Their only weapon is the infinity of their number.

They are coming to bury us under their feet.
Suddenly a shift in the wind brings us the smell of ether.

The divisions advancing on us are drunk! We declare it, we tell it to ourselves frantically.
"They're on fire! They're on fire!" cries the trembling voice of the man beside me, whose shoulders are shaken by the shots he is hurling.
They draw near.

They are lighted from below along the descent by the flashing footlights of our fire; they grow bigger, and already we can make out the forms of soldiers.

They are at the same time in order and in disorder.