I am lunching with Colonel X----, an immense Corsican, who never knows what fear is---- The meal is, _ma foi_, very good and very lively. A big boche torpedo burst not far away---- "Tell me of Verdi's music instead of this German melody outside. I'm a lover of the arts!" EPARGES CEMETERY. _January_, 1916. Eparges Cemetery with its symmetrically aligned graves is touching. The Bavarians bombard it systematically, their hearts set upon destroying it, and the shells churn these sacred little plots from top to bottom---- The _poilus_, on the board path, shake their heads and say: "There! again they're murdering our dead." LOST IN THE DARK, CALONNE TRENCH. _January_, 1916. Night black--night without moon--rifle shots resound like in a cave--we can't see more than a yard in front of us. My friend and I must rejoin a squad of _poilus_ at work. We have taken a short cut and stumble into shell-holes. We bump into tree stumps--climb hills. Yes, we are lost. We retrace our steps--tired and hungry. We fall against something--it's a mound! I flash my electric torch on it, masking the glare with the flat of my hand. It's a grave! There is a small wooden cross on which is written: "Here lies an unknown soldier." LeBlond and myself gave a sigh of relief: "We are at the 'Grave of the Apple Trees,' which is to the right in the direction of the cross; we are on the proper path--Thanks, poor old chap----" THE FIRST TRAIN, EPARGES. _January_, 1916. The narrow gauge track has been finished--the first train is due to arrive to-night. Captain Gunther has put Ménard's Prince Albert over his uniform, and, with a little red flag, a horn and a lantern, has gone to await the arrival of the convoy. One hour, two hours pass! The train did not come--it has been derailed near Trésauvaux. We learned later that the track had been torn up by shells. "Ah! these Government railroads--they never run." HERMAN AND HIS CANTEEN, EPARGES. _January_, 1916. For some months we have seen this corpse in front of us--fifty yards away--In the rain, snow, cold, we have noticed it change its position several times---- Herman, the "pretty German officer," was often the subject of discussion: for he must have on him shiny brass buttons to decorate our cigarette lighters and our cartridge boxes--his boots could no longer be any good, because around him there must have been a nice bed of mushrooms! A change in the line brought us close to Herman. The first patrol which went out crouched over to him---- Quickly one cut the buttons from his tunic---- "Wait," said one of the men, "he's still got his canteen!" A _poilu_ easily detached it, then shook it close to his ear--the canteen was yet half full!---- He unscrewed the cover--he sniffed it. It was brandy! In a low voice, he said to the others: "_Eh! les vieux_, it's brandy!" Tossing off a drink, he passed Herman's canteen to his neighbor---- I DISCOVER A COUSIN, EPARGES. _January_, 1916.