sted
riding.

After all, could it be possible that this was the very midst of war?
Was it such a terrible thing, since the air fairly rung with merriment?

"Make room there," called a gruff voice, not far distant.

"Stand aside! Quick now!"

The crowd parted, and a couple of stretcher bearers with their sad
human burden put an end to my soliloquy. My afternoon was stained with
blood. On their litter they bore a lad whose bloodless lips,
fluttering eyelids, and heaving breast, bespoke unutterable suffering.

One must have actually witnessed such sights to realise the enormity of
human agony, grasp the torment that a stupid bit of flying steel can
inflict upon a splendid human frame--so well, so happy, so full of hope
but a second since. Oh, the pity of it all!

"Who is it?" the men whisper.

"Belongs to the 170th. They replaced us. He was caught in the _Boyau
des Anglais_."

"That's a wicked spot, that is!"

"Is he one of ours?" questioned a man from an upper window, stopping an
instant in the act of polishing his gun.

"No," answers some one.

The enquirer recommenced his work, and with it the refrain of his song,
just where he had left off.

"_Sur les bords de la Riviera_," sang he blithely.

Little groups formed along the wayside. Seated on the straw they
finished their afternoon meal, touching mugs, and joking together.
Near them the artillerymen greased and verified their axles; others
brushed and curried the horses. In one spot a hair dresser had set up
his tonsorial parlor in the open, and his customers formed in line
awaiting their turns.

Further on the _permissionaires_ blacked their boots and furbished
their raiment, making ready to leave for home. Swarms of humming birds
and bees clustered about a honeysuckle vine which clung to the
fragments of a fence near by, and whose fragrance saturated the air.

The friend, whose regiment number we had recognised, and stopped to
see, came up from behind and touched me on the shoulder.

"Well, of all things! What on earth are you doing here?"

We explained our mission, and then inquired about mutual acquaintances.

"Pistre? Why he's with the munitions in the 12xth. We'll go over and
see him. It's not far. But hold on a minute, isn't Lorrain a friend
of yours?"

We acquiesced.

"Well, his son's my lieutenant. I'll go and get him. He'd be too
sorry to miss you."

He disappeared and a few moments later returned followed by his
su