noon
Beyond a hill , on a still higher one , some slated roofs peep from clusters of foliage as brightly green as a salad . The village is there , and our looks embrace it , but we are not there yet . For a long time it seems to recede as fast as the regiment crawls towards it . At long last , on the stroke of noon , we reach the quarters that had begun to appear a pretense and a legend . In regular step and with rifles on shoulders , the regiment floods the street of Gauchin-l'Abbe right to its edges . Most of the villages of the Pas du Calais are composed of a single street , but such a street ! It is often several kilometers long .