We went later to call on the "'75," _chez elle_. Madame was in a
particularly comfortable home which had been prepared for her and where
she was safe from the inquisitive eyes of the Taubes. The men of the
battery were sitting round their guns, singing a somewhat lengthy ditty,
each verse ending with a declamation and a description of the beauty of
"la belle Suzanne." I asked them to whom Suzanne belonged and where the
fair damsel resided. "Oh," they replied, "we have no time to think of
damsels called 'Suzanne' now. This is our Suzanne," and the speaker
affectionately gave an extra rub with his coat-sleeve to the barrel of
the "'75."

By a wonderful system of trench work it is possible for the gunners, in
case of necessity, to take refuge in the champagne-vaults in the
surrounding district, and it is in the champagne-vaults that the
children go daily to school, with their little gas-masks hanging in bags
on their arms. It appears that at first the tiny ones were frightened of
the masks, but they soon asked to be also given a sack, like their
elders, and now one and all have learnt at the least alarm to put on
their masks. There is no need to tell the children to hurry home. They
realise that it is not wise to loiter in the streets for fear of the
whistling shells. They are remarkably plucky, these small men and women
of France.

During one furious bombardment the children were safe in the vaults, but
one small citizen began to cry bitterly. He was reproached by his
comrades for cowardice, but he replied indignantly: "I fear nothing for
myself--I am safe here; but there is no cellar to our house, and oh!
what will happen to the little mother?" The teacher reassured him by
telling him that his mother would certainly take refuge in somebody
else's cellar.