two things that can in any way upset the perfect indifference to
difficulties of the French trooper: he hates to walk, and he refuses to
be deprived of his _pinard_. The men of the French army have named their
red wine _pinard_, just as they call water _la flotte_, always, however,
being careful to add that _la flotte_ is excellent "for washing one's
feet."

As we passed through the headquarters of General Nivelle, he sent down
word to us not to wait to call on him then, but to proceed at once to
Verdun, as later the passage would become more difficult. He kindly sent
down to us one of the officers of his staff to act as escort. The
officer sat by our chauffeur, warning him of the dangerous spots in the
road which the Germans had the habit of "watering" from time to time
with _marmites_, and ordering him to put on extra speed. Our speed along
the road into Verdun averaged well over a mile a minute.

Within range of the German guns, probably not more than four or five
kilometres from Verdun, we came on a line of men waiting their turn to
go into the cinema. After all, there was no reason _de s'en faire_, and
if they were alive they decided they might as well be happy and amused.
Just before entering the gate of Verdun we passed a number of
ambulances, some of them driven by the American volunteers. These young
Americans have displayed splendid heroism in bringing in the wounded
under difficult conditions. Many of them have been mentioned in
dispatches, and have received from France the Croix de Guerre. I also
saw an ambulance marked "Lloyd's."

It would be useless to pretend that one entered Verdun without emotion.
Verdun, sorely stricken, yet living, kept alive by the indomitable soul
of the soldiers of France, whilst her wounds are daily treated and