Expecting an attack, I shout to my poilus:
"Attention! keep your eyes open!"
Corporal Poulet replied with an inexplicable accent:
"That's all right; as long as your eyeglass is not broken, everything will go well!"
A POILU WEEPS, CALONNE TRENCH.
December, 1915.
A beautiful day—but how cold it is!
From the German lines as well as our own, white smoke curls up from wood fires.
The hour at which the sector becomes active has not arrived, and I have plenty of time to make the rounds of the first line to keep warm.
Poor little hill! It is barren!
It has been well named: "the lobster's claw." Certainly it has the form and color. The trees are cracked or shattered clear to the roots, because tons of projectiles have fallen on it.