at is, _les
Sammies_ must call upon you, instead of you upon them. The reception
room is _chez nous Francais_. It is ready, and you will see it in a
moment."

Almost as he spoke we came to a dug-out of far more imposing
architecture than the hole between trenches which we had seen. We had to
stoop to go in, but once in we could stand upright, even Brian, who
towered several inches above the other men. The place was lighted with
many guttering candles, and tears sprang to my eyes at the pathos of the
decorations. Needless to explain that the French and American flags
which draped the dark walls were there in our honour! Also there were a
Colonel, a table, benches, chairs, some glasses, and one precious bottle
of champagne, enough for a large company to sip, if not to drink, each
other's health. Hardly had we been introduced to the decorations,
including the Colonel, when the Americans began to arrive, three young
officers and two who had hardened into warlike middle age. It was
heart-warming to see them meet Mr. Beckett, and their chivalric niceness
to Brian and me was somehow different from any other niceness I
remember--except Jim's.

Not that one of the men looked like Jim, or had a voice like his: yet,
when they spoke, and smiled, and shook hands, I seemed to see Jim
standing behind them, smiling as he had smiled at me on our one day
together. I seemed to hear his voice in an undertone, as if it mingled
with theirs, and I wondered if Jim's father had the same almost
supernatural impression that his son had come into the dug-out room with
that little band of his countrymen.

It is strange how a woman can be homesick for a man she has known only
one day; but she can--she _can_--for a Jim Beckett! He was so vital, so
central in life, known even for a day, that after his going the world is
a background from which his figure has been cut out, leaving a blank
place. These jolly, brave American soldier-men made me want so
desperately to see Jim that I wished a bomb would drop in--just a
_small_ bomb, touching only me, and whisking me away to the place where
he is. In body he could not forgive me, of course, for what I've done;
but in spirit he might forgive my spirit if it travelled a long way to
see his!

I am almost sure that the Americans did bring Jim back to Father
Beckett, as to me, for though he was cheerful, and even made jokes to
show that he mustn't be treated as a mourner, there was one piteous sign
of emot