ime to time and at last our turn came, so that we were able
to sit down. We ordered eggs and chips and _vin blanc_, but had to wait
a long time before we got them. I rested my head on my hand and
struggled hard with sleep. At last the woman brought us the things we
had ordered and we ate and drank in silence. We would have been glad to
sit and doze in this warm place in spite of the smell and noise, but
when we had finished we felt obliged to get up and make room for others.

We stepped out into the darkness. The snow had turned into rain that
fell in a steady drizzle. I was so tired that I had no desire left
except to get back to my tent.

"I wonder how much longer this is going to last?" I said to my friend.

"I've given up hoping. The war's a deadlock that may continue for years.
All I look forward to now is the spring and the warm weather. And
perhaps we shall get leave some day."

"We've only been out here six weeks--we won't get leave for another
eight or nine months."

"It's something to think about and look forward to, anyhow."

We said good-night to each other and retired to our tents. Most of the
men were already in bed. They were smoking their cigarettes as they lay
stretched out on the floor. One of them was reading a newspaper by
candlelight. I wrapped myself up in my blankets and wedged myself
tightly in between my two neighbours. Although I was wearied out, I felt
compelled to glance at a paper. There might perhaps be some hint of
peace, some little glimmer of hope to go to sleep with and dream about.
I took up my copy of the _Times_ which I received irregularly. I began
to read the leading article but was so irritated by its unctuous
hypocrisy that I turned the page over and scanned the headlines.
Suddenly a big drop of water splashed on to it. I became aware of the
rain outside, swishing down upon the canvas, and, looking up, I saw a
glistening patch of moisture collect above my head. Another heavy drop
descended, I stretched out my arm and pushing my fist against the wet
patch drew it down the canvas as far as the brailing. But the moisture
continued to gather, and soon it was dripping in many places. My
kit-bag, standing upright next to me, was getting wet, so I placed the
_Times_ over it and let the water trickle off towards the ditch. Then a
man shouted from the other side of the tent:

"It's coming through like anything, my whole pillow's sopping wet."

It was more than he could bear. Each