"Ah! là, là, you wouldn't make such a noise if we were attacking."
Charensac replied, not without an air of dignity, speaking instinctively of himself in the third person, as though he might have been Cæsar or Napoleon—
"Don't trouble yourself about Charensac. Just keep by his side when there is hot work to be done, then no one will ever be in a position to say that you were afraid."
And, as a matter of fact, Charensac continues to make fine sport of war, even in the midst of danger. Certainly I have never met his like before.
Charensac returns in the course of the evening. We all run to meet him. He tosses off a glass of benedictine, accepts a flannel girdle, two pocket-handkerchiefs, a bar of chocolate, a camphor sachet for killing fleas, and then he retires to sleep, shrieking joyfully.
Wednesday, 30th December.
From noon to four o'clock we clean out the branch trenches, which the rain has transformed into mud puddles.
Thursday, 31st December.
Morning drill during a brief spell of sunshine.