He points to a trench freshly dug, into which the earth has just been
shovelled.

"They are Breton soldiers," the officer explains, "and the men of my
burying company are Bretons too. They have just discovered that these
dead men we have gathered from the fields were soldiers from a regiment
recruited in their own district. And _seven_ of them have recognised
among these twenty-two dead, one a son, one a son-in-law, one a brother.
Will you come, Monsieur l'Abbé, and say a few words to these
poor fellows?"

So the Abbé goes to the new-made grave, reads the _De Profundis_, says a
prayer, gives the benediction, and then speaks. Tears are on the strong,
rugged faces of the bare-headed Bretons, as they gather round him. A
group, some little distance off, which is writing the names of the dead
on a white cross, pauses, catches what is going on, and kneels too, with
bent heads....

It is good to linger on that little scene of human sympathy and
religious faith. It does something to protect the mind from the horror
of much that has happened here.

* * * * *

In spite of the storm, our indefatigable guide carried us through all
the principal points of the battle-line--St. Soupplêts--Marcilly--
Barcy--Etrépilly--Acy-en-Multien; villages from which one by one, by
keen, hard fighting, the French attack, coming eastwards from Dammartin
to Paris, dislodged the troops of Von Kluck; while to our right lay
Trocy, and Vareddes, a village on the Ourcq, between which points ran