Eventually he reached a music hall.  He was going in now.  He was taking his place that moment in the plush stall.  On the stage a little pseudo nigger was joking privately with the conductor.  He laughed at one of the jokes he remembered.  Then a woman came on.  She was tragic, stately.  He was thrilled by her slimness, her weirdness, her vitality.  The whole atmosphere of the theatre was electrified by her personality.  She was singing a song in a way that he had never heard before.  He remembered it still.  It was a Tango song.  “His Tango girl!” His thoughts flew off at a tangent....

CHAPTER XXV

THE CROSSING OF THE AISNE

They spent a delectable night, with their boots off, between real blankets, after a real wash.  Very early, before it was really light, they joined on to the Battalion, and slid down the hill.

The Subaltern had a few moments’ talk with a friend who had commanded the “Divisional Guard” during the night.

“Scarcely got any sleep,” he said.  “But I took a peep at their room.  It was laid out for a pucca breakfast.  Jove, I could have done with some!”

At the door of the house he had been guarding, quite alone, and leaning heavily on his thick stick, stood the Divisional Commander.  No doubt he knew of the struggle that lay before them, and was taking the opportunity of reviewing his battalions as they went in to battle.  His face was red, his hair was iron grey, and rather long.  He was a fine big man, there was a presence to him, a rugged and determined look.

A few minutes later they had plunged into the depths of a thick morning mist, that rolled like a lake between the heights.  The steep road led them at length to the banks of the Aisne.  The Germans had naturally blown up the bridge behind them, but the Sappers had erected a temporary structure by the side of the ruined one.  It quivered under their weight, and as the Subaltern looked at the water swirling so swiftly beneath, he wondered what would happen if one of those huge shells were to blow it sky high....

Running parallel to the river, and about thirty yards away, was a canal.  This was likewise successfully passed, and so the Aisne was crossed without a shot being fired.

The Battalion was concentrated while the rest of the Brigade crossed the river.  And all the time the sun was chasing away the light clouds of river vapour.  Soon the enemy would see them, and they would be caught in this difficult and dangerous movement, and the results would be disastrous.