"Dreadful!"
One man coughs. The other remarks—
"Suppose we move from here; you'll wake the children."
Maxence and myself occupy the dug-out from eight till midnight. We smoke a few pipes. The post has brought newspapers. Our accoutrements hang on nails driven into the timber which props up the shelter. Maxence, who has been somewhat fidgety for some minutes, remarks—
"I don't care! I'm going to put on my socks; it will be far more comfortable."
"And suppose the lieutenant comes along.... And what if the Germans attack?"
"Eh?"
He hesitates, his hand on the point of unrolling his puttee.
"Nonsense! Those over in front won't stir an inch."