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horse dung,” he said. The voice, which he did not recognize as his, startled him, it sounded so loud, but his surprise lasted only a moment, for death was bringing its own anæsthetic with it. Fever was rising in him, giving comfort to his body and ineffable peace to his mind. The terror of being alone and helpless had gone. He closed his eyes the better to appreciate the delights of his hallucinations....
    Later his eyes opened, and his jaw relaxed.
    Later still, when the shadow cast by the moon was rising again on the side of the chalk pit, a rat climbed noiselessly up the jamb of the gallery entrance and watched Paolacci for a while. Then it stepped forward daintily, jumped onto the lieutenant’s chest and squatted there. It looked to the right and to the left, two or three times, quickly, then lowered its head and began to eat Paolacci’s under lip.
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    Lieutenant Roget went down the trench, looking for Didier. He found him standing on the firing-step, his rifle lying in a groove across the parapet, a little pile of hand grenades on one side and a Very pistol on the other. Another figure sat huddled on the firing-step, a figure which coughed at the lieutenant, as he came around the corner of the traverse, instead of challenging him.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, you two asleep?” said Roget.
    â€œYes,” said Didier, recognizing the voice.
    â€œSir,” said Roget.
    â€œSir,” Didier replied, emphasizing his reluctance.
    The figure answered with another cough.
    â€œWell, I’ve got something that’ll wake you up. You two are going out on patrol with me.”
    â€œNot him,” said Didier.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause he’s got a cough.”
    â€œThat’s too bad. And I suppose you’ve got a pain in your tail?”
    â€œYes, I have. But that’s different.”
    â€œHow’s it different?”
    â€œBecause my pain in the tail is silent and his cough is a big noise in the face.”
    â€œWell, I don’t care which end you’re indisposed in, you’re both going on patrol. Now get started, will you? We haven’t any time to lose.”
    â€œListen, Pierre, you know as well as I—”
    â€œYou Pierre me once more and I’ll put you under arrest. I’ve had enough of it, see?”
    â€œAll right, lieutenant, I was only trying to tell you. You know how Marchand got killed, don’t you?”
    â€œYes, on patrol. And served him right too, he was almost as insolent as you are.”
    â€œYes, on patrol. But why? Because he had a cough. So he coughed in a Boche’s face that night, see? Well, that was the last cough he ever coughed. The Boche cured him of it on the spot. And that cough cost us three more men, two wounded and another killed, when they started to bomb us.”
    â€œAll right then, have it your way. But get a move on and stop jabbering. Get somebody else, anybody you want.”
    â€œI’ll bring Lejeune. He’s been out with me before. He’s a good man.”
    Didier pulled his rifle in and stepped down. The man with the cough replaced him and set his rifle carefully in the groove.
    â€œThe S O S rockets are here,” said Didier. “They’re not to be fired except on orders from an officer. Understand? We’ll send up a man to take my place.” The use of the “we” pricked Roget. Decidedly, this fellow needed taking down a peg. But how was it to be done? Roget’s vanity prevented him from admitting it in so many words, but he knew none the less that he had never gained an ascendency over Didier.
    The man with the cough was staring into no-man’s-land as the other two went off along the trench in the direction of their dugouts. The lieutenant was walking in front and talking to Didier over his shoulder:
    â€œReconnaissance patrol. Only three of us. German wire and machine-gun posts. Identifications of bodies, if possible. Go out on the