y, is a thing passing the
understanding of the profane, I mean the non-bridge player. This is
the extraordinary, I might almost say the immoderate, attraction which
the initiated find in this game, even at the height of a campaign.
What inexhaustible joys it must offer to make its adepts profit by the
briefest moments of respite in a battle to settle down anywhere and
anyhow and give themselves up to their mysterious practices!

I pause for a moment in my letter-writing to enjoy the sight, which
has its special charm. Two or three kilometres off, towards
Steenstraate, the cannon were working away furiously, while only a few
paces from our shanty a section of our 75's was firing incessantly
over the wood upon Bixschoote; overhead we heard the unpleasant roar
of the big German shells; and in the midst of the racket I saw my
bridge players dragging their table over to the broken window. Day was
dying, and we had not seen a gleam of sunshine since morning. The sky
was grey--a thick, dirty grey; it seemed to be very low, close upon
us, and I felt that the night would come by slow degrees without any
of those admirable symphonies of colour that twilight sometimes brings
to battlefields, making the combatant feel that he is ending his day
in apotheosis.

But those four seemed to hear nothing. In the grey light I watched the
refined profile of the Major bending over the cards just dealt by F.
He no doubt has to speak first, for the three others looked at him, in
motionless silence, as if they were expecting some momentous
utterance. Then suddenly, accompanied by the muffled roar of the
battle music, the following colloquy took place, a colloquy full of
traps and ambushes, I suppose, for the four officers cast suspicious
and inquisitorial glances at each other over their cards:

"One spade."
"Two hearts."
"Two no trumps."
"I double."
"Your turn, Major."

But all of a sudden paf! paf! The four players had thrown down their
cards, and we all looked at each other without a word. Suddenly we had
just heard above us that strange and indefinable crackle made by
bullets fired at close range as they tear through the air just above
one. No doubt was possible; something extraordinary was happening near
the trenches, for the crackling increased mightily, and hundreds and
hundreds of bullets began to whistle round us. F. sent the table
rolling to the other end of the room with a kick, and we all rushed
out af