‘Good, good, ver’ good,’ he said. ‘I, Papa Laval, who have seen much fighting in ’70 and ’71, say it was ver’ good. So much Allemands an’ so leetle—so not-much Anglais an’ so fatigue, so tire they. Ver’ much kill, ver’ much blessés, what you say wounds, but zey fight on an’ zey make victoire. I see ze Anglais to-morrow—no, yesterday—an’ I say ze grande armée anglaise is feenish, is defeat. Mais, now I onnerstand heem no defeat, heem yet make ze good fight.’ ‘Oh, we’ll make a fight all right when the time comes,’ said the corporal. By now the coffee was ready, and the two men drank it hurriedly and ate hastily of the meal the woman set before them. Papa Laval was concerned about this haste. He would have had them sit down and wait till a good breakfast was cooked and then eat it at leisure and in comfort. The corporal shuffled a little uneasily. ‘You see,’ he said, ‘we got to be movin’ on. Orders, voo savvy—les instruckshions à marchey; noos continuey le moshion à la sud.’ Papa stared at him in bewilderment. ‘Mais—zat ees ze retreat,’ he stammered. ‘Pourquoi ze retreat après la victoire?’ ‘Wot’s ’e say?’ asked the other soldier through a huge mouthful of bread and butter. ‘Says why should we bolt again after lickin’ the Germans,’ explained the corporal. ‘An’ that’s exackly wot I wants to know,’ said the private disgustedly. ‘We ’as the bloomin’ company near wiped out, an’ B Company the same, and stands off the attack all right; an’ when we’ve chased ’em off good an’ handsome we has to up stick an’ run away again. Bloomin’ rot, I calls it.’ ‘Steady on,’ cautioned the corporal. ‘You don’t want these bloomin’ French people to get no wrong notion about our runnin’ away. Look ’ere, Papa, it’s like this: Up there,’ he waved his hand towards the north, ‘we have le grand fight, battle. We win, voo savvy, la victoire c’est à noos. I dunno why we retreat after it—je ne comprong pas pourquoi le retreat, but—I mean, mais les instructions they says retreat. (Dashed if I know the French for “they says.”) Voo savvy, noos make le retiremong because⸺(An’ I’ve forgot the word for “because” now! Oh, dash this French language!)’ ‘I onnerstand, m’sieu,’ broke in Papa. ‘The ordaire it is retreat and, parbleu! ze good soldat he obey ze ordaire. Quand ze ordaire ees fight, ze good soldat he fight; eh, is it not?’ ‘Egg-zackly,’ said the corporal. ‘Certimong, Papa.’ ‘Bien,’ said Papa. ‘I know you spik true. I have seen ze Anglais fight. Zey are keel, peut-être, mais nevaire—how you say it?—run away. I have seen, and I know. I go now to spik it to ze peoples in la ville who is disconsole, peut-être, when ze retreat continue.’