commanding the company to our
right had come to my dug-out to arrange with me about the patrols that
had to be sent that night in advance of the line.

Wrapped in our cloaks, we came out of our warm retreat. The night was
just like the previous one, starlit, bright, and frosty, a true
Christmas night for times of peace. In our trenches one half of the
men were awake, in obedience to orders. Carbines were loaded and
placed in the loopholes, and the guns were trained upon the enemy. In
front of us, at the end of the narrow passages which led out to the
listening posts, I knew that our sentries were alert with eye and ear,
crouching in their holes in pairs. No one could approach the broad
network of wire which protected us without being immediately perceived
and shot. At the bottom of the trenches the men on watch were talking
softly together and stamping on the ground to combat the intense
cold.

Those who were at rest, lying close together at the bottom of the
little dug-outs they had made for themselves in the bank, were
sleeping or trying to sleep. More than one of them had succeeded, for
resounding snores could be heard behind the blankets, pieces of tent
canvas and sacking, and all the various rags with which they had
ingeniously stuffed up the entrances to their rustic alcoves. One
wondered how they could have overcome the sufferings the cold must
have caused them so far as to be able to sleep calmly. The five months
of war had hardened their bodies and accustomed them to face cold,
heat, rain, dust, or mud, with impunity. In this hard school, better
than in any other, men of iron are fashioned, who last out a whole
campaign and are capable of the supreme effort when the hour comes.

We arrived at the Territorials' trench.

"_Bon-soir, mon cher camarade._"

It was the Second-Lieutenant whom I met at the entrance. He was a man
of forty-two, thin, pale, and bearded. In the shadow his eyes shone
strangely. Under the skirts of his great-coat he had his hands buried
in his trouser pockets. His elbows stuck out from his body, his knees
were bent, his teeth chattered, and he was gently knocking his heels
together.

"It isn't warm, eh?" I asked.

"Oh, no; and then, you see, this sort of work is hardly the thing for
fellows of our age. Our blood isn't warm enough, and, however you
cover yourself up, there's always a chink by which the cold gets in.
The worst of all is one's hands and feet; and there's nothing to be