“Voilà!” she exclaimed as if the guerre was won.
Jimmy looked at the basin, the soap and towel. Then he looked long and hard at O. D. The woman stood fast, regarding them both, feeling suddenly guilty of having sinned again.
“Corporal of the guard, relief, post number one,” shouted Jimmy. “Can you beat that, wouldn’t it drive a man nuts? I ask for a drink of water and the woman insists that I wash. No use, O. D.” Then to the woman, “Madame, pas wash, cum saw,” and he lifted the glass to his lips for the second time.
“Quoi? Boire de l’eau? Impossible!! Buvez donc du vin! quelle race! Eh! mon Dieu! ils bovvent de l’eau!” (What! you want water to drink. Impossible. Drink the red wine. What people—what people! My God! they drink water), exclaimed the mystified woman, and she nearly went into fits.
“Oui, madame,” insisted Jimmy, raising the glass up and down as if to convince her by that action of the sincerity of his words and meaning.
“Comme vous voulent, messieurs!” (As you will then, messieurs), answered madame, and she went out for more water.
Just as the boys were hitting the cheese or fromage course as Jimmy insisted on calling it, the man of the house, or patron, as madame called him, blew in. He was nothing more and nothing less than a grizzled old poilu rigged up in civilian clothes.
“Bon swoir, messieurs,” was his hearty greeting.
“Bonjour, monsieur,” responded Jimmy, rising to shake his hand.
“Bonne mangee?” asked the Frenchman, pointing to the table.