It is night. I gently lift the blanket and scarcely recognize the contour of his face——
I can hear the voice of an old woman, who says to another:
"Charles is at Eparges; I am so uneasy."
THE COMMERCIAL BAR, EPARGES.
January, 1916.
Bombing duels all morning——
We have gone to pay a visit to Major X—— at his fighting dugout; the major never worries about anything——
"Ah! how good of you to come—let me offer you a drink: some Turin, whisky and soda, Pernod, or Cassis—which do you want? You will remain and have lunch with me? I have a live lobster"—he brandished that animal triumphantly—"and, with that, grilled lamb chops, potatoes, pont-neuf."
Turning toward the telephone operator and without waiting for our reply, he said:
"Waiter, set two covers more!"