for it. There is no use of an attack in front. We'd be mowed down by
machine-guns." The br-r-r of a dozen shots from a German machine-
gun gave point to his conclusion. "Our infantry is hugging what we
have and intrenching. You'd better not go up. One has to know the
way, or he'll walk right into a sharpshooter's bullet"--instructions that
would have been applicable a year later when one was about to visit
a British trench in almost the same location.

The siege-warfare of the Aisne line had already begun. It was singular
to get the first news of it from a private in Soissons and then to return
to Paris and London, on the other side of the curtain of secrecy,
where the public thought that the Allied advance would continue.

"Allons!" said our statesman, and we went to the town square, where
German guns had carpeted the ground with branches of shade trees
and torn off the fronts of houses, revealing sections of looted interior
which had been further messed by shell-bursts. Some women and
children and a crippled man came out of doors at sight of us. M.
Doumer introduced himself and shook hands all around. They were
glad to meet him in much the same way as if he had been on an
election campaign.

"A German shell struck there across the square only half an hour
ago," said one of the women.

"What do you do when there is shelling?" asked M. Doumer.

"If it is bad we go into the cellar," was the answer; an answer which
implied that peculiar fearlessness of women, who get accustomed to
fire easier than men. These were the fatalists of the town, who would