The village looked distrustfully on the brigade, with its bare knees and its language like the rolling of a drum. The brigade found the village short of _estaminets_ and pretty girls. The people of Hondezeele bewailed the departure of a division of London Territorials, with their soft voices and full pockets, and wherever Aurelle went they did nothing but sing the praises of these sons of their adoption. "Your Scotchmen, we know them. We cannot understand what they say—and my little girls can speak English." "Scotch—Promenade—no bon!" said the little girls. "I had the general’s chauffeur here," went on the old woman, "a nice boy, sir. Billy, they called him. He washed up for me, and pleasant spoken, too, and good manners. An officers’ Mess? Certainly not. I can make more selling fried potatoes and beer to the boys, and even eggs, although they cost me threepence each." "Fried potatoes, two painnies a plate, aigs and bacon, one franc," chorused the little girls. Aurelle went on to the next house, where other old women mourned other Billys, Harrys, Gingers, and Darkies. One stout lady explained that noise gave her palpitations; another, quite seventy-five, that it was not proper for a girl living alone. At last he found a corpulent lady whom he overwhelmed with such eloquent protestations that she could not get in a word. The next morning, he sent her the orderlies with the plate and crockery, and at lunchtime brought along Parker and O’Grady. The servants were waiting for them at the door. "Madame is a regular witch, sir. She’s a proper fury, that’s what she is, sir." "Madame" welcomed them with confused complaints. "Ah! bien merci! Ah! bien merci! How I have regretted having agreed to have you. I have not had a wink of sleep with my husband abusing me. He nearly beat me, monsieur. Oh, don’t touch that! I forbid you to enter my clean kitchen. Wipe your feet, and take those boxes off there!" "Put the boxes in the dining-room," ordered Aurelle, to conciliate her. "Thank you! Put your dirty boxes in my dining-room, with my beautiful table and my fine dresser! I should think so, indeed!" "But, in heaven’s name, madame," said Aurelle, quietly, "where shall I put them?" He half opened a door at the end of the dining-room. "Will you kindly leave that door alone! My lovely _salon_, where I do not even go myself for fear of making it dirty! And, besides, I have had enough of your Mess, I’m about tired of it." A little later, Aurelle went into Madame Lemaire’s, the draper’s, to buy some chocolate. She had relegated all her pre-war trade to a corner of the shop, and now sold, like the rest of the village, Quaker Oats, Woodbine cigarettes, and post-cards with the words: "From your Soldier Boy."