That, though we did not know it then, was the last night of our little
Odyssey. We had been advancing or retiring without a break since my
tragic farewell to Nadine. We had been riding all day and often all
night. But those were heroic days, and now as I write this in our
comfortable slack winter quarters, I must confess--I would give anything
to have them all over again. Now we motor-cyclists are middle-aged
warriors. Adventures are work. Experiences are a routine. Then, let's be
sentimental, we were young.

[Illustration: THE AISNE
(SOISSONS _TO_ VAILLY)]




CHAPTER VII.

THE BATTLE OF THE AISNE.


I'm going to start by giving you an account of what we thought of the
military situation during the great marches and the battle of the
Aisne--for my own use. What happened we shall be able to look up
afterwards in some lumbersome old history, should we forget, but, unless
I get down quickly what we thought, it will disappear in
after-knowledge.

You will remember how the night we arrived on the Aisne Huggie and I
stretched ourselves on a sand-heap at the side of the road--just above