Not all French soldiers are like these priests who were valiant with the spirit of Christian faith. Side by side with the priest was the apache, or the slum-dweller, or the peasant from the fields, who in conversation was habitually and unconsciously foul. Not even the mild protest of one of these priests could check the flow of richly imagined blasphemies which are learned in the barracks during the three years' service, and in the _bistros_ of the back streets of France from Cherbourg to Marseilles. But, as a rule, the priest did not protest, except by the example of keeping his own tongue clean. "What is the use?" said one of them. "That kind of thing is second nature to the men and, after all, it is part of my sacrifice." VI--STORY OF GAIETY ON THE ROADS OF FRANCE Along the roads of France, swinging along to dig a new line of trenches, or on a march from a divisional headquarters to the front, the soldiers would begin one of their Rabelaisian songs which have no ending, but in verse after verse roam further into the purlieus of indecent mirth, so that, as one French officer told me, "these ballads used to make the heather blush." After the song would come the great game of French soldiers on the march. The humourist of the company would remark upon the fatigued appearance of a _sous-officier_ near enough to hear. "He is not in good form to-day, our little corporal. Perhaps it has something to do with his week-end in Paris!" Another humourist would take up the cue. "He has a great thirst, our corporal. His first bottle of wine just whets his whistle. At the sixth bottle he begins to think of drinking seriously!" "He is a great amorist, too, they tell me, and very passionate in his love-making!" So the ball is started and goes rolling from one man to another in the ranks, growing in audacity and wallowing along filthy ways of thought, until the _sous-officier_, who had been grinning under his _képi_, suddenly turns red with anger and growls out a protest.... VII--STORY OF THE EVENING OF LIQUID FLAMES