And the lean, iron-grey Colonel with the ferocious moustache remarked in an austere, guttural voice, "Il est impayable—lui!"
Jimmy had been offering cigarettes to them as if he thought that was the only thing that would stop them. Then the old white-haired General sat between Viola and him with his arm round Jimmy's shoulder and began again, so loudly that everybody in the room could hear him.
"Your husband, Madame, is a man who does not know what fear is—who does not care what death is. For two nights and three days, Madame, he has been down there—at Alost and Termonde—under shell-fire. Mais—un enfer, Madame! You would have thought he had been born under fire, your husband. Ce n'est pas un homme, c'est un salamandre. Bullets—mitrailleuse—shrapnel—it is no more to him than to go out in a shower of rain. When our men were scuttling, and shouted to him to get under shelter, what do you think he said?—'Ouvrir une parapluie—ça ne vaut pas la peine."
There was a shout of laughter.
"That," said Viola, "is the sort of thing he would say. And please, I want to know what's the matter with his leg."
I can see her now, sitting on that crimson velvet seat in the lounge and looking past the gesticulations of the General to Jevons, who was shaking his head at her as much as to say, "Don't you believe the old boy, he's a shocking story-teller."
The old General seemed aware of her preoccupation, for he rose, murmuring affectionately, "Mon petit Chevons. I will not praise him to you, Madame. No doubt you know what he is."
I can see her standing up there and giving her hand to the old General and trying to stiffen her face to say, "I know."
Evidently she thought General Roubaix was too voluble to be entirely trustworthy, for, when he left us and Jimmy had gone out to see about our dinner, she addressed herself to the two Colonels.
"Please tell me what my husband really did."