"Not again," they seemed to say; "for God's sake, not a second time.
This time—Victory. Wipe it out—that stain."
They had failed, true; but there were others who would succeed; and it was their presence that made one feel the unconquerable spirit of France.
III
The French officer in charge was polite, but firmly non-committal.
"There is a train which will leave here about midnight, we hope. If you can get a seat on it—well and good. If not——" he shrugged his shoulders superbly, and the conversation closed.
It was a troop train apparently, and in the course of time it would arrive at Marseilles—perhaps. It would not be comfortable. "Mais, que voulez-vous, M'sieur? c'est la guerre."
At first he had not been genial; but when he had grasped the fact that mufti invariably cloaked the British officer, en permission, he had become more friendly.
He advised dinner; in these days, as he truly remarked, one never knows. Also, what was England going to do?
"Fight," Draycott answered promptly, with an assurance he did not feel.
"Fight, mon Colonel; ça va sans dire."
"C'est bien," he murmured, and stood up. "Vive l'Angleterre." Gravely he saluted, and Draycott took off his hat.