The first and greatest Commandment when on active service is this, "Thou shalt covet thy neighbour's goods, and if he doesn't keep his eye on them, thou shalt possess them." Nationality seems to have no effect upon the speed with which the soldier assimilates this doctrine. The French _piou-piou_ is as great a follower of it as the British Tommy, but his native politeness lends to the act a more distinguished air. Of course, British troops with their wasteful ways are to him lawful game, and the first couple of days in his company taught our people habits of carefulness that were never learnt before. Our most experienced marauders returned empty-handed from raids into the French lines, and this bred a respect for our Allies that rapidly blossomed into genuine friendship. And undoubtedly the French soldier, taking him all round, is a most charming person and an almost perfect fighting man. He takes life very seriously, and is frequently scandalized by our behaviour, not quite understanding that a mask of frivolity may be only the result of a desire to make light of difficulties and to hearten others, hiding in reality an immovable determination to do one's duty. "Pour vous, la guerre n'est pas sérieuse," said a big Breton to me once, and I, knowing the melancholy tendencies of his race, knew not what to reply. But next day a party of which he formed one, doubled past the battery. "Que faites-vous?" I called as he passed. With a face wreathed in smiles he replied, "Nous allons donner aux Bosches un petit coup de fusil, ça sera très amusant, hein?" Of the picturesque appearance of these French troops a few words may be said. There is an entry in my diary about this time, "Walked down to headquarters this morning. Saw two Frenchmen dressed alike." And to the eyes of those accustomed to unvarying khaki, the extraordinary kaleidoscopic effect of steel helmet, képi, coats of all conceivable colours, breeches and trousers likewise, putties that shame the rainbow, and an increasing note of khaki with a dash of colour on the collar or sleeve, strikes very strangely. Even the men of the same regiment do not seem to wear the same kit. One will be met in steel helmet, dark blue coat and red trousers, the next in képi, light blue coat and breeches, and grass-green putties. The authorities knew better than to waste the stocks of clothing that they already had on hand.