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"A drunken officer," said Thomas.
"Poor devil!"
We drew near among the people and saw a young officer arm in arm with
a French peasant--one of the market porters--telling a tale in broken
French to the audience about him, with comic gesticulations and
extraordinary volubility.
A woman put her hand on my shoulder and spoke in French.
"He has drunk too much bad wine. His legs walk away from him. He will
be in trouble, Monsieur. And a child--no older than my own boy who is
fighting in the Argonne."
"Apportez-moi une bouteille de champagne, vite! . . ." said the young
officer. Then he waved his arm and said: "J'ai perdu mon cheval" ("A
kingdom for a bloody horse!"), "as Shakespeare said. Y a-t'il
quelqu'un qui a vu mon sacre cheval? In other words, if I don't find
that four-legged beast which led to my damnation I shall be shot at
dawn. Fusille, comprenez? On va me fusiller par un mur blanc--or is it
une mure blanche? quand l'aurore se leve avec les couleurs d'une rose
et l'odeur d'une jeune fille lavee et parfumee.


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