The music-hall was not much of a show, but it glittered, and people obviously enjoyed it. Peter watched the audience as much as the stage. Quite respectable French families were there, and there was nothing done that might not have been done on an English stage--perhaps less, but the words were different. The women as well as the men screamed with laughter, flushed of face, but an old fellow, with his wife and daughter, obviously from the country, sat as stiffly as an English farmer through it all. The daughter glanced once at the two officers, but then looked away; she was well brought up. A half-caste Algerian, probably, came on and danced really extraordinarily well, and a negro from the States, equally ready in French and English, sang songs which the audience demanded. He was entirely master, however, and, conscious of his power, used it. No one in the place seemed to have heard of the colour-bar, except a couple of Americans, who got up and walked out when the comedian clasped a white girl round the waist in one of his songs. The negro made some remark that Peter couldn't catch, and the place shook with laughter. At half-time everyone flocked into a queer kind of semi-underground hall whose walls were painted to represent a cave, dingy cork festoons and "rocks" adding to the illusion. Here, at long tables, everyone drank innocuous French beer, that was really quite cool and good. It was rather like part of an English bank holiday. Everybody spoke to everybody else, and there were no classes and distinctions. You could only get one glass of beer, for the simple reason that there were too many drinking and too few supplying the drinks for more in the time. "I must go," said Pennell, "but don't you bother to come." "Oh yes, I will," said Peter, and they got up together. In the entrance-hall, however, a girl was apparently waiting for someone, and as they passed Peter recognised her. "Louise!" he exclaimed. She smiled and held out her hand. Peter took it, and Pennell after him. "Do you go now?" she asked them. "The concert is not half finished." "I've got to get back to work," said Pennell, "worse luck. It is la guerre, you know!" "Poor boy!" said she gaily. "And you?" turning to Peter. Moved by an impulse, he shook his head. "No," he said, "I was only seeing him home." "Bien! See me home instead, then," said Louise. "Nothing doing," said Peter, using a familiar phrase. She laughed. "Bah! cannot a girl have friends without that, eh? You have a fiancée, 'ave you not? Oh yes, I remember--I remember very well. Come! I have done for to-day; I am tired. I will make you some coffee, and we shall talk. Is it not so?" Peter looked at Pennell. "Do you mind, Pen?" he asked. "I'd rather like to." "Not a scrap," said the other cheerfully; "wish I could come too. Ask me another day, Louise, will you?"