John peered over the edge of the trench.  A man was allowed to put his head in the German range but not his hand.  So long as he lived he must preserve a hand which could pull the trigger or wield the bayonet.

They were not firing in the immediate front, and he had a good view of fields and low hills, deep in snow.  Just before him the ground was leveled, and he saw many raised places in the snow there.  He knew that bodies lay beneath, and once more he shuddered violently.  But the world was full of beauty that morning.  The sun was a vast sheet of gold, giving a luminous tint to the snow, and two clusters of trees, covered to the last bough and twig with snow, were a delicate tracery of white, shot at times by the sun with a pale yellow glow like that of a rose.  On the horizon a faint misty smoke, the color of silver, was rising, and he knew that it came from the cooking fires of the Germans.

It reminded him that he was very hungry.  Cave life under fire, if it did not kill a man, gave him a ferocious appetite, and turning into one of the transverse trenches he followed a stream of the Strangers who were already on the way to their hotel.

The narrow cut led them nearly a mile, and then they came out in a valley the edges of which were fringed with beeches.  But in the wide space within the valley most of the snow had been cleared away and enormous automobile kitchens stood giving forth the pleasant odors of food and drink.  At one side officers were already satisfying their hunger and farther on men were doing the same.  They were within easy range of the German guns, but it was not the habit of either side to send morning shells unless a direct attack was to be made.

John had no thought of danger.  Youth was youth and one could get hardened to anything.  He had been surprised more than once in this war to find how his spirits could go from the depths to the heights and now they were of the best.  He was full of life and the world was very beautiful that morning.  It was the fair land of France again, but it was under a thick robe of snow, the golden tint on the white, as the large yellow sun slowly sailed clear of the high hills on their right.

General Vaugirard stood near the first of the wagons, drinking cup after cup of hot steaming coffee, and devouring thick slices of bread and butter.  He wore a long blue overcoat over his uniform, and high boots.  But the dominant note was given to his appearance by the thick white beard which seemed to be touched with a light silver frost.  Under the great thatch of eyebrow the keen little eyes twinkled.  He made John think of a huge, white and inoffensive bear.

The general’s roving eye caught sight of Scott and he exclaimed: 

“Come here, you young Yankee!  I hear that you distinguished yourself last night by saving the life of one of our enemies, thus enabling him perhaps to fight against us once more.”

“I beg your pardon, General,” said John, “but I’m no Yankee.”