General Pétain has gone to spend a few hours with these heroes, accompanied by my worthy comrade de Buisseret. [Illustration: The mud in Fumin-wood (Verdun)] The brave _poilus_ do not permit themselves the pleasures of complete inactivity. Whatever spot they may find themselves in, they organize and "dig themselves in" as if they must remain for the rest of their lives! A _poilu_ is working arduously over a little board hut. He has running around him two of his "loves," small pigs, plump and rosy. It is understood they will be eaten, but not before the squad finds them completely "_à point_."[30] While waiting it is necessary to keep them in a shelter and our _poilu_ will quickly finish the sumptuous dwelling for his favorites. My comrade, busy looking around while awaiting the general, becomes interested in the conscientious labors of the man---- "Is it for them you are working?" "Yes, captain, I am making them a wonderful P.C." THE GENDARMES' SOUP. _March_, 1917. I return from Fort Douaumont and am worn out. An automobile is coming to meet me at Galavaude Bridge and I am waiting for it---- The gendarmes guarding the approaches to the bridge notice that I am fatigued. They approach me, asking if I would not like to sit down. "Did not someone ask you if Captain Capart had returned?" "No, captain. Wouldn't you like to come in our home where it will be more agreeable than in the road?" I entered the home of the gendarmes. On the table, which had been set, several covers had been laid with infinite care. A pot of steaming soup simmered over a smouldering fire---- "Oh!--soup!" I cried, sniffing the air---- "If we dared, captain, we would be happy, very happy, if you would ask for a plate--or better--two plates----" On saying these words, he lifted the lid of the kettle on the fire; then with a ladle filled the soup plate full to the brim---- The soup was excellent! Since that day, I always regard _les cognes_[31] with sympathy---- LETTERS WRITTEN BEFORE GOING INTO THE ATTACK, CHÂLONS-SUR-MARNE, ELEVEN O'CLOCK AT NIGHT. _April_ 16, 1917. To Captain Noël D---- My dear friend: I regret that I was not able to grasp your hand to-night--I leave in a moment to join the Morocco Division----[32] If you receive this letter, you will know I have fallen in the attack on Mont-sans-nom. Do not pity me. When I was a child, I experienced then a profound emotion in reading the lines of the Cid---- "To die for country is not a sad fate, In death there is glorious immortality!" This is not the time to grow sentimental, because I have only a few minutes more--It is raining hard outside and I have builded a roaring wood fire in my room--I have burned not a few of my old papers, as you advised me---- If I am unlucky, you will find a letter which I wish you would send to Madame X---- together with some bric-à-brac and souvenirs you will find in my room----