René disdained controversy, and with unruffled dignity continued laying the table. During the first few months of our labours he had been orderly to no less a person than the senior major—hence his feeling of superiority. But he and the Second-in-Command hadn’t always agreed; the senior major had a _penchant_ for collecting excess baggage, and it behooved his unfortunate batman to pack, unpack and handle his ever-increasing number of boxes and bags. By the time we reached Boulogne these had become a great burden. René looked ruefully down upon it before he started to lift it, piece by piece, into the lorrie. "Ba gosh!" he exclaimed, in perspiring remonstrance, "I hope de war don’ last too long—er it’ll take one whole train to move de major’s bag-gage!" René was impressionable and had all the romantic instinct of the true Frenchman. As I watched him decorating the table with flowers—we were to have company that night, and it was to be an event of unusual importance to us—my recollection carried me back to a bleak October night on Salisbury Plain. It was scarcely nine p.m., but I had turned in and lay wrapped in my sleeping bag, reading by the light of a candle propped on a cocoa tin. René had just returned from "three days’ leave," having travelled over fifty miles to see a little girl whose face had haunted him for weeks. He was flushed with excitement and had to unburden his heart to some one. He stepped into my tent for a moment, the rain running off his cap and coat in little rivulets onto the floor. "I’m afraid you’re in love, René," I teased, after he had given me a glowing account of his trip. "I t’ink dat’s right," he exclaimed, with sparkling eyes. "Why, dat’s de purtiest gal what I ever see. Dose arms of hers! Gee, dere ain’t lilies so white like dat, an’ de roses of her cheeks!—every time I meet her, I see her like more kinds of flowers!" "But you’ll see another bud next week, René," I interjected, "and forget all about this dainty little flower." "Me forget? Non!" he declared, with conviction—and then a wistful look crept into his big brown eyes. He sat upon the edge of Reggy’s cot opposite and reminiscently smoothed the hair off his brow before he continued: "Sometime wen you’re up de Gat’-ineau at home, an’ de lumbermen free de logs in de riviere, you see dem float so peaceful down de stream. De water is run so slow an’ quiet you don’ see no movement dere; but bimeby de riviere go lil’ faster, de ripples wash de banks, de logs move swifter an’ more swift until dey come above de falls—-dey fall, crash, boom! One gets stuck, annuder an’ annuder; dey jam—dey pile up higher an’ more high—more hun’reds of logs come down, an’ jam an’ jam. De water can’t pass—it overflow de bank an’ spread out in a great lake over de fields." [Illustration: RENÉ HAD RISEN IN THE EXCITEMENT OF HIS DESCRIPTION]