I shall never forget that night. The sky had gradually shed its fleece of clouds, and the moon, almost at the full, shone in the cold blue dome. Below, the line of sandbags and trenches made long white tracks. Starshells were now useless and none were seen. Dead silence reigned. Occasionally a sharp buzz marked the passage of a stray bullet close by and soon after the crack of the rifle down in the valley was heard. In low tones we exchanged the password with our sentries, some sprawling full length in a shell-hole, others crouching behind bushes. The company was strung out over a long front, five hundred yards at least, and our round took us a good hour. When we got to the end of it Vignerte asked me: "Where is the last post of the 23rd?" We visited it. The four men were about to bury the German who had just been killed as deeply as they could. Vignerte quickly stepped down among them and leaning over the grave searched in the soil they were throwing back. The corpse appeared. "--182nd. That's it," he murmured. He shivered and turned to me: "Let's go back. I'm beginning to feel cold." * * * * * * Damestoy and Henriquez were asleep in the dug-out where the three runners had come for them. With the natural deference of the private soldier they had arranged the best spots for us--two holes with plenty of straw and a pile of dark blankets. The silence was broken only by the gentle breathing of these good fellows and, occasionally, the squeak of a field-mouse hunting for the ears still left in the straw. I could not see Vignerte, who was lying beside me, but I was sure he was not asleep. The open door of the dug-out showed a blue patch of sky with a silvery star hanging like a tear in its depths. An hour, perhaps, passed thus. Vignerte had not moved. He ought to have been asleep, this mysterious comrade whom the war had sent me. Why was he so moved tonight? What memories had possessed a mind which appeared to be fixed ruthlessly on the thousand details of war as if to avoid straying aimlessly through forbidden worlds?... And suddenly I heard a deep sigh while a hand clasped mine. "Vignerte, what on earth's the trouble?" An even more convulsive clasp of his hand was all my reply. Then I burnt my boats. "Old man, dear old man. I think I've earned the right to call you that. Let me share the trouble that's weighing on you. You are unhappy tonight. Tell me your sorrow. If we were in Paris, or anywhere else, I should not be guilty of this indiscretion. But a confidence which would be absurd elsewhere becomes sacred here. Tomorrow, perhaps, we shall be in action, Vignerte! Tomorrow, perhaps, four men will be digging our graves where that German sleeps now. Won't you speak to me, Vignerte, won't you tell me? ..." I felt the pressure of his hand relax. "It will be a long story, old fellow. And will you understand? I mean, won't you think me a bit mad?" "I'm listening," I said firmly.