Then it is the P. C. of the colonel, where there is always a great bustle, and where one must say to the _poilu_, "Out of the way, _mon petit_, let me pass." [Illustration: Eparges, The "Ravine of Death" From left to right: Lieutenant Blanc, Captain Gunther, Sub-Lieutenant Capart.] Finally, the subterranean passage about sixty feet in length, and we come out in a spot not so dark: Woevre plain is down there. We turn to the right. It is the "Ravine of Death," where trees mutilated by projectiles are silhouetted against the night like a band of witches. One feels in this place a veritable impression of horror---- In front, pointing into the starry heavens, the crest of Eparges---- Laboriously we climb the hill, stopping from time to time to get our breath. Only a few cannon and machine guns trouble the calm of the night. At last we arrive close to Grenet's shelter, where several men formed a group along the embankment. I called one of his sergeants whom I already knew. "Do you know Charles Dubois?" "Yes, lieutenant. You heard then that we recovered his body?" "He has been killed----?" "This morning----" "Where is he?" The _poilu_ turned--I saw a stretcher, a shapeless mass covered with a blanket, two heavy shoes which stuck out, shrouded with red soil---- It is night. I gently lift the blanket and scarcely recognize the contour of his face---- I can hear the voice of an old woman, who says to another: "Charles is at Eparges; I am so uneasy." THE COMMERCIAL BAR, EPARGES. _January_, 1916. Bombing duels all morning---- We have gone to pay a visit to Major X---- at his fighting dugout; the major never worries about anything---- "Ah! how good of you to come--let me offer you a drink: some Turin, whisky and soda, Pernod, or Cassis--which do you want? You will remain and have lunch with me? I have a live lobster"--he brandished that animal triumphantly--"and, with that, grilled lamb chops, potatoes, _pont-neuf_." Turning toward the telephone operator and without waiting for our reply, he said: "Waiter, set two covers more!" FATE, EPARGES. _January_, 1916. "Mamma! your ears are tingling to-day----" I left Colonel Moran's shelter and directed my steps toward our own, following the board path. I walked with difficulty because the terrain was bad. On my right the mud was so deep that one could not step out into it without sinking up to the hips! The boches commenced to shell us with 150's. The first shot fell between Montgirmont and Eparges, in plain view, 75 to 125 yards from me. The second burst 125 yards to the left, back of our little board chapel, raising a great fuss. The third hit ten feet from me--whack! It did not explode, but splattered me from head to foot--I couldn't be picked up with pincers! "Mamma! your ears are tingling to-day." THE COLONEL WHO LOVES GOOD MUSIC, EPARGES. _January_, 1916. Bombardment all morning--the hill trembles----