These officers, being engaged on very special and important work, were _persona grata_ in the town and had a free hand in the matter of billets. At the time of our visit they were living in a house that might have been in Park Lane. A marble hall and staircase, luxuriously furnished rooms and all modern appointments—central heating, electric light, electric bells. The dining-room had every aspect of peace, wealth, and comfort. The table linen and service were of the best. The captain’s servant had evidently been a _chef_ in private life. There were four courses and a variety of the best wines. All this was within less than a mile of the German front line, a fact which it would have been impossible to realise had it not been for the occasional desultory crack of a rifle and the regular crash and swirl of the French batteries firing over our heads! Our hosts were excellent fellows, as amusing and full of ‘esprit’ as only the French can be. They had been in the town over a year and had been shelled out of two other billets. They showed us the remains of their last home which had been even more luxurious than the present one. One could only gather some vague idea of what it had been like from the carved oak mantel-piece showing over a pile of débris at the end of the drawing-room and the torn tapestry hanging from the walls. They had taken to the cellar just in time! Experience had taught our friends to gauge the Hun’s intentions to a nicety. A shell would pass close to the house and burst on the other side of the road. ‘That’s all right—only a short one for such and such a public building.’ The Frenchmen put another tune on the gramophone and the next ‘marmite’ goes several streets away. On another occasion a heavy shell is heard coming over from another direction. It explodes with a resounding ‘crump’ a long way down the street. That comes from one of the batteries that shell this part of the town and our two officers have their coffee served in the cellar! This knowing when to take to the cellar is a distinct characteristic of the French. They are not for taking any unnecessary risks as some of us are, but, when a dangerous job has to be done, they will go about it with a careless gaiety that is wholly unforced. It is this spirit which is holding up the French soldier to the admiration of the whole world; the spirit that has kept the German hordes out of Verdun, and that will continue to keep them at bay till the time is ripe for a concerted effort of the allied forces. _A WAR SAVING WORTH MAKING._