t out, and, as my opinion was much the same, we parted
good friends.

I had lost a week, and many feet of good film, which showed me that the
difficulties I should have to face in my chosen field of operations were
by far the greatest I had up to then encountered in any of my trips to
the firing line. I pushed on through Besancon on the way to Belfort.

Now Belfort, being a fortified town, was an obviously impossible place
for me to get into, because I shouldn't get out again in a hurry. So I
took a slow train, descended at a small station on the outskirts,
prepared to make my way across country to Remiremont. This I achieved,
very slowly, and with many difficulties, by means of peasants' carts and
an occasional ride on horseback.

This brought me into the firing zone, and the region of snow. My danger
was increased, and my mode of progress more difficult, because for the
first time in my life I had to take to skis. So many people have told
the story of their first attempts with these that I will content myself
with saying that, after many tumbles, I became roughly accustomed to
them, and that when sledge transport was not available, I was able to
make my way on ski. I don't suppose anyone else has ever learned to ski
under such queer conditions, with the roar of big guns rumbling round
all the time, with my whole expedition trembling every moment in the
balance.

The end of my journey to St. Die was the most dramatic part of the whole
business. Tired out, I saw a cafe on the outskirts of the village, which
I thought would serve me as a reconnoitring post, so I went in and
ordered some coffee. I had not been there five minutes when some
officers walked in, and drew themselves up sharply when they saw a
stranger there, in a mud-stained costume that might have been a British
army uniform. I decided to take the bold course. I rose, saluted them,
and in my Anglo-French wished them good evening. They returned my
greeting and sat down, conversing in an undertone, with an occasional
side-flung glance at me. I saw that my attack would have to be pushed
home, especially as I caught the word "_espion_," or my fevered
imagination made me think I did.

I rose and crossed to their table, all smiles, and in my best French
heartily agreed with them that one has to be very careful in war time
about spies. In fact, I added, I had no doubt they took me for one.

This counter-attack--and possibly the very noticeable Britishness of m