I think Madame was supremely happy all the evening. I think every one else was happy too. I have never met more courteous people. In the midst of the most hilarious talk and laughter a niece would stop laughing suddenly and repeat very slowly for my benefit what the fun was about. Even when the soldier nephew told stories which in England would not have been told so publicly, a niece would take care that I did not miss the point.
Madame’s drawing-room was very wonderful. At one time she had known a painter, a professor of painting in a school near her home. He adorned the walls of her drawing-room with five large oil-paintings, done on the plaster of the wall and reaching from the ceiling to very near the floor. Four of them represented the seasons of the year, and that artist was plainly a man who might have made a good income drawing pictures for the lids of chocolate boxes. His fur-clad lady skating (Winter) would have delighted any confectioner. The fifth picture was a farmyard scene in which a small girl appeared, feeding ducks. This was the most precious of all the pictures. The little girl was Madame’s niece, since married and the mother of a little girl of her own.
The furniture was kept shrouded in holland and the jalousies were always shut except when Madame exhibited the room. I saw the furniture uncovered twice, and only twice. It was uncovered on the occasion of the New Year’s feast, and Madame displayed her room in all its glory on the afternoon when I invited to tea a lady who was going to sing for the men in one of my camps.
I think that all Madame’s lodgers loved her, though I doubt if any of them loved her as dearly as I did. Letters used to arrive for her from different parts of the war area conveying news of the officers who had lodged with her. She always brought them to me to translate. I fear she was not much wiser afterwards. She never answered any of them. Nor has she ever answered me, though I should greatly like to hear how she, Monsieur, Marie, Fifi, and Turque are getting on. Turque was a large dog, the only member of the household who was not extremely old.
CHAPTER XIII
“THE CON. CAMP”
We always spoke of it, affectionately and proudly, as “the Con. Camp.” The abbreviation was natural enough, for “convalescent” is a mouthful of a word to say, besides being very difficult to spell. I have known a beneficed clergyman of the Church of England come to grief over the consonants of the last two syllables in addressing an envelope to me; and there was a story of a very august visitor, asked to write in an album, who inquired about a vowel and was given the wrong one by one of the staff. If those doubtful spellers had known our pleasant abbreviation they would have escaped disaster.
To us the “Con.” justified itself from every point of view. I am not sure that we had an equal right to the conceited use of the definite article. There are other “Con.” camps in France, many of them. We spoke of them by their numbers. Ours had a number too, but we rarely used it. We were The Con. Camp. Our opinion was no doubt prejudiced; but the authorities seemed to share it. The Con. Camp was one of the show places of the British Army. Distinguished visitors were always brought there.