so they can do no more shameful deeds. Fight on! So I killed all I could."
How is it that you call it? I suppose I had been babbling about it in my sleep and one of the nurses had told him. He was always that way, that little Doctor Roselly, taking an interest in the men, talking with them and acting friendly. I said the farm was called 'L'Alouette' rather a foolish name. 'Not at all, he answered; 'it is a fine name, with the song of a bird in it.
It was a humble dwelling of plastered stone, standing between two tall fir-trees, with ivy growing over the walls, lilies and hollyhocks blooming in the garden. Pierre found it not half so good a house as "L'Alouette." But to the custodian it was more precious than a palace. In this upper room with its low mullioned window the Maid began her life.
Well, you are going back to "L'Alouette" to hear the lark sing for a month, to kiss your wife and your children, to pick gooseberries and currants. Eh, my boy, what do you think of that? Then, when the month is over, you will be a new man. You will be ready to fight again at Verdun. Remember, they have not passed and they shall not pass!
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