"Listen, _mon petit_, it is not necessary to speak of it, because if one looks around himself here, he always ends up by finding someone very unhappy----" "Very true, lieutenant, because instead of being in a lot of mud we could easily find ourselves up to our necks in something a whole lot worse!" * * * * * That night I am in the home of M. and Mme. Louis at Verdun. The good woman has a great wood fire going--May God bless her! I am so numb with cold that I cannot undress--my shirt is frozen to my back---- This good and sweet creature assists me and, hearing my teeth chatter, weeps softly and murmurs: "What would his poor mother say if she saw him in this condition----" THE RELIGIOUS POILU, EPARGES. _December_, 1915. Accompanied by one of my _poilus_, I ran across the chaplain of the ---- Regiment of Infantry, in front of the P. C.[19] of the colonel. We are both in a sorry plight. The preceding days have been such an accumulation of physical and moral misery, that I could not help but say to the priest: "Father, I feel death hovering around me--hear my confession!" "Confess you here? Do not think of it. You make your own hell on earth in the Eparges. I will pray for you. And you, _poilu_," he added, turning toward my sapper, "to what religion do you belong?" "I belong to that which looks God straight in the eyes!" THE MEN OF BRONZE, EPARGES. _December_, 1915. We have just put in some frightful days up there. The mud, the horrible mud, is infinitely more terrible than any enemy shells. It is relief day! What luck to end this nightmare. One is sad, however, for the others who come to take your place. The Eparges soil is red--our uniforms of horizon blue, dirty and covered with this mud, appear tinted with blood. A sad array. We all have a dejected mien. Several of us will not come back. Four _poilus_ are carrying one of our wounded. They advance carefully. Night has fallen and the lingering red shadows disappear from the heavens, one after the other, darkening our march. We meet General Renaux, commanding the Division, who comes to inspect the sector. Contemplating us dolefully, he said: "My poor children, what a state you are in!" "General," replied a _poilu_, straightening, "that is nothing. It is we--the men of BRONZE!" MAJOR HÉLY'S VISIT, EPARGES. _December_, 1915. It is reception day, to-day. Major Hély of the General Staff, after having inspected the sector, will dine with us. And so, there are fresh flowers on the table--chicken and champagne. A ray of sun is equally in the party. What luck! The boches are quiet. It is the end of the dinner. Ménard brings the _jus_, excellent coffee which he pours in the cups. The only coffee spoon makes the rounds of the table. Ménard also deposits a dusty bottle which we all regard in silence but with respect. Captain Gunther himself will pour the precious liquor in the little glasses----