She was waiting for me at the turn, on the landing, by the wide archway of the lounge, where the great glass screen began that shut off the staircase.  She stood back from the entrance, looking in, and smiling at what she saw.  It was clear by her attitude and her absorption that something was happening in there.

As I approached she made a sign to me and withdrew farther back and up the stair.

“He’s there,” she whispered.  “Over there.  In that corner.”

For a moment we stood together on the stair, looking down through the glass screen into the lounge.

The far end of the lounge had been turned into a dining-place for the officers of the Belgian General Staff.  Most of the tables were cleared now and deserted.  But from our place on the stair we had a clear view slantwise of one small table in the corner.  And we saw Jimmy seated at that table.

At least we made him out.

All but Jimmy’s head was hidden by the figures of a Belgian General and two Colonels.  They had closed in on him (they were evidently all four at the end of their dinner); they had closed in on him in an access of emotion and enthusiasm.  The General (the one who sat beside him) had his arm round Jimmy’s shoulder; the two who sat facing him leaned towards Jimmy over half the table, and one grasped Jimmy’s right hand in his; the other was making some sort of competitive demonstration.  The disengaged arms of the three held up the glasses in which they were about to pledge him.  And at the other end of the room a scattered group of soldiers rose to their feet and looked on smiling and signalling applause.

What was happening down there was public homage to Jimmy.

And in between the two dark Belgian uniforms that obscured him you could just see a bit of Jimmy’s khaki, and from among the white and grizzled heads that pressed on him you saw Jimmy’s face and Jimmy’s flush and Jimmy’s twinkle; his incredible, irrepressible twinkle.  You could even see the tips of Jimmy’s little front teeth trying to bite down his lip into some sort of composure.  You could see that he was very shy and very modest; you could see that in spite of his shyness and his modesty he was frightfully pleased; but more than anything you could see that he was amused.

Positively, positively, he had the air of not taking his Belgian officers very seriously.

“We mustn’t go down yet,” said Viola, “or we’ll spoil it.”

So we waited, looking at Jimmy through the screen, while the officers clinked their glasses and drank to him and called his name; and the group that looked on echoed it; and the waiters who had come in to see what was happening, repeated it among themselves.

“Vive l’Angleterre!  Vive les Anglais!  Vive Chevons!  Chevons!  Chevons!”

“I wonder,” said Viola, “what Jimmy has been up to?  You can take me to him.”

When we got to the table we found Jimmy trying to explain to the General and the two Colonels in execrable French that he didn’t know what it was all about. He hadn’t done anything.