We go away. For the first time since I came back I no longer lean on
Marie. It is she who leans on me.
* * * * * *
CHAPTER XXI
NO!
The opening of our War Museum, which was the conspicuous event of the following days, filled Crillon with delight.
It was a wooden building, gay with flags, which the municipality had erected; and Room 1 was occupied by an exhibition of paintings and drawings by amateurs in high society, all war subjects. Many of them were sent down from Paris.
Crillon, officially got up in his Sunday clothes, has bought the catalogue (which is sold for the benefit of the wounded) and he is struck with wonder by the list of exhibitors. He talks of titles, of coats of arms, of crowns; he seeks enlightenment in matters of aristocratic hierarchy. Once, as he stands before the row of frames, he asks:
"I say, now, which has got most talent in France—a princess or a duchess?"
He is quite affected by these things, and with his eyes fixed on the lower edges of the pictures he deciphers the signatures.
In the room which follows this shining exhibition of autographs there is a crush.