THE GAME OF BILLIARDS 25

marked most plainly on these, relaxed
in the abandonment of slumber. Rain,
mud, no fire, no soup, a sky black and
lowering, the enemy known to be all
around them. It is dismal !

What are they about there? What
is going on?

The cannon, with mouths directed
at the wood, seem to watch something.
The masked mitrailleuses stare fixedly
at the horizon. All seems ready for
an attack. Why do they not attack?
What are they waiting for?

They wait for orders, and none come
from headquarters.

Yet headquarters are close by,in that
splendid castle of Louis XIII.’s time,
the red bricks of which, washed by the
rain, shine between the hedges. A
princely dwelling well worthy to sustain
the banner of a Marshal of France.
Behind the great moat and stone balus-
trade that separate them from the
road, the turfy slopes rise steeply up
to the steps, close-cropped and green,