"Look at you," he cried, "riding along like a bloated monarch, scooping in the obeisance of the whole kingdom, and because I command the attention—and, I trust, respect—of only one of your subjects, you’re jealous. Out upon you—for shame!" All good things come to an end at last. For half an hour we had been princes or kings, drinking in the nectar of adulation in mighty gulps. It turned our heads and made us dizzy, and this feeling of elation lasted long after we had left the crowd behind, and the faint cry of _Vive les Canadiens_ followed us into the darker streets. We toiled slowly over the cobble stones, up the steep hill, and finally into camp. The camp commandant came to meet us a few minutes after we arrived. He was a fine-looking specimen of British officer—tall, athletic, with iron-grey hair and keen blue eyes. He smiled as he greeted us. "Good evening, gentlemen," he said, as the senior major approached and saluted. "Where have you all come from?" "Originally from Canada, sir," the major replied, "but recently from Salisbury Plains." "How interesting," he cried in a tone of delighted surprise. "I had no idea the Canadians were coming to France so soon." "Weren’t you expecting us, sir?" the major ventured. The commandant laughed good-humouredly. We seemed to amuse him. "Well, not exactly," he replied; "but you are quite welcome. Take those three rows of tents, draw your rations and make yourselves at home. One of these days orders will come along for you." One of these days! Well, well! Was he actually addressing us in that careless and flippant manner, we who had just taken France by storm? Alas! we were not so important after all. For a full hour we had looked upon ourselves as the whole war, and the rest of the British army as a mere background to our glory. And now we were told that "one of these days!" It was really too bad. But still, he was kindly and courteous, and behind those smiling eyes lurked a great sympathy, I am sure, for our little band. We looked about us and then we understood. There were miles of tents. Regiments of soldiers were marching in and regiments were marching out—the Highland "kilties" with their sporrans swaying to and fro in stirring unison. We heaved a sigh. It was all too true. We were only one small cog in the great machine! But the senior major was elated with a strange and inexplicable emotion. After the commandant had bidden us good-night, he paced back and forth, with his hands behind his back and his head in the air. He raised his feet high as he walked, and clicked his spurs with the firmness of his tread. Something was effervescing in his mind, and soon would blow his mental cork out. What was it? He twirled his moustaches from time to time and smiled a crafty smile. At last it popped: "Gentlemen," he said, "that’s one thing which no one can ever take from me!" "What?" we cried breathlessly.