Then he was not a prisoner again, but was in French hands.

That, at least, was a consolation.
It was amusing to lie there and see the people, one by one, pass between him and the light.

He could easily imagine that he was an inspection officer and that they walked by under orders from him.

Two more women in those somber dresses with the red crosses embroidered upon them, were silhouetted for a moment against the glow and then were gone.

Then a man with his arm in a sling and his face very pale walked slowly by.