this'll do."

They rolled off down an avenue of wintry trees, passed a wooden building
which Peter was informed was the English military church, and out on to
the stone-paved quay. To Peter the drive was an intense delight. A French
blue-coated regiment swung past them. "Going up the line," said Jenks. A
crowd of black troops marched by in the opposite direction. "Good Lord!"
said Jenks, "so the S.A. native labour has come." The river was full of
craft, but his mentor explained that the true docks stretched mile on
mile downstream. By a wide bridge lay a camouflaged steamer. "Hospital
ship," said Jenks. Up a narrow street could be seen the buttresses of the
cathedral; and if Peter craned his head to glance up, his companion was
more occupied in the great cafe at the corner a little farther on. But
it was, of course, deserted at that early hour. A flower-stall at the
corner was gay with flowers, and two French peasant women were arranging
the blooms. And then the fiacre swung into the Rue Joanne d'Arc, and
opposite a gloomy-looking entrance pulled up with a jerk. "Here we are,"
said Jenks. "It's up an infernal flight of steps."

The officers' club in Rouen was not monstrously attractive, but they got
a good wash in a little room that looked out over a tangle of picturesque
roofs, and finally some excellent coffee and bacon and eggs.

Jenks lit a cigarette and handed one to Peter. "Better leave your traps,"
he said. "I'll go up with you; I've nothing to do."

Outside the street was filling with the morning traffic, and the two
walked up the slight hill to the accompaniment of a running fire of
comments and explanations from Jenks, "That's Cox's--useful place for
the first half of a month, but not much use to me, anyway, for the
second.... You ought to go to I that shop and buy picture post-cards,
padre; there's a topping girl who sells 'em.... Rue de la Grosse
Horloge--you can see the clock hanging over the road. The street runs
up to the cathedral: rather jolly sometimes, but nothing doing
now.... What's that? I don't know. Yes, I do, Palais de Justice or
something of that sort. Pretty old, I believe.... In those gardens is the
picture gallery; not been in myself, but I believe they've got some good
stuff.... That's your show, over there. Don't be long; I'll hang about."

Peter crossed the street, and, following directions ascended some wooden
stairs. A door round the corner at the top was inscribed "A.C.G. (C. of
E