Our statesman said that we had better give up trying to locate the battery; and one of the officers called a halt to trying to go up to the firing-line on the part of a personally-conducted party, after we stopped a private hurrying back from the front on some errand.  With his alertness, the easy swing of his walk, his light step, and his freedom of spirit and appearance, he typified the thing which the French call elan.  Whenever one asked a question of a French private you could depend upon a direct answer.  He knew or he did not know.  This definiteness, the result of military training as well as of Gallic lucidity of thought, is not the least of the human factors in making an efficient army, where every man and every unit must definitely know his part.  This young man, you realized, had tasted the “salt of life,” as Lord Kitchener calls it.  He had heard the close sing of bullets; he had known the intoxication of a charge.

“Does everything go well?” M. Doumer asked.  “It is not going at all, now.  It is sticking,” was the answer.  “Some Germans were busy up there in the stone quarries while the others were falling back.  They have a covered trench and rapid-fire-gun positions to sweep a zone of fire which they have cleared.”

Famous stone quarries of Soissons, providing ready-made dug-outs as shelter from shells!

There is a story of how before Marengo Napoleon heard a private saying:  “Now this is what the general ought to do!” It was Napoleon’s own plan revealed.  “You keep still!” he said.  “This army has too many generals.”

“They mean to make a stand,” the private went on.  “It’s an ideal place for it.  There is no use of an attack in front.  We’d be mowed down by machine-guns.”  The br-r-r of a dozen shots from a German machine-gun gave point to his conclusion.  “Our infantry is hugging what we have and intrenching.  You’d better not go up.  One has to know the way, or he’ll walk right into a sharpshooter’s bullet”—­instructions that would have been applicable a year later when one was about to visit a British trench in almost the same location.

The siege-warfare of the Aisne line had already begun.  It was singular to get the first news of it from a private in Soissons and then to return to Paris and London, on the other side of the curtain of secrecy, where the public thought that the Allied advance would continue.

“Allons!” said our statesman, and we went to the town square, where German guns had carpeted the ground with branches of shade trees and torn off the fronts of houses, revealing sections of looted interior which had been further messed by shell-bursts.  Some women and children and a crippled man came out of doors at sight of us.  M. Doumer introduced himself and shook hands all around.  They were glad to meet him in much the same way as if he had been on an election campaign.

“A German shell struck there across the square only half an hour ago,” said one of the women.