"It's their own home," said Mervin. "They've never left the place, and the roof is broken and half the walls blown away."
"I'm for coffee," Stoner cried, jumping over the parapet and stopping a shower of muck which a bursting shell flung in his face. We were with him immediately, and presently found ourselves at the door of a red brick cottage with all the windows smashed, roof riddled with shot, and walls broken, just as Mervin had described.
A number of our men were already inside feeding. An elderly, well-dressed woman, with close-set eyes, rather thick lips, and a short nose, was grinding coffee near a flaming stove, on which an urn of boiling water was bubbling merrily. A young girl, not at all good-looking but very sweet in manner, said "Bonjour, messieurs," as we entered, and approached each of us in turn to enquire into our needs. Mervin knew the language, and we placed the business in his hands, and sat down on the floor paved with red bricks; the few chairs in the house were already occupied.
The house was more or less in a state of disorder; the few pictures on the wall, the portrait of the woman herself, The Holy Family Journeying to Egypt, a print of Millet's Angelus, and a rude etching of a dog hung anyhow, the frames smashed and the glass broken. A Dutch clock, with figures of nymphs on the face, and the timing piece of a shell dangling from the weights, looked idly down, its pendulum gone and the glass broken.
Bill, naughty rascal that he is, wanted a kiss with his coffee, and finding that Mervin refused to explain this to the girl, he undertook the matter himself.
"Madham mosselle," he said, lingering over every syllable, "I get no milk with cawfee, compree?" The girl shook her head, but seemed to be amused.
"Not compree," he continued, "and me learnin' the lingo. I don't like French, you spell it one way and speak it the other. Nark (confound) it, I say, Mad-ham-moss-elle, voo (what's "give," Mervin?) dunno, that's it. Voo dunno me a kiss with the cawfee, compree, it's better'n milk."
"Don't be a pig, Bill," Stoner cut in. "It's not fair to carry on like that."
"Nark you, Stoner!" Bill answered. "It mayn't be fair, but it'd be nice if I got one."
"Kiss a face like yours," muttered Mervin, "she'd have a taste for queer things if she did."