He looks at me comically:  “My wife—­I’ll tell you something; my wife—­”

“Well?”

“Well, old chap, I’ve seen her again.”

“You’ve seen her?  I thought she was in the occupied country?”

“Yes, she’s at Lens, with my relations.  Well, I’ve seen her—­ah, and then, after all, zut!—­I’ll tell you all about it.  Well, I was at Lens, three weeks ago.  It was the eleventh; that’s twenty days since.”

I look at him, astounded.  But he looks like one who is speaking the truth.  He talks in sputters at my side. as we walk in the increasing light—­

“They told us—­you remember, perhaps—­but you weren’t there, I believe—­they told us the wire had got to be strengthened in front of the Billard Trench.  You know what that means, eh?  They hadn’t been able to do it till then.  As soon as one gets out of the trench he’s on a downward slope, that’s got a funny name.”

“The Toboggan.”

“Yes, that’s it; and the place is as bad by night or in fog as in broad daylight, because of the rifles trained on it before hand on trestles, and the machine-guns that they point during the day.  When they can’t see any more, the Boches sprinkle the lot.

“They took the pioneers of the C.H.R., hut there were some missing, and they replaced ’em with a few poilus.  I was one of ’em.  Good.  We climb out.  Not a single rifle-shot!  ‘What does it mean?’ we says, and behold. we see a Boche, two Boches, three Boches, coming out of the ground—­the gray devils!—­and they make signs to us and shout ‘Kamarad!’ ‘We’re Alsatians,’ they says. coming more and more out of their communication trench—­the International.  ’They won’t fire on you, up there,’ they says; ’don’t be afraid, friends.  Just let us bury our dead.’  And behold us working aside of each other, and even talking together since they were from Alsace.  And to tell the truth, they groused about the war and about their officers.  Our sergeant knew all right that it was forbidden to talk with the enemy, and they’d even read it out to us that we were only to talk to them with our rifles.  But the sergeant he says to himself that this is God’s own chance to strengthen the wire, and as long as they were letting us work against them, we’d just got to take advantage of it,

“Then behold one of the Boches that says, ’There isn’t perhaps one of you that comes from the invaded country and would like news of his family?’

“Old chap, that was a bit too much for me.  Without thinking if I did right or wrong, I went up to him and I said, ‘Yes, there’s me.’  The Boche asks me questions.  I tell him my wife’s at Lens with her relations, and the little one, to.  He asks where she’s staying.  I explain to him, and he says he can see it from there.  ‘Listen,’ he says, ’I’ll take her a letter, and not only that, but I’ll bring you an answer.’  Then all of a sudden he taps his forehead, the Boche, and comes close to me—­’Listen, my friend, to a lot better still.  If you like