"Capart!" I turned around. It is _he_! I saluted respectfully. "Are you settled?" "Yes, general. I am glad for this opportunity alone to tell you how grateful I am for having been appointed by you. You can count on me no matter what circumstance. Ask of me what you will, my life belongs to you, general, I give it to you----" Our glances met, and he said: "I know it." THE REGIMENT WHICH PASSES, NETTANCOURT. _July_, 1916. The sun has just come up--I open my eyes. I am not wrong, it is the blowing of bugles that wakens me---- I jump out of bed and fling the large window clear up--my room is flooded with light---- It is a regiment which is passing--it comes straight from Dead Man's Hill. Our _poilus_ are tanned, but their faces are worn---- "My poor _poilus_, your uniforms are covered with dry mud, but you are magnificent----!" The band plays "Sambre and Meuse" and I am so affected that I throw myself on the bed and sob like a child. A LITERAL TRANSLATION, CAMP MAILLY. _July_, 1916. I was assisting at some trench-mortar tests which have lasted several days. The President of the Republic, accompanied by a large suite, honored us by his visit to-day. The camp presented an extremely unique aspect by reason of the great number of Russian officers and men, which one sees everywhere. Out of consideration for the visit of M. Poincaré, a Russian Battalion gave an exhibition drill. When the President passed it in review, the Slavic troops became clamorous. They shouted in Russian something which must have meant: "Long live the President of the French Republic." From their gestures one of our _poilus_ was explaining the meaning to one of his comrades in back of me. "Hear what the Russians said to the President: "'You have seen me in the little bar around the corner.'" AS THEY GO, A LITTLE VILLAGE IN THE ARGONNE. _August_, 1916. The priest of R---- has invited me to have coffee with him. The kindly old man saw the German invasion in 1914. He had been rudely treated in his native hamlet, and he appeared--when one saw the ruins--to have had many days of grief. Two days of battle and this was all he knew of war! The boches, on retiring, had set fire to four corners of the village and everything had been burned, save his church where he permitted some German wounded to seek shelter. Our troops triumphantly entered the smoking ruins of the village at night---- "My brave boys," the priest said to them, "I embrace you and thank God----" The _poilus_, stirred with the feverish lust of pursuit, demanded: "Any Germans here?" One of the men, gone completely mad, shouted: "Where are they? I'll stick this bayonet through 'em----" Then someone said: "There are wounded in the church." "I pleaded with them," the old priest said. "My children, they are our enemies, but respect the wounded!" "The wounded!" roared the other, "the wounded! I'll cut 'em to pieces!"