The very trenches were quiet now, the artillery riot had died down and only a few starshells rose into the mysterious heights of the eastern sky. The company in front set up a brisk pace which required long, quick strides to follow. Benners' section turned off from the river and marched up a steep incline to the top of a low hill opening out on a wide, far-reaching plain, which under the pale moonlight, looked more immense, and merged as it seemed into the distant sky. Here and there a tall chimney stack stood high in air, dark shadows clinging to its base in startling contrast to the moonlight which rippled like molten silver over the top. A thin, white mist trailed across the meadows in long, formless streaks, bunching in the hollows and breaking away on the open. The air was full of the smell of water and mist and growing grass, in short, of the atmosphere of a summer night. Smoking was not allowed. The enemy's trenches, miles away though they were, looked down on the road, and the glowing cigarette ends might be noticed. Then the road would be shelled.... Spudhole and Reynolds marched side by side, with Flanagan and Bowdy Benners immediately in front. From time to time they spoke of one thing and another, more especially about their hard luck in not getting a month's rest which had been promised to them for some time. They had expected to go back on the following morning, but instead it looked as if they were going to spend the morrow and a few other morrows in the trenches. "Just our luck," said Flanagan. "It's always the same, always and eternally the same damned grind." "Why do they send up green lights?" asked Reynolds in a whisper, and added, "They do look pretty." "Pretty!" laughed Bubb. "If you was up in the trenches now you'd 'ear some pretty langwidge. They're signals for the artillery to bust up a dug-out or two, them green lights." "Who's sending them up?" asked Reynolds. "Us, maybe," said Bubb, "and again maybe it's not us. No one ever knows wot's wot in this 'ere job. It's always a muddle." "But it's quiet enough now," said Reynolds. "How far are we from the trenches?" "About three miles." The battalion entered a village and marched up a wide street towards the full moon. The companies in front looked like dark, compact, heavy masses which did not seem to move but which could not be overtaken. A pump on the pavement was running and the water glittered like burnished silver as it fell to the cobbles. A shutter hung loose on a window and a woman came out and tried to fasten it, moving quietly as if afraid to make a noise. Reynolds was surprised to find a woman up so late; it was almost midnight now.... "This place is quiet enough," said Reynolds, speaking to Bubb. "One wouldn't think that the place was so near the trenches.... Do they ever fire at this village?" "Sometimes," said Bubb, "at the other end. There!"