weeks--no,
_three_--since you come here. The gentlemen will have dejeuner? And
perhaps a little aperitif before?"

"Bon jour, Marie," began the Captain in clumsy French, and then abandoned
the attempt. "I could not come, Marie, you know. C'est la guerre. Much
work each day."

"Ah, non, monsieur cannot cheat me. He had found another cafe and another
girl.... Non, non, monsieur, it is not correct;" and the girl drew
herself up with a curiously changed air as Harold clumsily reached out
towards her, protesting. "And you have a cure here--how do you say, a
chapelain?" and Marie beamed on Peter.

The two officers looked at him and laughed. "What can I bring you,
Monsieur le Capitaine le Cure?" demanded the girl. "Vermuth? Cognac?"

Mackay slipped from the edge of the table on which he had been sitting
and advanced towards her, speaking fluent French, with a curious
suggestion of a Scotch accent that never appeared in his English. Peter
watched with a smile on his face and a curious medley of feelings, while
the Lieutenant explained, that they could not stop to lunch, that they
would take three mixed vermuth, and that he would come and help her get
them. They went out together, Marie protesting, and Harold, lighting a
cigarette and offering one to Peter, said with a laugh: "He's the boy, is
Mackay. Wish I could sling the lingo like him. It's a great country,
padre."

In a minute or two the pair of them came back, Marie was wearing the rose
at the point of the little _decollete_ of her black dress, and was all
over smiles. She carried a tray with glasses and a bottle. Mackay carried
the other. With a great show, he helped her pour out, and chatted away in
French while they drank.

Harold and Peter talked together, but the latter caught scraps of the
others' conversation. Mackay wanted to know, apparently, when she would
be next in town, and was urging a date on her. Peter caught "Rue Jeanne
d'Arc," but little more, and Harold was insistent on a move in a few
minutes. They skirmished at the door saying "Good-bye," but it was with
an increased feeling of the warmth and jollity of his new life that Peter
once more boarded the car. This time Mackay got in front and Harold
joined Graham behind. As they sped off, Peter said:

"By Jove, skipper, you do have a good time out here!"

Harold flicked off the ash of his cigarette. "So, so, padre," he said.
"But the devil's loose. It's all so easy; I've never met a girl yet who
wa