ion which no self-control could hide. I saw his throat work--the
throat of an old man--his "Adam's apple" going convulsively up and down
like a tossed ball in a fountain jet. Then, lest I should sob while his
eyes were dry, I looked away.

We all had champagne out of the marvellous bottle which had been hoarded
during long months in case of "a great occasion," and we economized sips
but not healths. We drank to each one of the Allies in turn, and to a
victorious peace. Then the officers--French and American--began telling
us trench tales--no grim stories, only those at which we could laugh.
One was what an American captain called a "peach"; but it was a
Frenchman who told it: the American contingent have had no such
adventures yet.

The thing happened some time ago, before the "liveliness" died down
along this _secteur_. One spring day, in a rainy fog like a gray
curtain, a strange pair of legs appeared, prowling alongside a French
trench. They were not French legs; but instantly two pairs of French
arms darted out under the stage-drop of fog to jerk them in. Down came a
_feldwebel_ on top of them, squealing desolately "Kamerad!" He squealed
many more guttural utterances, but not one of the soldiers in blue
helmets, who soon swarmed round him, could understand a word he said.
"Why the crowd?" wondered the Captain of the company, appearing from a
near-by dug-out. The queer quarry was dragged to the officer's feet, and
fortunately the Captain, an Alsatian, had enough German for a catechism.

"What were you doing close to our lines?" he demanded.

"Oh, Herr Captain, I did not know they were your lines. I thought they
were ours. In our trench we are hungry, very hungry. I thought in the
mist I could safely go a little way and seek for some potatoes. Where we
are they say there was once a fine potato field. Not long ago, one of
our men came back with half a dozen beauties. Ah, they were good! I was
empty enough to risk anything, Herr Captain. But I had no luck. And,
worse still, the fog led me astray. Spare my life, sir!"

"We will spare you what is worth more than a little thing like your
life," said the Captain. "We'll spare you some of our good food, to show
you that we French do not have to gnaw our finger-nails, like you
miserable Boches. Men, take this animal away and feed it!"

The men obeyed, enjoying the joke. The dazed Kamerad was stuffed with
sardines, meat, bread, and butter (of which he had forgotten the
e