“Ah, mon commandant!” he replied in a tone of assumed ecstasy. “You shall see her! A pearl, a jewel, une femme exquise!—That is to say,” he added, with a change of note, “she would be if she were not a femme boche. One almost forgets it, to look at her. But boche or not, she is young, she is beautiful, and, mon commandant, rarest of all—she is intelligent!”
The battalion commander laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder and drew him along with them as they resumed their momentarily interrupted progress.
“I see I have to congratulate you upon another conquest,” he said, with amused tolerance. “He is incredible, notre cher Jordan, Delassus!” he added with a smile to the doctor.
“Je ne dis pas,” protested the young captain with an affectation of modesty. “But we understand each other and that is already much—although, unfortunately, she speaks no French and my German lacks vocabulary. But she made me understand that her husband was an officer killed in the war. ‘Mann—Offizier—tot—Krieg.’ That’s right, doctor, n’est-ce pas?—You are the linguist.”
The doctor nodded assent.
“Quite correct. You should make rapid progress under an instructor so willing to impart interesting information,” he said drily.
The young man protested warmly against the implication.
“Your cynicism is out of place, doctor. I assure you. She is timide—timide like a frightened bird.—I extorted it from her.—But you shall see for yourselves. Here we are!”
They were at the end of the village. The young captain led them through a carriage gateway, sadly in need of a coat of paint, up a weed-grown drive to a fairly large house, that had once been white but was now stained with the overflow of gutters long left out of repair. A belt of trees hid it from the road. The main door, in the centre of the house with windows on both sides of it, was open, as if in expectation of them. Wisps of smoke from several of the chimneys hinted at hospitality in preparation.