dull roll of the cannon. Good Monsieur Cheveret had just brought up
from his cellar a venerable bottle of his best Burgundy, and, at the
invitation of the Captain, he sat down to drink a glass with us,
smoking his cherry-wood pipe and listening with delight to our merry
chat.

Gosset was in his kitchen next door preparing a delicious piece of
beef _à la mode_ and at the same time telling the admiring Maman
Cheveret about his exploits of the past month.

We heard the men of the first troop cracking their jokes in the yard
as they ate their rations and emptied their pannikin of wine under a
brilliant moon.

Down in the valley on the banks of the murmuring Vesle, songs and
laughter floated up to us from the artillery park.

And the village itself, shining under the starlit sky, seemed bathed
in an atmosphere of cheerfulness, courage and confidence.




VI. A TRAGIC NIGHT IN THE TRENCHES



_November 3, 1914._