"Le Camarade Tollot, of the Théâtre des Variétés de Paris will recite 'Le Dernier Drapeau,'" shouted the announcer. Le Camarade Tollot walked on the stage and bowed, a big, important young man with a lion's mane of dark hair. Then, striking an attitude, he recited in the best French, ranting style, a rhymed tale of a battle in which many regiments charged together, flags flying. One by one the flags fell to the ground as the bearers were cut down by the withering fire of the enemy; all save one who struggled on. It was a fine, old-fashioned, dramatic "will-he-get-there-yes-he-will-he-falls" sort of thing. "Il tombe," said le Camarade Tollot, in what used to be called the "oratorical orotund"--"il tombe." There was a full pause. He was wounded. He rose staggering to his feet. All the other flags were down. He advanced--the last flag (le dernier drapeau) reached the enemy--and died just as his comrades, heartened by his courage, had rallied and were charging to victory. A tremendous storm of applause greeted the speaker, who favored us with the recital of a short, sentimental poem as an encore. The next number was thus announced: "Le Camarade Millet will sound, first, all the French bugle-calls and then the Boche ones." Le Camarade Millet, a big man with a fine horseshoe beard, stood at the edge of the stage, said, "la Charge français" and blew it on the bugle; then "la Charge boche," and blew that. "La Retraite français--La Retraite boche," etc. Another salvo of applause was given to le Camarade Millet. "Le Camarade Roland." Le Camarade Roland was about twenty-one or two years old, but his eyes were old and wise, and he had evidently seen life. He was dark-haired and a little below medium height. The red scar of a wound appeared just below his left ear. After marking time with his feet, he began a kind of patter song about having a telephone, every verse of which ended, "Oh, la la, j'ai le téléphone chez moi" (I've a telephone in my house). "I know who is unfaithful now--who have horns upon their brow," the singer told of surprising secrets and unsuspected affaires de cœur. The silly, music-hall song may seem banal now, but it amused us hugely then. "Le Camarade Duclos." "Oh, if you could have seen your son, My mother, my mother, Oh, if you could have seen your son, With the regiment"--sang Camarade Duclos, another old-eyed youngster. There was amiable adventure with an amiable "blonde" (oh, if you could have seen your son); another with a "jolie brune" (oh, ma mère, ma mère); and still another leçon d'amour. The refrain had a catchy lilt to it, and the poilus began humming it. "Le Camarade Salvatore."