The night that followed was cold and windy.  In spite of a fire that his men lit in a little side street, and various sacks that they “lifted” from barns, the cold caused extreme discomfort, and it was with a great sigh of relief that at length dawn broke upon them.

The Subaltern stumbled to his feet before it was fully light, shook the miserable sacks from his feet, and set out to explore the village.

Like most of its kind, it had only one central street, which was steep and winding.  Underfoot were the usual cobbles, and the walls had a queer look of leaning inwards over the road with a protective air.  He had not gone many yards before he came upon the little village square.  Half of it was shut in by a huge, castle-like structure, which with its carved stone fountain gave the place almost a medieval air.

The gate in the wall was unlocked, and through the aperture he caught a glimpse of a trim garden and a comfortable-looking house.

“This,” said the Subaltern to himself, “is just the sort of place that the Captain would choose for his headquarters.”

He slipped into the garden and peeped through one of the windows.  Sure enough, there were the Captain, the Senior Subaltern and the Doctor.  They had already risen and were trying to boil a kettle on the ashes of last night’s fire.  It was not an inviting scene, by any means, but he pushed open the door, and started in the search for food.

The room in which he found them was a typical French kitchen, with a dirty grey ceiling, walls, and stone floor.  The furniture consisted of a table, a couple of forms, and a chair or two.  Otherwise there was absolutely no attempt at either comfort or adornment.  Ransacking a dirty cupboard, the Subaltern drew forth in triumph a promising-looking bottle, and having pulled the cork, smelt at the contents with caution.  It contained a curious sort of liquor, apparently home made, which saved their lives that morning.  Then the Doctor, after many amusing efforts to clean himself in a bucket, went off to the improvised hospital that had been set up in the village.

The early part of the morning passed peacefully enough; but the bombardment was renewed at about seven o’clock, and was followed by a hasty evacuation of the village to reinforce the front line.  The Captain’s Company, however, and one other, were ordered to stand by in reserve, but to be prepared to move at a moment’s notice.  The bombardment rolled on as usual for about an hour.  Then came a tremendous crash, which made every wall and roof tremble, and gave warning that something worse than ordinary had happened.