After a time the talk died down, and sounds of slumber filled the darkness. Probably the only men in the whole Company who did not spend the rest of that day in sleep were the "look-out" men, one posted in the road to intercept messages, and the other at the head of the steps to give warning.
As soon as it was dark they could leave the cellar with perfect safety—a thing they were glad to do, for the atmosphere was not as fresh as it might have been, and the place was very crowded. Only about half of the men, however, availed themselves of the opportunity. The others were too tired and just went on sleeping.
Some time in the middle of the night they were awakened by the Mess Sergeant, who had successfully arrived with rations. The only possible way, it seemed, was to get supplies over the bridges under cover of darkness, as the enemy had got their range to a yard. He left their share of food, and then hurriedly left.
"If I don't get well over by the morning, I don't get over at all," he explained.
The next day was in every way similar to the previous one. No order to move was received, and sleep was the most popular occupation. Now and then, in intervals between the artillery duels, they would dash up the steps and air themselves as best as they could. In one of his rambles the Subaltern alighted upon a peach tree, which was greatly appreciated. When the familiar sounds began again, they would troop once more down the steps and fall asleep in the cellar, until peace was restored.
On one occasion, following his men after he had seen them all safely down, a piece of high explosive shell-dust bounced from the wall, and embedded itself in the skin of his temple.
"By Jove!" he said, when he was safely in the cellar; "this is all very well, but if a big one did happen to drop on this house above here, we shouldn't stand the ghost of a chance. It would be better to be out in the open. We might be buried by the falling bricks."
Fate was kind. But once, on regaining the open, some one noticed that a weathercock had been struck off one of the gables.
"It just wanted to be twenty feet lower," said some one speculatively.
The Subaltern enjoyed very much his short stay in Poussey. The old Mayor and his wife were a charming couple, and as usual did everything in their power to make their Allies comfortable. On the other hand, it must be admitted that the British Officers, with their unfailing politeness and good spirits, made no small impression on them. The Subaltern once heard the old lady say to her husband—