War, with its realism, had wiped out all that was theatrical about this formidable organization of death.

The soldiers appeared dirty and tired, out.

The respiration of fat and sweaty bodies, mixed with the strong smell of leather, floated over the regiments.

All the men had hungry faces.
For days and nights they had been following the heels of an enemy which was always just eluding their grasp.

In this forced advance the provisions of the administration would often arrive so late at the cantonments that they could depend only on what they happened to have in their knapsacks.