After Amiens they passed by the battle-fields. A young American officer sitting by the eastern window pointed them out to him. He explained to Andrew what places had been British gun emplacements, pointed to the white chalk lines that had been British trenches. Told him what a trench looked like. Andrew listened grimly. The youth had pointed out of window again. Did he know what those were? Those were shell-holes. German shells.... Presently the conductor came through to examine tickets. Andrew drew from his pocket his worn campaigning note-case and accidently dropped a letter. The young American politely picked it up, but the typewritten address on the War Office envelope caught his eye. "Brigadier-General Lackaday, C.B." He handed it to Andrew, flushing scarlet. "Is that your name, sir?" "It is," said Andrew. "Then I reckon, sir, I've been making a fool of myself." "Every man," said Andrew, with his disarming smile, "is bound to do that once in his life. It's best to get it over as soon as possible. That's the way one learns. Especially in the army." But the young man's talk had rubbed in his complete civiliandom. As the train neared Paris, his heart sank lower and lower. The old pre-war life claimed him mercilessly, and he was frozen with a dread which he had never felt on the fire-step in the cold dawn awaiting the lagging hour of zero. On the entrance to the Gare du Nord he went into the corridor and looked through the window. He saw Elodie afar off. Elodie, in a hat over her eyes, a fur round her neck, her skirt cut nearly up to her knees showing fat, white-stockinged calves. She had put on much flesh. The great train stopped and vomited forth its horde of scurrying humans. Elodie caught sight of him and rushed and threw herself into his arms, and embraced him rapturously. "Oh, my André, it is good to have you back. _O mon petit homme_--how I have been longing for this moment. Now the war is finished, you will not leave me again ever. _Et te voilà Général_. You must be proud, eh? But your uniform? I who had made certain I should see you in uniform." He smiled at her characteristic pounce on externals. "I no longer belong to the Army, my little Elodie," he replied, walking with her, his porter in front, to the barrier. "_Mais tu es toujours Général?_" she asked anxiously. "I keep the rank," said Andrew. "And the uniform? You can wear it? You will put it on sometimes to please me?" They drove home through twilight Paris, her arm passed through his, while she chattered gaily. Was it not good to smell Paris again after London with its fogs and ugliness and raw beefsteaks? To-night she would give him such a dinner as he had never eaten in England--and not for two years. Did he realize that it was two years since he had seen her? "_Mon Dieu_," said he, "so it is." "And you are pleased to have me again?" "Can you doubt it?" he smiled.