“M. Briand told the same tale till I cornered him one day, and then he said: ‘Your country is so rich that she can even afford to give ‘golden’ hair to her women!’”
“Well,” he replied, “I can but admire you—to have undertaken such a journey, at such a time, without the backing of your Government or the Press—and all for no purpose!”
“You are frank,” I said with a smile. “Do you think I could have accomplished more with the financial backing that your women can always command from your Government?”
“I cannot understand your Government.”
“Neither can I.... That’s why I am here.... Do you remember the Bible story of a city offered salvation if but one righteous and upright man could be found within her gates? So, God willing, may I, as one Englishwoman and a friend, preserve for my country some last shred of respect and faith in our honour among the Moslems of Turkey and India, Egypt, Persia, and Palestine.”
Courtesy, I suppose, kept him silent, and we were soon busy with preparations for dinner. He produced a towel for serviette, a piece of newspaper for table-cloth, and—luxury of luxuries—a knife, a fork, and a mug in which to enjoy some good French wine! The menu, too, was a change: foie gras and sardines, almonds and figs, apples and jam.
“I shall come and dine with you again,” said I, lest he should be too shy to invite me.
I found that the colonel and his staff could fully sympathise, from their own experience, with my anathemas upon luggage traffic. I told him “no doubt it was he and his friends who were making those awful ‘night noises’ that so alarmed me”; and though, of course, he denied it, my story received the tribute of a polite and good-natured laugh.
“I admire your courage,” he said again.
“Reserve your judgment. You will have time enough to see later what a combative person I can be.”