“It was pitiable, I assure you, sir, it was shameful to see. _Ces pauvres êtres._ They hardly had any sleep. Only a few hours. Then it seems the Bosche made a counter-attack, and paff! here comes a motor-cyclist, and they were obliged to wake up and fall in. Some of them could only stand up with difficulty. But at length, they were ready; then the Maire came. We had sent for him _d’urgence_, when we saw the troops were going, because you can’t make a _procès-verbal_ of a person who is no longer there!” “No, quite right. But why did they sing?” “Ah, _ça tombait d’accord_. Just as the officer gives the word, the Maire arrives. We had informed him it was a crime of violence, and he had taken it very serious. He is old, our Maire. He had put on his--_écharpe_.” “What is that?” She made a vivid gesture with her hands. “It goes so! It is tricolour. It is the Maire’s official dress!” “Ah, his official scarf!” “That is it. Also, he had mounted his hat!” “How did he do that?” “The usual way. But it was a long hat, a hat of _grande tenue_--like a pot of confiture.” “Mademoiselle, this will not do. I cannot settle this matter here and now, I must pass on all the papers to my superior officer, who will place them with the proper authority. They will ask ‘Is there no _procès-verbal_?’ Am I to say: ‘The Maire went to make one. He put on his hat and the troops began to sing.’ It sounds like a joke.” “Ah, you others, you are always the ones to laugh. It was just exactly as I have said. They sang!” “But you told me just now that they were tired out!” “Quite true!” “It will never sound so. What did they sing?” “Old Hindenburg has bought a hat!” In a moment Dormer was convinced. The words painted, framed and hung the picture for him. He had just been beginning to hope that the whole thing would break down from sheer improbability. He now saw it stamped and certified with eternal truth. There was no need for her to add: “They were not gay, you understand, they were _exalté_!” “Excited!” “Ah! Excited, like one is after no sleep and no food and then something very strange. They were excited. They called the Maire ‘Maréchal Hindenburg,’ and ‘Bosche,’ and ‘Spy.’ Those are words that ought not to be used between allies!” “No, Mademoiselle, they ought not.” But for a moment, the hardness left her face, she became almost impersonal. “It was curious. They sang that--_sur une aire de psaume_, to a church tune.” “Yes, yes!” agreed Dormer. Out of the depth of his experience as a churchwarden welled up the strains of Whitfield, No. 671, and out of the depths of his experiences as a platoon commander came a sigh: “They will do it.”