Mâsieu. Vous êtes très gentil .â But he was already several yards from her. She shrugged her narrow shoulders and went back up the steps; and he heard the latch click, and the door close behind her.
He took off his cap and allowed the cool breeze to play about his forehead. Absolutely chucking money about, he thoughtâfifty francs, nearly two pounds. No doubt she needed itâpoor half-starved little slut.
He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He saw again the lights and white paint and littered dinner table of the little restaurant. It moved round and round as it had done when he danced. Faster and faster it moved, till nothing but whirling streams of lights were visible. His stomach rose suddenly, and he was violently sick.
A few minutes later he wiped the sweat from his brow and went on. His brain was excessively active. âMy God, what a night,â he thought. âSick in the streetâlike a Saturday night drunk! Swilling oneself with poison! Paying through the nose to horseplay with filthy littlesluts. That was Rumbaldâs idea of a good evening. My God!â
III
He trudged on through the silent streets that radiated from the cathedral. Little firefly lights came and went in the darkness. One flashed suddenly and blindingly in his face, and a husky female voice said, âNaughtee boy! What would mother say!â The flash-lamp swung round and illuminated the little white powdered face and dark, inviting eyes of her who held it, as though to say, âDonât buy a pig in a poke. See what you are paying for.â
He shook his head at her and passed on. Other flash-lamps threw their beams upon his uniform, and other husky voices murmured facetious greetings from the darkness at his elbow. Couldnât one get away from these women anywhere in Amiens? What a reputation British officers must enjoy with the civil population! And no wonder, when even married men like Rumbald couldnât keep straight.
Distantly from above sounded the pulsating drone that distinguished the German night bomber, and the pale fingers of three or four searchlight beams went questing silently across the calm night sky above the dark housetops, pausing now and then uncertainly and then moving on again.
He trudged on through the darkness aimlessly. It would be useless to return to the car so soon. Rumbald had said two hours. He wandered down a winding black canyonand emerged on the deserted quays, where the stars lay reflected in the black water of the canals at his feet. The pulsating drone of engines still sounded fitfully from the north-east.
He sank wearily on to a bench beneath a tree and sat with hunched shoulders listening to the night breeze rustling the leaves above his head. Suddenly the ground and the seat shook as though kicked by a giant foot, and the tapering flèche of the cathedral leapt into view for a moment, black against a dull red glow, and was gone again. The familiar muffled crash of the explosion followed and the distant pattering of falling masonry and glass.
He followed the gropings of a searchlight beam with lazy interest. He wondered if the bomb had dropped anywhere near Rumbald. It would be funny if it had landed on the very house and taken off the front as had happened to many houses he had seen near the Line. The surprised Don Juan scrambling out of bed in a room with only three walls and hurriedly pulling on his breeches in full view of the street would be a comic sight.
He laughed softly at the absurd picture his mind had drawn, and glanced upwards as the liquid lucka-lucka-lucka-lucka of aerial machine-gunning came from overhead. But there was nothing to be seen except the halo of a searchlight beam on the edge of a cloud.
The night breeze was cold. He turned up the collar of his trench coat and continued his wandering. The cafés were closed. The streets were deserted and dark, except for the little flash-lamps which still winked hopefully here
He took off his cap and allowed the cool breeze to play about his forehead. Absolutely chucking money about, he thoughtâfifty francs, nearly two pounds. No doubt she needed itâpoor half-starved little slut.
He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He saw again the lights and white paint and littered dinner table of the little restaurant. It moved round and round as it had done when he danced. Faster and faster it moved, till nothing but whirling streams of lights were visible. His stomach rose suddenly, and he was violently sick.
A few minutes later he wiped the sweat from his brow and went on. His brain was excessively active. âMy God, what a night,â he thought. âSick in the streetâlike a Saturday night drunk! Swilling oneself with poison! Paying through the nose to horseplay with filthy littlesluts. That was Rumbaldâs idea of a good evening. My God!â
III
He trudged on through the silent streets that radiated from the cathedral. Little firefly lights came and went in the darkness. One flashed suddenly and blindingly in his face, and a husky female voice said, âNaughtee boy! What would mother say!â The flash-lamp swung round and illuminated the little white powdered face and dark, inviting eyes of her who held it, as though to say, âDonât buy a pig in a poke. See what you are paying for.â
He shook his head at her and passed on. Other flash-lamps threw their beams upon his uniform, and other husky voices murmured facetious greetings from the darkness at his elbow. Couldnât one get away from these women anywhere in Amiens? What a reputation British officers must enjoy with the civil population! And no wonder, when even married men like Rumbald couldnât keep straight.
Distantly from above sounded the pulsating drone that distinguished the German night bomber, and the pale fingers of three or four searchlight beams went questing silently across the calm night sky above the dark housetops, pausing now and then uncertainly and then moving on again.
He trudged on through the darkness aimlessly. It would be useless to return to the car so soon. Rumbald had said two hours. He wandered down a winding black canyonand emerged on the deserted quays, where the stars lay reflected in the black water of the canals at his feet. The pulsating drone of engines still sounded fitfully from the north-east.
He sank wearily on to a bench beneath a tree and sat with hunched shoulders listening to the night breeze rustling the leaves above his head. Suddenly the ground and the seat shook as though kicked by a giant foot, and the tapering flèche of the cathedral leapt into view for a moment, black against a dull red glow, and was gone again. The familiar muffled crash of the explosion followed and the distant pattering of falling masonry and glass.
He followed the gropings of a searchlight beam with lazy interest. He wondered if the bomb had dropped anywhere near Rumbald. It would be funny if it had landed on the very house and taken off the front as had happened to many houses he had seen near the Line. The surprised Don Juan scrambling out of bed in a room with only three walls and hurriedly pulling on his breeches in full view of the street would be a comic sight.
He laughed softly at the absurd picture his mind had drawn, and glanced upwards as the liquid lucka-lucka-lucka-lucka of aerial machine-gunning came from overhead. But there was nothing to be seen except the halo of a searchlight beam on the edge of a cloud.
The night breeze was cold. He turned up the collar of his trench coat and continued his wandering. The cafés were closed. The streets were deserted and dark, except for the little flash-lamps which still winked hopefully here
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