"I am proud to command my men in positions which you have made glorious." Brave heart! He has wept for his men. Here again is Brigadier Kitchen; 45, fair, blue eyes, well set up, a kindly face; he looks like a younger Kitchener. He has a career behind him, for he fought in South Africa. Full of fire, he should be a wonderful leader of men, of the order of Gouraud or Mangin. Yet others---- And we talk. We talk as one talks round a table, that is, a little about everything. Our hosts listen with a lively interest to such news--it is fresh for them--as we can give them of the changes that have recently taken place among the military and political leaders of France. They are careful to keep their opinions on these matters to themselves. At the most one can see that certain names are in good odour among them. It is impossible also not to speak of Rumania, whose capital has just been taken. There is no doubt that what is happening in Rumania is vexing to our Allies, but they are not disturbed. My neighbour, without intending to do so, comforts my heart by proving to me mathematically that the misfortunes of Rumania cannot bring any happiness into Germany. He speaks of these things with a confidence in which sentiment has no part, but rather the scientific knowledge of the war--if one may say so--which is his. It is from him that I glean this comforting detail--that the Germans have organised special companies to serve during the days on which the advances are made. Their troops in the front lines have now so little willingness and, indeed, power to fight, that it has been necessary to form special companies which the enemy moves hither and thither to meet any particularly strong attacks. "Perhaps when we get to that point," said one of the Generals near us, "we shall begin to hear them bleating for peace." "You are very certain of your men?" one of us asked him. "They are full of beans," said he. CHAPTER V. WAR IN THE BLACK COUNTRY. Trains follow each other every quarter of an hour--endless trains, 60 truck-loads and more, all bearing the mark of five big French companies. Some of these convoys seemed to have been borrowed from a museum of obsolete railways. The couplings rattle, the buffers are out of joint, and the brakes squeak. Others come from Belgium. One can easily see by the repairs that they have undergone all the horrors of war. Others, again, emblazoned with the arms of Essen or Alsace-Lorraine, red in colour and cumbersome, are obviously prisoners of war. [Illustration: 9. THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF.]