ly a mess of bricks, tiles, and plaster. They suggest the
homes of human beings as little as does a brickyard.

We visited what had been the headquarters of General de Wignacourt.
They were in the garden of a house that opened upon one of the principal
thoroughfares, and the floor level was twelve feet under the level of
the flower-beds. To this subterranean office there are two entrances,
one through the cellar of the house, the other down steps from the
garden. The steps were beams the size of a railroad-tie. Had they not
been whitewashed they would look like the shaft leading to a coal-pit.

A soldier who was an artist in plaster had decorated the entrance to the
shaft with an ornamental facade worthy of any public building. Here,
secure from the falling walls and explosive shells, the general by
telephone directed his attack. The place was as dry, as clean, and as
compact as the admiral's quarters on a ship of war. The switchboard
connected with batteries buried from sight in every part of the unburied
city, and in an adjoining room a soldier cook was preparing a most
appetizing luncheon.

[Illustration: _From a photograph by R. H. Davis._

The stone roof over this glass chandelier in the Arras cathedral was
destroyed by shells, and the chandelier not touched.]

Above us was three yards of cement, rafters, and earth, and crowning
them grass and flowers. When the owner of the house returns he will find
this addition to his residence an excellent refuge from burglars or
creditors.

Personally we were glad to escape into the open street. Between being
hit by a shell and buried under twelve feet of cement the choice was
difficult.

We lunched in a charming house, where the table was spread in the front
hall. The bed of the officer temporarily occupying the house also was
spread in the hall, and we were curious to know, but too proud to ask,
why he limited himself to such narrow quarters. Our captain rewarded our
reticence. He threw back the heavy curtain that concealed the rest of
the house, and showed us that there was no house. It had been deftly
removed by a shell.

The owner of the house had run away, but before he fled, fearing the
Germans might enter Arras and take his money, he had withdrawn it and
hidden it in his garden. The money amounted to two hundred and fifty
thousand dollars. He placed it in a lead box, soldered up the opening,
and buried the box under a tree. Then he went away and carelessly