They were bunched up in the trench, and some of them were even scrambling out over the other side, when that slim brown figure in the uniform of their British Allies with one of their own helmets on his head, and the corporal behind him, appeared above them. "Comrades of the 400th of the Line!" cried Dennis. "You are surely not going back to Paris? Berlin lies in this direction. Follow me, and I will show you the way." "_Vive la patrie!_" bellowed Corporal Puzzeau, and the men who had recoiled, took up the shout and scaled the wall of the parados again. A furious rat-tat-tat sounded a little way off, and Dennis heard Puzzeau laugh. "It is only Rabot," he said. "He has learnt the trick already." In a few minutes the ground behind the German trench was strewn with bodies in field grey, and it was with some difficulty that Dennis and the corporal could check the victorious company from penetrating into the zone of their own artillery barrage fire. As it was, a good many of the helmets were dented, and not a few of the poilus paid the toll of their own eagerness. "Mon lieutenant, if I return to our own lines," said the Alsatian corporal, "the general shall hear of this thing you have done. In the name of my country I thank you," and he held out his hand. Dennis shook it, and laughed. "There is nothing to make a fuss about, corporal," he said. "We've taken the trench, anyhow; and as I see our right brigade yonder, who seem to have been lucky also, I think I'll get along now and join them." He was gone before Aristide Puzzeau could say any more, and after a quick sprint he came up with an English Fusilier battalion consolidating the position they had just secured. "Hallo, Dashwood!" hailed a voice, as a very young officer with a very large eyeglass turned round and stared at him. "You look as though you've had a rough night of it. Where on earth have you sprung from?" "I've been with the French for a spell," said Dennis, looking down ruefully at his tattered uniform. "Where shall I find my crush?" "Good heavens! they're miles away," said his interrogator, who had been with Dennis in the same training corps. "Pretty good raid, what? What price Romford after this? Bet you a lemon squash your C.O. will reprimand you for appearing on parade improperly dressed." "I'll chance that, Jimmy. So long, old man," and he threaded his way past the rear of the brigade, not without some good-humoured banter at his dishevelled appearance. It was twelve o'clock in the day when, rather leg weary, he struck the nearest battalion of his own brigade, and arrived in time to find himself once more in the very thick of it. During the fighting on their right General Dashwood's command had lain doggo, but word had just come that they, too, were now to make a surprise attack on the enemy's first line trench, and smoke bombs were already preparing the way for them.