the trenches over against him. Only, the new men are fresh and untired,
and the German has no Ally who can give him corresponding relief.

It has all been so quietly done! Yet it is really a great moment. The
store of man power which Great Britain possesses is beginning to take
practical effect. The French, who held the long lines at the beginning
of war, who stood before Verdun and threw their legions on the road to
Péronne, are now being freed for work elsewhere. They have "carried on"
till Great Britain was ready, and now she is ready.

* * * * *

This was more than the beginning of a new tour of duty [says another
witness]. I felt the need of some ceremony, and I think others felt the
need of it too. There were little half-articulate attempts, in the
darkness, of men trying to show what they felt--a whisper or two--in the
queer jargon that is growing up between the two armies. An English
sentry mounted upon the fire-step, and looked out into the darkness
beside the Frenchman, and then, before the Frenchman stepped down,
patted him on the shoulder, as though he would say: "These
trenches--_all right_!--we'll look after them!"

Then I stumbled into a dug-out. A candle burnt there, and a French
officer was taking up his things. He nodded and smiled. "I go," he said.
"I am not sorry, and yet----" He shrugged his shoulders. I understood.
One is never sorry to go, but these trenches--these bits of France,
where Frenchmen had died--would no longer be guarded by Frenchmen. Then
he waved his hand round the little dug-out. "We give a little more of
France into your keeping." His gesture was extravagant and light, but
his face was grave as he said it. He turned and went out. I followed. He