Major Hély sips this plum nectar like a connoisseur. He sniffs the brandy and it causes him to smack his lips---- "Ah! Gunther, where did you unearth this marvelous stuff?" "In a cellar of the village, under the corpse of an old woman." PRECAUTION TRENCH, EPARGES. _December_, 1915. Precaution Trench leaves a memory of horror with all those who have frequented it--. There is such an accumulation of German and French corpses; all huddled together, that one feels a swelling of the heart if one remains for any length of time in this charnel-house---- But we have to put the trench in condition. With sweeps of the shovel human arms and legs are dismembered so that free passage may not be blocked. Legs and bodies are, above all, difficult to disentangle---- At night, when the earth breathes, our men faint occasionally, and it is necessary to give them menthol-alcohol on bits of sugar---- "Look, _mon vieux_, at that rotting breast----" "It's possible a woman, dearly loved, has been tightly pressed against that breast there!" "This man has been reported missing--he still wears his identification tag----" "Perhaps they are waiting at home for him--they are always hoping, without doubt----" "Him? Ough! he's shot to hell--but--what about her?" YOU'RE A SLACKER! EPARGES. _December_, 1915. Do you believe all those who have survived this horrible December winter, at Eparges, are martyrs? Not at all. Listen to what I heard this morning. Two sapper-miners were arguing and this is what took place: "You ought to be ashamed to be always in F gallery--it won't be blown up by the enemy for two months. It's always the same with you fellows who go in for this kind of fighting---- "Désiré, you're nothing but a slacker!" A WALK IN THE FOG, CALONNE TRENCH. _December_, 1915. There is a thick, heavy fog here this morning---- One can stand on the parapet, where, two hours afterwards, he would be pierced like a sieve. It gives one a very curious sensation to go several steps in front of the trench, over the snow, to reconnoitre the terrain ahead of us. And it is quite different to inspect this sombre place which we always see through a periscope, not knowing what it really is. Dead boughs and leaves crackle under our feet while we move with care. There is a zig-zag path in the wire entanglement right in front of us---- In a hollow in the terrain we discover a German corpse, or more precisely, a skeleton dressed in an infantryman's uniform, a rusty rifle at his side--that is the thing in question. The body must have been there a long time---- THE POILU BOULEVARDIER. _December_, 1915. Day has not yet come--the weather is misty, and the rain has stopped. From time to time a rifle shot----