to keep clear of that loophole. There's a gent over there who doesn't love me. I have had three pots at him today. If he isn't dead he will be wanting his turn. And then ..." 

 —"SILENCE!" 

 Truly a vile sector—four, five small posts to be manned, twelve sentries to be found, not to mention patrols. Not much chance of sleep for my poor fellows here. 

 "Good-bye." 

 "Good-bye. Thanks for your help." 

 It was the officer of the out-going company who was moving off. The sound died away in the woods. 

 It was high time. The moon was already up. 

 Swathed in pale yellow mist, she swam mournfully through a sea of grey flakes. She had turned her lamp on the desolate white countryside, the shattered tree-stumps, and clayey wastes. The men vanished into their shelters. The sentries kept their rifles down lest the bayonet should catch the light. Behind us a number of small, flat mounds, with pathetic wooden railings, loomed into view. 

 These were the graves. 

 The men had not noticed them. All the better. It was better they should not see them until next morning—by daylight, when they would have got used to the place and our little world would be feeling the comparatively enlivening influence of the sun. 

 My five small posts and twelve sentries were placed. The company was established in its burrow. Those not on watch were already snoring. With two trusty men—you can always find some of that breed, wakeful and inquisitive—I started on my rounds. 

 "Tell Lieutenant Vignerte I have gone to get into touch with the 23rd. Ask him to wait for me in my dug-out. I shall be back in a quarter of an hour." 

 We crept along the hedges. At regular intervals lights soared from the German trenches and fell back to earth in a pale blue halo. 

 "Who goes there!" 

 "Masséna." 

 "Melun." 

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