del the enemy
began to shell the city and one of the shells exploded within two
hundred feet of the car. We knew that we were near the entrance
to the vaults of the citadel and could take refuge, so we left the car
and proceeded on foot. Without thinking we walked in the centre of
the road, and the sentinel at the door of the citadel began in
somewhat emphatic French to recommend us to "longer les murs"
(to hug the walls tightly). The Germans are well aware of the
entrance to the citadel and daily shell the spot. If one meets a shell
in the centre of the road it is obviously no use to argue, whilst in
hugging the side of the wall there is a possibility of only receiving
the fragments of the bursting shell.

A Subterranean City

The subterranean galleries of the citadel of Verdun were
constructed by Vauban, and are now a hive of activity--barbers'
shops, sweet shops, boot shops, hospitals, anything and.
everything which goes to make up a small city.

One of the young officers placed his "cell" at our disposal. The
long galleries are all equipped with central heating and electric light
and some of them have been divided off by wooden partitions or
curtains like the dormitories in a large school. In the "cell" allocated
to us we could see the loving touch of a woman's hand. Around
the pillow on the small camp bed was a beautiful edging of Irish
lace, and on the dressing-table a large bottle of Eau-de-Cologne.
There is no reason to be too uncomfortable in Verdun when one
has a good little wife to think of one and to send presents from
time to time.

Emerging from the galleries we met General Dubois, a great
soldier and a kindly man, one who shares the daily perils of his
men. The General invited us to remain and dine with him. He had
that day received from General Nivelle his "cravate" as
Commander of the Legion of Honour, and his officers were giving
him a dinner-party to celebrate the event. "See how kind fate is to
me," he added; "only one thing was missing from the feast--the
presence of the ladies--and here you are."

It would need the brush of Rembrandt to paint the dining-hall in the
citadel of Verdun. At one long table in the dimly lighted vault sat
between eighty and ninety officers, who all rose, saluted, and
cheered as we entered. The General sat at the head of the table
surrounded by his staff, and behind him the faces of the cooks
were lit up by the fires of the stoves.

Some short distance