He turned on his heel and rejoined his group. They all stared in my direction as though at a curious animal. A very young gentleman--the general's A. D. C.--made a funny remark at my expense and the others laughed. Then they ignored me, and I was glad, and made a little study in the psychology of men awaiting a close call of death. I was perfectly conscious myself that in a moment or two some of us, perhaps all of us, might be in a pulp of mangled flesh beneath the ruins of a red-brick villa--the shells were crashing among the outhouses and in the courtyard, and the enemy was making good shooting--and the idea did not please me at all. At the back of my brain was Fear, and there was a cold sweat in the palms of my hands; but I was master of myself, and I remember having a sense of satisfaction because I had answered the brigade major in a level voice, with a touch of his own arrogance. I saw that these officers were afraid; that they, too, had Fear at the back of the brain, and that their conversation and laughter were the camouflage of the soul. The face of the young A. D. C. was flushed and he laughed too much at his own jokes, and his laughter was just a tone too shrill. An officer came into the hall, carrying two Mills bombs--new toys in those days--and the others fell back from him, and one said: “For Christ's sake don't bring them here--in the middle of a bombardment!” “Where's the general?” asked the newcomer. “Down in the cellar with the other brigadier. They don't ask us down to tea, I notice.” Those last words caused all the officers to laugh--almost excessively. But their laughter ended sharply, and they listened intently as there was a heavy crash outside. Another officer came up the steps and made a rapid entry into the hall. “I understand there is to be a conference of battalion commanders,” he said, with a queer catch in his breath. “In view of this--er--bombardment, I had better come in later, perhaps?” “You had better wait,” said the brigade major, rather grimly. “Oh, certainly.” A sergeant-major was pacing up and down the passage by the back door. He was calm and stolid. I liked the look of him and found something comforting in his presence, so that I went to have a few words with him. “How long is this likely to last, Sergeant-major” “There's no saying, sir. They may be searching for the chateau to pass the time, so to speak, or they may go on till they get it. I'm sorry they caught those gunners. Nice lads, both of them.” He did not seem to be worrying about his own chance. Then suddenly there was silence. The German guns had switched off. I heard the larks singing through the open doorway, and all the little sounds of a summer day. The group of officers in the hall started chatting more quietly. There was no more need of finding jokes and laughter. They had been reprieved, and could be serious. “We'd better get forward to Vermelles,” said my companion.