At three o'clock the infantry come to replace us. Gladly do we give way to them, and the company retires to Bucy. We sleep at "La Rémoise," a combined café and grocer's store. The mistress agrees to serve dinner and allows us to sleep under the tables of the large dining-room, on the floor. Quite enough to satisfy us this evening. _Tuesday, 10th November._ At "La Rémoise" we do not feel at home; we must find something better. On the other side of the street is a house intact. There I find two old people, brother and sister, and after a little bargaining they consent to receive Maxime, Verrier, Reymond, myself, and Jules, for Roberty's former orderly will not leave us. I go off to inform my mates that I have found a lodging-place. "Bring all your belongings, I have found a _ratayon_ and a _ratayonne_ willing to provide us with meals and sleeping accommodation." In the dialect of Soisson, a _ratayon_ is an ancestor. The house is all on the ground-floor, and is entered by five stone steps. Two windows and the door in the middle. The kitchen is in a small building to the right. Our hosts sleep on mattresses in the cellar. They leave us the two main rooms, and light a small stove which speedily warms the place. The brother shows me a shell from a 210 gun, and splinters of the same calibre. These he has placed on the window-sill, a place where one would expect to see a petunia. "I picked up these dirty things in the yard," he explains. The sister asks us what we do as civilians. Reymond is a painter, to confess which somewhat worries the old dame. But Maxence is a landed proprietor, and Verrier a government official.... "I see you are respectable young men," she remarks. "And so I will fry you some potatoes." "A good idea, but would you mind--though we don't insist on this--frying a pailful of them?" "Very well, and for dinner I will stew a rabbit." Excellent. We brush our coats and give ourselves a good wash with hot water. We spend the whole day in the neighbourhood of the stove, and taste the full delight of being warm and clean. At twilight the _ratayonne_ brings in an oil-lamp. What a nice pleasant thing an oil-lamp is! It immediately fills one with a sense of intimacy and quiet. The old lady enters with a pot of boiling tea. She sets a bowl before each of us, brings small teaspoons and powdered sugar, and adds-- "The rabbit will be ready at half-past seven. It is a fine plump one." We chat away. The war news is good. "Everything seems to point to peace before long. The whole of Europe will be exhausted within three months from now." Such are the declarations I do not hesitate to utter. The rest nod their heads in approval. Verrier, however, is by nature an enemy to all joy, and so he adds-- "Then you were making a fool of me when you told me at Fontenoy that the war would last a couple of years! What true prophets you are!" A great roar of laughter silences him.