this evening, and again to-morrow. The Germans have no more
munitions and are chewing wood. They cannot hold out, according to
the most authoritative calculations, beyond the end of the week. We
can have them when we like, with their rifles slung. If one can wait
a few days longer, there will be no desire to forsake the life of
the trenches. One is so comfortable there, with water and gas laid
on, and shower-baths at every step. The only drawback is that it is
rather too hot in winter. As for the Austrians, they gave in a long
time since and are only pretending.' For fifteen months now it's
been like that, and you can hear the editor saying to his scribes,
'Now, boys, get into it! Find some way of brushing that up again for
me in five secs, and make it spin out all over those four damned
white sheets that we've got to mucky.'"

"Ah, yes!" says Fouillade.

"Look here, corporal; you're making fun of it--isn't it true what I
said?"

"There's a little truth in it, but you're too slashing on the poor
boys, and you'd be the first to make a song about it if you had to
go without papers. Oui, when the paper-man's going by, why do you
all shout, 'Here, here'?"

"And what good can you get out of them all?" cries Papa Blaire.
"Read 'em by the tubful if you like, but do the same as me--don't
believe 'em!"

"Oui, oui, that's enough about them. Turn the page over,
donkey-nose."