III--STORIES OF THE SOLDIERS FROM THE AISNE It is comforting to hear them talk about their superior officers, as a soldier of the 149th Infantry has just talked to me about his captain. "Oh, I can tell you, my captain had plenty of good blood in his veins. There was nothing suspicious about him. I saw him standing straight up among the whistling bullets, giving his orders without flinching, without recoiling one inch, as if he were sitting at his desk and only flies were buzzing round his head. And so gentle, too. Good to the men and always jolly. We were in luck to have him over us." I asked him questions about his campaign, and he talked freely, having only good things to tell. The taciturn ones are those who have sad memories to conceal. "We were the ones told off to take the village of S----," he said, "where the enemy was. My captain, who acted as chief of battalion, got us all together, and said to us: "'There seem to be two or three Boches down there. We must get them out, eh?' "Everybody knew very well what that meant, but we laughed and went to it in good part. What fights those were! Two days of bloody battles in the streets. Finally the village was ours. We had one night's rest in a farmhouse, three-quarters of which had been destroyed. When we got there we spied an unfortunate porker in a corner. He had taken refuge there, frightened by the firing. He came in very handy, I can tell you, for our stomachs were hollow. "'Charge again on that Boche, there,' said the Captain. When he had eaten and slept and assembled again next day, he said: "Well, well, my lads, we're in danger of getting too soft here. Suppose we go on a little further and see what's happening.' "We marched on further, but the enemy, who were in force, began to shoot at us all at once from below. My Captain didn't expose us needlessly. He made us lie down in the deserted trenches. There were corpses there and dead horses, and water, water everywhere. It rained without stopping. We spent the night up to our waists in water. It was enough to make one laugh." To laugh--this word turns up all the time in their recitals, and in the most unexpected manner. Oh, this French courage, which faces not only the bitter struggle with danger, but disdains and mocks it, too; that elegant courage of our fathers that has been born again amongst us. My foot-soldier, Number 149, was seized with quite a touching emotion when I told him that I knew his Captain's lady. "Tell her she may be proud," he said, "and that I'd willingly go back down there; for my country's sake, of course, but also and a good deal, on my Captain's account."