The indefatigable Cockerell turned down the Rue Gambetta, followed by Alphonso, faint but resigned.

“Here is the very place!” announced Cockerell almost at once.  “This house, Number Five.  We can put the gunners and their little guns into that stable at the back, and the officer can have a room in the house itself. Sonnez, for the last time before lunch!”

The door was opened by a pleasant-faced young woman of about thirty, who greeted Cockerell—­tartan is always popular with French ladies—­with a beaming smile, but shook her head regretfully upon seeing the billet de logement in his hand.  The inevitable duet with Alphonso followed.  Presently Alphonso turned to his superior.

“Madame is ver’ sorry, sair, but an officier is here already.”

“Show me the officier!” replied the prosaic Cockerell.

The duet was resumed.

“Madame say,” announced Alphonso presently, “that the officier is not here now; but he will return.”

“So will Christmas!  Meanwhile I am going to put an Emma Gee officer in here.”

Alphonso’s desperate attempt to translate the foregoing idiom into French was interrupted by Madame’s retirement into the house, whither she beckoned Cockerell to follow her.  In the front room she produced a frayed sheet of paper, which she proffered with an apologetic smile.  The paper said:—­

This billet is entirely reserved for the Supply Officer of this District.  It is not to be occupied by troops passing through the town.

By Order_.

Lieutenant Cockerell whistled softly and vindictively through his teeth.

“Well,” he said, “for consummate and concentrated nerve, give me the underlings of the A.S.C.!  This pot-bellied blighter not only butts into an area which doesn’t belong to him, but actually leaves a chit to warn people off the grass even when he isn’t here!  He hasn’t signed the document, I observe.  That means that he is a newly joined subaltern, trying to get mistaken for a Brass Hat!  I’ll fix him!”

With great stateliness Lieutenant Cockerell tore the offending screed into four portions, to the audible concern of Madame.  But the Lieutenant smiled reassuringly upon her.

“Je vous donnerai un autre, vous savez,” he assured her.

He sat down at the table, tore a leaf from his Field Service Pocket Book, and wrote:—­

The Supply Officer of the District is at liberty to occupy this billet only at such times as it is not required by the troops of the Combatant Services.

  Signed, F.J.  Cockerell,
  Lieut. & Asst.  Adj.,
  7th B. & W. Highes_.

“That’s a pretty nasty one!” he observed with relish.  Then, having pinned the insulting document conspicuously to the mantelpiece, he observed to the mystified lady of the house:—­

“Voila, Madame.  Si l’officier reviendra, je le verrai moi-meme, avec grand plaisir.  Bon jour!”