Our shelter is damp. Water filters through the board walls and falls in large drops. A dim candle light. The sector is very quiet. St. André stands in the threshold. He is covered with mud from head to foot. What a trip it is to get here! His stalwart face is dripping with rain; this brave young lad of nineteen radiates health and good nature. "Did you spend a nice vacation?" "Not very good, captain." "Not very good? Where did you go?" "To Rennes." "Did they not welcome you as they should?" "No, captain, they treated me like a slacker. They said, 'What! not wounded or killed--you're not a real _poilu_!'" "But, _mon petit_, you should have said you came from Eparges, the wickedest sector along the front." "No chance to talk with those people. Our conversation ended in blows." "At least, you have done your bit for France by giving her 'little St. André's,' _poilus_ and sturdy like yourself?" "Yes, captain, I'm not married--but I've got two sons." "You are not married? You are going to marry her right away, my boy. You could easily have an accident here, and you would not embarrass your little friend----" "That's true, captain----" "I am going to give you two days' vacation so you can marry her, but I will have to get the certificate from the mayor." "Captain--I want to tell you--I would rather marry by proxy." "By proxy! That's a strange idea--and why?" "Because then it would only be good for the duration of the war." THE PASSWORD, DIEUE-SUR-MEUSE. _November_, 1915. It is night--I return in a covered automobile with Colonel d'Auriac. At the road which crosses that to St. Mihiel, a sentinel waves his lantern--the machine stops. "The password?" "Marne!" "That's not it!" "What! That's not it? Call the head of the post," said the colonel nervously. In a few moments that seemed long enough to us, the _poilu_ brought the head of the post, who dragged his feet as if half asleep. "The password?" "Marne!" "Pass!" "Wait! How is this, sergeant, when I give the word to the sentry, he does not let me pass through; on the other hand when I give it to you, you permit me to continue?" "Well, you see, colonel, neither the sentry or myself know the password!" AT THE ANNIVERSARY OF AUSTERLITZ, EPARGES. _December_ 1, 1915. It is the eve of Austerlitz. To-night and to-morrow we are going to celebrate the memory of our forefathers, the Emperor's Old Guard, who will shake in their graves with joy. It is snowing. The night is bright with moon. Rifle shots resound loudly in the darkness. From time to time, are exchanged by one and then the other, rounds of machine-gun fire at fleeing shadows during the slow descent of star-shell. I arrive from Verdun and my automobile is filled with everything I could hastily collect in the stores. We have a basket of oysters, fine white bread and fresh butter----