At the town square we halted, and lay around for an hour in the shade waiting for our French guides to take the companies to their billets. There was a cool fountain splashing in the center of the square, but it was marked “Non potable,” so we had to wait until we could get some chlorinated water from our lister bags. Oh, that chlorinated water! Will we ever get the taste of the stuff out of our mouths? At last a guide came along, but only to take off “C” Co., which was billeted at the little village of Rochere, about 4 kilos outside Passavant. Finally our guide appeared, and “A” and “B” companies hiked off down a narrow street, skirting the great chateau, then up a long hill, under the railroad bridge, and into our billeting area, a little “suburb” of the town across the railroad tracks. At once we noticed a difference in the people. This town was far behind the lines. No air raids had visited it; lights could be shown at night. And the people seemed actually glad to see us. Instead of lowering brows, grudging admission, furious protests, we met pleasant smiles, bon jour’s, readiness and willingness to accommodate us. Even when we swept out the stables and outhouses where we were billeted there was no objection. Oh, boy, this was something like it! The rolling kitchen was put to work in a field on the outskirts, and Wilson, deBruin, Lusier & Co. got busy. Everyone was pretty tired, but after chow things looked much brighter. That night occurred an incident which shows how thoughtless soldiers are. A couple of men, who shall be nameless, patronized the estaminets far too freely. When they had acquired a skinful of vin rouge apiece, they went forth and nobly robbed a hen roost, and had a chicken dinner. Now had this happened a week before, there would have been immediate and voluble protests to the authorities, and a bill for damages as long as your arm. And on our side, I fear the matter would have been looked on as righteous retribution, and the officers would have received very little assistance in investigating the affair. But this was different. Wilson and some others found the little girl at their billet and her mother in tears over their loss. The offenders were promptly trailed and spotted, and reported to Lt. Schuyler. And nobody felt more ashamed than they when they woke up in the guardhouse the next morning. Meanwhile, that same evening a hasty collection had been taken up in the company, and the French lady reimbursed a good many times the value of her loss. I understand she wouldn’t take all they collected; but next day I met a couple of the boys, Wilson and Weber, I think, coming back from town with the little girl between them, proudly bearing the finest bonnet that Passavant “epiceries” could produce, and enough chocolate to satisfy a dozen youngsters.