"The general broke all his own rules of war," he explained; "all those rules that he taught so long in the École de Guerre. He moved an entire division--half of the famous Forty-second Corps, while it was under fire--he stretched out the remainder of the corps in a thin line across its place, and moved the division behind his entire army, then flung them against the Prussian Guard as it was beginning the attack on the center. The moving of troops already engaged with the enemy had never been done in any war before." "But he staked his whole reputation--his military career on it?" I asked. The Lieutenant smiled. "Oh, yes," he replied, "but after he gave the order, he went for a long walk in the country with a member of his staff, who told me afterwards that not once was the war mentioned, and they were gone three hours. All that time they talked about Spanish art and Spanish music. When they returned to headquarters, the general merely asked if there was any news, knowing well that perhaps he might hear news which would make his name hated forever. He was told the tide had turned and we were winning the battle. He merely grunted and lighted a fresh cigar." We all remained silent and then a number of desultory questions were asked about the position of the troops. The lieutenant again explained with matches. "The general showed it to me with matches, as I have already shown." He spoke reverently, his voice almost a whisper. "And I have those matches that the general used." In Arras there was just one house left where we could take luncheon--a fine old mansion belonging to a friend of our guide from the Great General Staff. We brought our food and soldiers served it in a stately room with a massive beamed ceiling and stags' antlers decorating the walls. A tapestry concealed one wall. The officer pulled it aside to show that we sat in only half a room; the other half had been entirely destroyed by shells. From the cellar an orderly brought some of the finest burgundy in France. There was a piano in one corner of the room. When coffee was served, our Captain sat at the instrument and played snatches of Schubert, Mozart and Beethoven. The discussion at the table turned to music. At the same moment a shell burst a few hundred yards down the street. "Play Wagner," some one asked. A member of our party who had been in Russia said: "Do you permit German music? In Russia it is forbidden." The officer replied: "How stupid! Things which are beautiful remain beautiful," and he played an air from "Tristan" as a shell went screaming overhead. The young lieutenant, handsome and debonair, turned to me: "This is fine," he said. "Here we are in the last house in Arras where this scene is possible, and perhaps to-morrow this place will all be gone--perhaps in ten minutes." He laughed and the piano was silenced by the explosion of another shell.