The young peasant farmer stared across the field to Bourlon Wood, so quiet now, so safe.
“Not alone. But we have Poland, Serbia, Czecho-Slovakia.”
“England?”
The man looked uncertainly at Bertram.
“Monsieur can tell me, perhaps.”
“What do you think?”
The young Frenchman shrugged his shoulders again.
“England does what pays her best. Industry, commerce, count with her most. It’s the English character. Hard bargaining, eh?”
Bertram reminded him how many men Britain had sent to France, in time of war, how many bodies of her youth lay still in French soil. Was that hard bargaining? Or self-sacrifice, for honour’s sake?
“The Boches were England’s trade rivals. Their Fleet was a menace to Grande Bretagne. Is it not so, Monsieur.”