One of them, without interrupting his song, was pressing the hand of an old woman marching beside him, cheerful and dry-eyed.

The mother was concentrating all her strength in order, with feigned happiness, to accompany this strapping lad to the last minute.
Others were coming along singly, separated from their companies, but not on that account alone.

The gun was hanging from the shoulder, the back overlaid by the hump of the knapsack, the red legs shooting in and out of the turned-back folds of the blue cloak, and the smoke of a pipe under the visor of the kepis.

In front of one of these men, four children were walking along, lined up according to size.

They kept turning their heads to admire their father, suddenly glorified by his military trappings.