In the inner room was a big bed with curtains where the women slept, and the fireplace where they did their cooking. It was dark except for the corner where he and Andrews stood blinking in the glare of a candle on the table. Beyond they could only see ruddy shadows and the huge curtained bed with its red coverlet. The Frenchman, somewhere in the dark of the room, said something several times. “Avions boches... ss-t!” They were quiet. Above them they heard the snoring of aeroplane motors, rising and falling like the buzzing of a fly against a window pane. They all looked at each other curiously. Antoinette was leaning against the bed, her face expressionless. Her heavy hair had come undone and fell in smoky gold waves about her shoulders. The older woman was giggling. “Come on, let's see what's doing, Chris,” said Andrews. They went out into the dark village street. “To hell with women, Chris, this is the war!” cried Andrews in a loud drunken voice as they reeled arm in arm up the street. “You bet it's the war.... Ah'm a-goin' to beat up....” Chrisfield felt his friend's hand clapped over his mouth. He let himself go limply, feeling himself pushed to the side of the road. Somewhere in the dark he heard an officer's voice say: “Bring those men to me.” “Yes, sir,” came another voice. Slow heavy footsteps came up the road in their direction. Andrews kept pushing him back along the side of a house, until suddenly they both fell sprawling in a manure pit. “Lie still for God's sake,” muttered Andrews, throwing an arm over Chrisfield's chest. A thick odor of dry manure filled their nostrils. They heard the steps come nearer, wander about irresolutely and then go off in the direction from which they had come. Meanwhile the throb of motors overhead grew louder and louder. “Well?” came the officer's voice. “Couldn't find them, sir,” mumbled the other voice. “Nonsense. Those men were drunk,” came the officer's voice. “Yes, sir,” came the other voice humbly. Chrisfield started to giggle. He felt he must yell aloud with laughter. The nearest motor stopped its singsong roar, making the night seem deathly silent. Andrews jumped to his feet. The air was split by a shriek followed by a racking snorting explosion. They saw the wall above their pit light up with a red momentary glare. Chrisfield got to his feet, expecting to see flaming ruins. The village street was the same as ever. There was a little light from the glow the moon, still under the horizon, gave to the sky. A window in the house opposite showed yellow. In it was a blue silhouette of an officer's cap and uniform. A little group stood in the street below. “What was that?” the form in the window was shouting in a peremptory voice. “German aeroplane just dropped a bomb, Major,” came a breathless voice in reply. “Why the devil don't he close that window?” a voice was muttering all the while. “Juss a target for 'em to aim at... a target to aim at.”