The moments of leave-taking seemed almost tragic. Many a man went up those steps whistling and with head erect, while others laughed as they tossed their little ones high in the air for a last good-by. These were fine examples, and when the porter touched me on the arm and said: "The train for Toul, m’sieu’," I too was able to bear it calmly. The cars were already crowded with "poilus." Not a seat was to be had in the compartments. Standing-room in the corridors was at a premium. We were all bound in the same general direction, toward Verdun, Nancy, and Toul. The train came to a stop at last. We were at Bar-le-Duc, the terminus for Verdun. What an air of mystery there was about the station at "Bar." We could hear the distant roar of the cannon defending the banks of the Meuse. Everywhere men moved about with a sort of suppressed excitement. "Camions" rumbled by in hundreds. In the freight-yard troops filled every available space not already taken up by the newly arrived artillery. Nearly all my travelling companions left me here. For a moment I wished that I too had been ordered to the Verdun sector. It was after sundown when the train drew into the station at Toul. The town was in darkness, and I felt very doubtful as to whether I would be able to join my escadrille that night. To my surprise, an officer, noticing my indecision, came up to me and asked if he could help me. I told him where I wanted to go and inquired if he could direct me. "Why, it is too late to do this to-day," he remarked; "better wait until the morning." With that he motioned me to step into his automobile and directed the chauffeur to drive us to the Etat-Major. As we rolled through the streets of the silent city I had a moment to reflect upon what all this meant. I began to realize that a change had taken place in my position. I was no longer a mere soldier, but an aviator and as such entitled to courtesies usually extended only to officers in the other branches of the army. There is no mention of this custom in the regulations. It was merely an unwritten paragraph of military etiquette. Here was an officer, my superior in rank, treating me with a consideration I had rarely experienced. I noticed by the insignia on his overcoat that he was a captain in the Aviation Corps. He was therefore a pilot. I thought for a few moments. Suddenly an idea occurred to me. I was also a pilot, and in the eyes of traditional convention we were comrades, for we were both aviators. At the Etat-Major the colonel like-wise extended a warm welcome and shook me heartily by the hand. I suppose that my being an American had something to do with it, but I could not help thinking that I was still only a corporal. He immediately gave orders to requisition a large room for me at the hotel, and bade me hurry or I would be late for dinner. No wonder aviators are inspired to do such splendid work at the front when their efforts meet with so much appreciation.