“Sounds rather interesting,” observed the General, peering out into the spasmodic darkness. “Seems to be a general movement for miles around.... Also getting more intense.” Then we heard a different kind of noise, a whirring, droning, singing, mechanical music, that aroused the guide to observe, “An airplane buzzing up there somewhere, too.” He shrugged his shoulders as if it didn’t bother him at all, but I suspected that his leathery nervelessness was only an affectation, a pose for the benefit of us tenderfeet from the rear who had never seen any action before. He had told us that he had been in this sector for months, and I imagine it did his heart good to feel that these other men were suffering as he had once suffered himself. “Those airmen aren’t much good any more, anyway,” he added. “They never do any damage around here.” But even as he finished speaking, Ben jammed on the brakes so hard that we all plunged forward out of the seats. “Godamighty!” declared the big boy. “A piece o’ somethin’ went right by us!” He started forward again, but hadn’t shifted into high before the road in front erupted into a giant geyser of mud and stones and darts of flame. “Holy knock-kneed bishop!” Ben exclaimed, jamming on the brakes again and coming to a stop within a few yards of the new formed crater. “This is war sure ’nough!... Go on, General?” The General peered out and around again. “Apparently we’re in the middle of things here. It’s as bad back there as it is up ahead.” “Sure,” said the guide. “Drive right around that hole and we’ll probably duck right through it all without a scratch.... We can’t go back now.” “All right,” said Ben, and he proceeded to navigate the tour around the hole. “Gad, but that was a whopper, huh?... Leony, ya better put yer prayin’ cap on.” We went slowly on, Ben swerving unconsciously here and there as the bursting of shells struck on his nerves. The General was studying the surroundings from one side of the car and Chilblaines peered silently from the other. I could only sit stiff and rigid, waiting for something to happen. Suddenly Ben began to chuckle. “What’s the joke?” inquired the guide. “Leony,” said Ben, ignoring the guide’s question. “Remember that song they used to sing in Paris?” He began to mumble: “Sacré nom de nom de nom, La mademoiselle was pretty but dumb Many are called but few can come O sacré nom de nom de nom! She refused his francs, refused his rum, Because she said she couldn’t come. Her grandmère cried, ‘O nom de nom!’ ‘Where does she get such dumbness from?’ O sacré nom de nom de nom! O sacré nom de nom! “That damn thing keeps running through my mind all the time!” he told us. “Every step I take, every move I make—it’s ‘sacre nom de nom de nom, the mademoiselle she couldn’t come.’ ’Nough to give a guy the willies!”