"Indeed, yes," said Aurelle, quite overcome, "you are a great nation." He added, after a moment’s silence, "But you were also quite right just now when you said you were a curious nation in some things, and your opinion of people astonishes us sometimes. You say, ’Brown looks an idiot, but he’s not, he played cricket for Essex.’ Or, ’At Eton we took him for a fool, but at Oxford he surprised us. Do you know he is plus four at golf, and won the high jump?’" "Well?" said the colonel. "Don’t you think, sir, that cleverness——" "I hate clever people—— Oh, I beg your pardon, messiou." "That’s very kind of you, sir," said Aurelle. "Glad you take it like that," growled the colonel into his moustache. He spoke seldom and always in short sentences, but Aurelle had learnt to appreciate his dry and vigorous humour and the charming smile which often lit up his rugged countenance. "But don’t you find yourself, Aurelle," went on Major Parker, "that intelligence is over-estimated with you? It is certainly more useful to know how to box than how to write. You would like Eton to go in for nothing but learning? It is just like asking a trainer of racehorses to be interested in circus horses. We don’t go to school to learn, but to be soaked in the prejudices of our class, without which we should be useless and unhappy. We are like the young Persians Herodotus talks about, who up to the age of twenty only learnt three sciences: to ride, to shoot and to tell the truth." "That may be," said Aurelle, "but just see, major, how inconsistent you are. You despise learning and you quote Herodotus. Better still, I caught you the other day in the act of reading a translation of Xenophon in your dug-out. Very few Frenchmen, I assure you——" "That’s quite different," said the major. "The Greeks and Romans interest us, not as objects of study, but as ancestors and sportsmen. We are the direct heirs of the mode of life of the Greeks and of the Roman Empire. Xenophon amuses me because he is a perfect type of the English gentleman, with his hunting and fishing stories, and descriptions of battles. When I read in Cicero: ’Scandal in the Colonial Office. Grave accusations against Sir Marcus Varro, Governor-General of Sicily,’ you can well understand that that sounds to me like old family history. And who was your Alcibiades, pray, but a Winston Churchill, without the hats?" The scenery round them was very picturesque: the Mont des Cats, the Mont Rouge, and the Mont Noir made a framework for the heavy, motionless clouds of an old Dutch painting. The peasants’ houses with their weather-beaten, thatched roofs faded into the surrounding fields; their dull walls had turned the colour of yellow clay. The grey shutters bordered with green struck the only vivid and human note in this kingdom of the earth. The colonel pointed with his cane to a new mine crater; but Major Parker, sticking to his point, went on with his favourite subject: