But then ... the leave that had been promised him to go to his village of Plouherzel would not now be given him! . . . All the things for which he had hoped, for which he had longed, during three years of misery, were lost! He thought of his mother and his heart smote him sorely; his eyes opened bewildered, seeing only what was within, dilated in a strange fixity by a tumult of interior things. And, in the hope that it was only an evil dream, he tried to shake his tortured foot in its iron ring.
Then a burst of laughter, deep and resonant, went off like a firework in the dark hold: a man, clothed in a woollen jersey fitting close to his body, was standing beside Yves and looking at him. As he laughed he threw back his handsome head and showed his white teeth with a feline expression.
"Hello! so you are waking up?" asked the man in a sarcastic voice, which vibrated with the accent of Bordeaux.
Yves recognized his friend Jean Barrada, the gunner, and looking up at him he asked _if I knew._
"Tut! Tut!" said Barrada in his chaffing Gascon way. "Does he know? He has been down three times and even brought the doctor here to have a look at you; you were like a log and we were frightened about you. And I am on duty here to let him know if you move."
"What for? I don't want him or anyone. Don't go, Barrada, do you understand, I forbid you!"
And so it had happened again. He had come to grief once more, and once more through his old failing. And, on every one of the rare occasions on which he set foot on shore, it fell out thus and it seemed that he could not help it. It must be true, what had been said to him, that this habit was a terrible and a fatal one, and that a man was lost indeed when once it had taken hold of him. In rage against himself he twisted his muscular arms until they cracked; he half raised himself, grinding his teeth; and then he fell back striking his head against the hard planks. Oh! his poor mother, she was now quite near to him and he would not see her, despite his longing of the last three years! . . . And this was his return to France! What anguish and what misery!
"At least you must change your clothes," said Barrada. "To remain wet through as you are won't do you any good. You will be ill."