So we waited, looking at Jimmy through the screen, while the officers clinked their glasses and drank to him and called his name; and the group that looked on echoed it; and the waiters who had come in to see what was happening, repeated it among themselves.
"Vive l'Angleterre! Vive les Anglais! Vive Chevons! Chevons! Chevons!"
"I wonder," said Viola, "what Jimmy has been up to? You can take me to him."
When we got to the table we found Jimmy trying to explain to the General and the two Colonels in execrable French that he didn't know what it was all about. He hadn't done anything.
Then he saw Viola.
For one second, while he stared at her across the room, he appeared to be suffering from a violent shock. He was so visibly hit that the two men who had their backs to us turned round to see what it was that had affected him. His flush had gone suddenly and he was breathing hard, with his mouth a little open.
I heard him saying something in French about his wife.
He recovered, however, in a second, and disentangled himself from the
General and the Colonels and from the dinner-table, and came forward.
And as he came, I noticed something odd about him. He limped slightly.
His khaki had a battered look; it was soiled and torn in places, and the
Red Cross brassard on his sleeve was simply filthy.
And he had only been out three days, mind you. He was only three days ahead of us. But he had lost no time.