.

As I approached she made a sign to me and withdrew farther back and up
the stair.

"He's there," she whispered. "Over there. In that corner."

For a moment we stood together on the stair, looking down through the
glass screen into the lounge.

The far end of the lounge had been turned into a dining-place for the
officers of the Belgian General Staff. Most of the tables were cleared
now and deserted. But from our place on the stair we had a clear view
slantwise of one small table in the corner. And we saw Jimmy seated at
that table.

At least we made him out.

All but Jimmy's head was hidden by the figures of a Belgian General and
two Colonels. They had closed in on him (they were evidently all four at
the end of their dinner); they had closed in on him in an access of
emotion and enthusiasm. The General (the one who sat beside him) had his
arm round Jimmy's shoulder; the two who sat facing him leaned towards
Jimmy over half the table, and one grasped Jimmy's right hand in his; the
other was making some sort of competitive demonstration. The disengaged
arms of the three held up the glasses in which they were about to pledge
him. And at the other end of the room a scattered group of soldiers rose
to their feet and looked on smiling and signalling applause.

What was happening down there was public homage to Jimmy.

And in between the two dark Belgian uniforms that obscured him you could
just see a bit of Jimmy's khaki, and from among the white and grizzled
heads that pressed on him you saw Jimmy's face and Jimmy's flush and
Jimmy's twinkle; his incredible, irrepressible twinkle. You could even
see the tips of Jimmy's little front teeth trying to bite down his lip
into some sort of composure. You could see that he was very shy and very
modest; you could see that in spite of his shyness and his modesty he
was frightfully pleased; but more than anything you could see that he was
amused.

Positively, positively, he had the air of not taking his Belgian officers
very seriously.

"We mustn't go down yet," said Viola, "or we'll spoil it."

So we waited, looking at Jimmy through the screen, while the officers
clinked their glasses and drank to him and called his name; and the group
that looked on echoed it; and the waiters who had come in to see what was
happening, repeated it among themselves.

"_Vive l'Angleterre! Vive les Anglais! Vive Chevons! Chevons! Chevons!_"

"I wonder," said Viola, "what Jimmy has bee