We wandered about the streets, deserted by nearly all civilians except an old man here and there walking about with bowed head, or an old woman long past the days of her beauty being spoiled by the splinters of a shell. Except in a shop where I coaxed a young woman to sell me a souvenir spoon, in two hours I saw only one young woman in the streets. She was hurrying along with a parcel under her arm, paying no heed to the sharp, cutting explosions of our 18-pounders nearby or to the explosions of the German shells a few blocks away. She looked for all the world like a young housewife returning home after a morning's shopping. The houses that lined the streets were nearly all closed. All of them showed marks of shell fire, some being completely demolished, others having only the rear walls standing with parts of the sides pointing outward like arms stretching forth for their loved ones. The immense station of the Chemin de Fer du Nord was a mass of ruins. The stone Cathedral was represented by the lower part of the tower, and a brass bell lying on the pavement, the bell that had in times of peace so often called the faithful to prayer. The Avenue Pasteur--France is a country that recognizes its scientists--showed few complete buildings, and ironically one noted the ruin that German shells had made of the Avenue Strassbourg. Here and there a stone barricade had been built, loopholes being left for machine-guns, to prevent a possible German advance. Notices told all to keep near the walls and away from the open streets to avoid shell fire. Estaminets, cafés, épiceries, and restaurants were all damaged and closed. Joyful nights and gay days were things of the past in this shadow of a prosperous city. _À la mode Parisienne_, the sign over a ladies' suit store, was all that remained of the center of fashion of the women of Arras. Altogether Arras, which had been a well-built and modern city of 25,000 people, had become a deserted village. What shutters remained were closed and riddled with shrapnel, and the place had a sad, forbidding air, as if the inhabitants had flown because of some horrible plague. It reminded one of the ruins of Pompeii. In one square stood the pedestal only of a monument erected, it said, in 1910, "in honor of the sons of Arras who had died for their native land." When the monument is rebuilt the dead heroes in whose honor it was erected will have been joined by many comrades. I passed out of the walls, depressed by the unhappy wreck of a once prosperous city destroyed by the highly refined methods of warfare developed by twentieth century German kultur. CHAPTER XVIII RAGOÛT À LA MODE DE GUERRE (Trench Stew) Usually hunting partridge or grouse is the pleasure only of those who remain at home; but one day, while sitting in a dugout, I enjoyed a wonderful meal.