CHAPTER XIV.
THE THRILL OF THE FIRE TRENCH Passing the two sentries at the front door the officers found themselves in a small ante-room.
Excusing himself, Captain Ribaut left the Americans briefly, but was speedily back.
"General Bazain is most eager to meet you, and has the leisure at this moment," the Frenchman announced.
He led his guests through the adjoining room, where half a dozen younger French officers rose hastily, standing at salute.

Then on into a third room, just over the sill of which Captain Ribaut halted, bringing his heels quickly together as he called out: "General Bazain, I have the honor to present to you four American officers, Major-----" And so on, through the list of names.

The French divisional commander bowed courteously four separate times, taking each American officer by the hand with both his own, and finding something wholly courteous to say.

He spoke in French, a tongue that only Major Wells and Captain Prescott understood well.
"My division is greatly honored, _Messieurs les Officers_," General Bazain continued when he had seen to the seating of his callers and had resumed his own chair behind a desk on which were spread many maps and documents.
"You have been having a smart fight this afternoon, sir ?" inquired Major Wells.
"Ah, yes, for some reason, the Huns have been trying to break through my division this afternoon, but they have not yet succeeded, nor will they," General Bazain added, his eyes flashing grimly.
He was a little man, short and thin, his hair well sprinkled with gray.

He looked like one whom more than three years of war had borne down with cares, yet his eyes were bright and his shoulders squared splendidly whenever he stood.
"Here is a map of the divisional front, gentlemen, if you care to draw your chairs closer and look it over," proposed the general.
"This shows not only our lines, but as much as we know of the enemy lines facing us.