“Who are you Christians traveling at so late an hour?” “We are prisoners who have escaped from a camp near Gemona. For pity’s sake give us a draught of water to drink. Tell us, too, what village is this? Are there any soldiers? Are there gendarmes?” “This village is Sarone, but you can feel safe because all the soldiers left for the front several days ago and even the gendarmes who were here guarding the village have followed the brigade.” At last we breathed. “Thank heavens they have gone,” continued the old man in a tired voice, “for if things had kept on this way, we would not have had a single blade of grass left. They have taken everything away from us. Imagine, they have begun to dig up even the new potatoes which are no bigger than a pigeon’s egg. Everything, every vegetable which comes within their reach is devoured at once. Imagine, they even cook the tendrils of the vines in their soup.... But you do not look as if you had suffered much, you especially,” he said turning towards me, “you must have been a cook in some concentration camp.” I did not answer but greedily drank the water from the cup he had offered me, and no liquor, no beverage has ever tasted better to me than that draught of water did. “Tell me, my good man, why have the soldiers left for the front?” “Why, don’t you know? You seem to be little informed of what is happening here. For the past two months we have seen nothing but cannon and soldiers passing and it seems that shortly the offensive will begin. If only they would put an end to this terrible war!”