_December 17_ (in a new billet).

. . . Last night we left behind all that was familiar when we came out of
the first-line trenches after three days of perfect peace there. We were
told off to the billet which we occupied on October 6th and 7th. One
can feel in the air the wind of change. I don't know what may come, but
the serenity of the weather to-day seems an augury of happiness.

These have been days of marvellous scenes, which I can appreciate better
now than during those few days of discouragement, which came because I
allowed myself to reckon things according to our miserable human
standards.

I write to you by a window from which I watch the sunset. You see that
goodness is everywhere for us.


_3 o'clock._

. . . I take up this letter once more in the twilight of an exceptional
winter: the day fades away as calmly as it came. I am watching the women
washing clothes under the lines of trees on the river bank; there is
peace everywhere--I think even in our hearts. Night falls. . . .


_December 19_ (in a billet).

A sweet day, ending here round the table. Quiet, drawing, music. I can