The first battle of the Somme, launched some days past, was at its very climacteric.

The casualties had been and were terrible.

Even at this moment of night the fury of the attack was not relaxed.

All through the day reports, exasperating in their brevity, had been streaming into Paris, and rumour, as of old, circled swift-winged above the city, making good or ill the deficiencies of the telegrams.
One fact, however, had leaped to light, unassailably true.

The Clayfords, stationed on the north of the line at Thiepval, had redeemed their name and added a new lustre to their erstwhile shining record.