A cover on the ground to serve as a carpet. Two small niches in the wall for placing candles. A piece of plank, held up by two tent pickets driven into the wall, forms a shelf: the refuge of pipes, _gamelles_, and stores. Two bags on the ground to lean upon. This task ended, one can take breath. It is now the time for letter-writing, the ever-recurring formula: "I am writing to you from the first line of trenches, close to the Germans. All the same, don't be anxious about me, there is little risk...." We read the paper and find that all foot-soldiers are looked upon as heroes. There it is, in print. These things flatter us greatly. After all, it's something to be a foot-soldier! Generally everything is quiet at this hour; like ourselves, the Germans are preparing dinner and bed. The time comes for us to sit down to our meal. One man only remains on guard. The other three dine gaily, and at considerable length. When the conversation becomes too noisy, the sentry gives a kick at the tent canvas. Every ten minutes the poor fellow draws aside the screen and asks-- "Aren't you going to relieve me soon? I'm terribly hungry." We reply-- "All right, there'll be something left for you. Remove that head of yours; you're letting in the cold." He resigns himself to his lot, well aware that any one under cover is privileged to swear at a wet dog. From time to time he fires a shot into the dark, just to make him forget his hunger. He puts himself _en liaison_ with the entries right and left of him. Finally he hears the words-- "Come along, your turn for dinner. One of us will take your place. Just wipe your boots and don't soil the carpet." He glides into the hole, which exhales a blended odour of stew, tobacco and fighting. A broad smile appears on his face as he says: "That smells nice." And he believes it too. He perceives his portion simmering away on a soldier's chafing-dish. Speedily comes fresh cause for anxiety-- "Where's my coffee? I'll wager you've not kept it warm for me!" Indignant protests. "See! There's your coffee. We've even kept a cigar for you. Would you like to begin with a couple of sardines?" After which, his hosts add, pretending to shiver with cold-- "Careful, all the same, you're wet through. Don't stir, or you'll upset everything in the room." At eight o'clock' dinner is over. Each man cleans his plate and his knife and fork with a piece of bread. Preparations for the night. Two are going on watch duty and two to sleep; relieving one another every four hours. The two privileged ones, who are able to digest their meal at leisure, light their pipes, pass the bottle of spirits, and are speedily fast asleep. The two sentries stand with their back's to the rain. They hide their pipes in the hollow of the hand. "What weather!" "Dreadful!" One man coughs. The other remarks-- "Suppose we move from here; you'll wake the children."