Rooms where once ladies had powdered and perfumed themselves to attract the fickle male were now bare and empty, and pungent with the smell of chloride of lime. In the dining-hall, where fine old wines had circulated, were a hundred weary, dirty men. In the kitchen, where the fat _cuisiniere_ had prepared her dinners, were now a dozen officers, some sprawling asleep on the floor, some squatting round the table playing "vingt-et-un." For this is war. * * * * * There is one more memory of Ypres--a very different one--that comes back to me. It is the recollection of our regimental dinner. The first thing that I heard of it came from Lytton's servant. "Please, sir," he said one morning, "Mr. Lytton sends his compliments, and can you tell 'im where the Hotel Delepiroyle is?" "The Hotel de what?" "The Hotel Delepiroyle, sir. That's what 'e said." "Ask Mr. Lytton to write it down--no, wait a minute. Tell him I'm coming over to see him about it." So I strolled across to the other side of the infantry barracks to find him. "What, haven't you heard about it?" asked Lytton. "The new C.O., Major Eadie, is giving a dinner to-night to all the officers of the regiment as a farewell to Major Barton before he goes off to take command of his new crowd. It's at the Hotel de l'Epee Royale, wherever that may be. Let's go and track it down." So we wandered down the Rue de Lille, as yet relatively free from the ravages of war, for the shops were open and the inhabitants stood talking and gossiping at the doors of their houses. Here and there rubble lay across the pavement, and what had once been a home was now an amorphous pile of bricks and beams. Just by the church was a ruined restaurant, and a host of little children played hide and seek behind the remnants of its walls. On our way down the street we came across Reynolds, who had only joined the regiment the night before, while we, who had been nearly three weeks at the front, felt ourselves war-beaten veterans compared to him. He was standing on the pavement, gazing excitedly up at an aeroplane, around which were bursting little white puffs of smoke. "Come along with us," said Lytton. "You'll get sick to death of seeing aeroplanes shelled when you've been out here as long as we have. Come and discover the scene of to-night's orgy." In the Grande Place, at the side of the Cloth Hall, we discovered the Hotel de l'Epee Royale. A "Jack Johnson" had made an enormous hole in the pavement just in front of it, and a large corner of the building had gone. "By Jove," said Reynolds in an awed voice. "What a hole! It must have taken some shell to do that." Lytton smiled patronisingly. "My dear fellow," he said, "that's nothing at all. It's hardly any bigger than the hole that a spent bullet makes. Let's go inside and get some lunch to see what sort of a place it is."