Paths of Glory by Humphrey Cobb

troops? But it’s always something about death, almost a defeatist propaganda. Boyau des Perdus; Tranchée des Supplices; Carrefour de la Mort. I’m getting tired of it. Boyau des Perdus! Bah! And look at that, will you! They don’t even know how to spell it. What was there, a whore-house around here?”
    The general was pointing to the wooden signboard on the side of the road, and he was referring to the feminine spelling of the word “perdu.” The sign was written thus: BOYAU DES PERDUES, and below it was an arrow pointing in the only direction the trench went, namely, straight off into the embankment, on the right-hand side of the road.
    â€œYes, sir,” said Herbillon, “that is wrong. I’ll see that it’s changed at once. What name would you suggest, sir? Would the general permit—I mean—er—would the general allow us the honour of naming the trench after him? . . .”
    â€œCertainly not,” said Assolant, flatly, so flatly indeed that Herbillon sensed, Saint-Auban knew, that nothing would have pleased him more. “You can’t go around changing names here and there. It would cause too much confusion, to say nothing of the work on the maps. But when I get a chance I’m going to take the matter of these defeatist names up with Army. However, if you want to wallow in perdition in the meantime, you might at least spell it right.”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, sir,” said Saint-Auban with a suppressed excitement which indicated that a great moment had come in his career of aide-de-camp, “the error in that sign is actually one of omission, not of spelling.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œIf you will permit me to explain, sir?”
    â€œThat’s what I’m waiting for you to do.”
    â€œWell, sir, originally there was another word there, a word that is at the same time feminine and masculine. That is to say feminine in grammar, masculine in anatomy.” Saint-Auban was again turning on that brilliant smile of his, the smile which was to supply the brilliance in case his wit did not.
    â€œStop grinning and making riddles and get on with the point.”
    â€œYes, sir, yes, sir. What I mean is that this trench was named after a legendary wound that is supposed to have taken place up here. The sign read originally: Boyau des Couilles Perdues—in memory of the emasculation of a sergeant. Somebody or other took exception to the sign and the objectionable word was deleted. The spelling of the adjective remained, however. So the story goes, at least.”
    â€œAh, that’s interesting, very interesting indeed, Saint-Auban. No, on no account must the name of the trench be changed. Ha, ha, ha! D’you suppose that sergeant feels compensated for his sacrifice by having a trench named in commemoration of it? When all is said, it is an honour, a eunuch honour!”
    They all laughed uproariously and went into the trench, Herbillon leading the way.

    As soon as the order to stand down had been given, Didier went on along the trench to his company. He went down into the dugout, struck a match and found his equipment. The match went out and he felt around in his things until his hand came in contact with a clasp knife, a hunk of bread, and a box of sardines. He took his canteen with him and groped his way up the stairs. He sat down on the top step and worked over the sardine tin with the can-opener in the knife. When he had got the lid curled half-way back he closed the can-opener and opened a blade. He uncorked the canteen and took a drink of the sour, red wine. The wine puckered his mouth and he made a face, then began to eat. He ate quickly and deftly, using the blade alternately as a fork for the sardines and a knife for the bread. Each mouthful was washed down by a swig of wine. He was hungry and the food tasted good to him. Other men were squatting up and down the dugout steps and in the traverse