Playoust had persuaded her to bring out some wine. It was pronounced excellent. Much flattered, she announced her intention of giving it to us free of charge. We cheered her. We touched glasses again and again, and drank to the health of her boy, who had left on the third day of mobilisation to join her father, one of the heroes of the year '70, in the Zouaves. I am not sure that we did not drink to the health of her deceased husband. The wag of the evening was Playoust. There was no denying that the fellow was really funny when he liked. He hummed and sang and imitated the calls of animals. And between times he got Hourcade to take some powdered chalk thinking it was castor sugar, and an egg, taken from a setting hen, in an egg cup (the chicken was in it!). I forget how it was that he came to jeer, in pretty strong terms too, at Henriot. Humel immediately backed him up; the battalion sergeant-major, who had drunk rather more than was wise, let him have his say, and winked, and even went as far as to put in a word himself. The poor lieutenant was laughed at for his strategical pretensions, in a really unkind manner. I was surprised. I should have thought that he would have found grace at the hands of these fellows for whom he was always doing good turns. Oh, ah! Grace! Playoust went off on a new tack, and talked of his behaviour under fire. It was grotesque. Beat everything! He had let his platoon go hang, had chucked himself into a hole, and left the others to get along as best they could. He raised howls of laughter, and by Jove, I joined in. There was some truth in what he said after all. Guillaumin alone protested vigorously and courageously but unfortunately he embarked upon a verbose vindication which tended to prove that true courage consists precisely in being afraid.... "Listen to the staff-officer!" He was hooted and pelted with bread pellets, and finally reduced to silence. Dessert time. The bottles went on circulating. The wine had gone to my head. I hazarded a few facile pleasantries, which were greeted with roars of laughter, which spurred my malice on to further efforts. I set myself to rival Playoust's buffoonery. He gained a momentary advantage by imitating the various phases of a pig fight. We had to go to the help of the farmeress who was choking with laughter. Then I played the ventriloquist, one of my parlour tricks. I gave a three-part scene. Our hostess again grew hysterical, and a dish was broken. I felt occasional twinges of remorse in the midst of all this folly. All this gaiety the day after a cruel loss!... But what did it matter? Had I not mourned my brother as he would have liked to be mourned? This death already seemed such an old story.... And lastly I privately thought that I had acquired a sort of right to give proof of a versatile disposition ... violent and fleeting feelings, tears yesterday, and joy to-day. Was it not the prerogative of soldiers and children? * * * * *