We were called fairly late.[10] George and I rode into Pontoise and “scrounged” for eggs and bread.  These we took to a small and smelly cottage.  The old woman of the cottage boiled our eggs and gave us coffee.  It was a luxurious breakfast.  I was looking forward to a slack lazy day in the sun, for we were told that we had for the moment outdistanced the gentle Germans.  But my turn came round horribly soon, and I was sent off to Compiegne with a message for G.H.Q., and orders to find our particularly elusive Div.  Train.  It was a gorgeous ride along a magnificent road, through the great forest, and I did the twenty odd miles in forty odd minutes.

G.H.Q. was installed in the Palace.  Everybody seemed very clean and lordly, and for a moment I was ashamed of my dirty, ragged, unshorn self.  Then I realised that I was “from the Front”—­a magic phrase to conjure with for those behind the line—­and swaggered through long corridors.

After delivering my message I went searching for the Div.  Train.  First, I looked round the town for it, then I had wind of it at the station, but at the station it had departed an hour or so before.  I returned to G.H.Q., but there they knew nothing.  I tried every road leading out of the town.  Finally, having no map, and consequently being unable to make a really thorough search, I had a drink, and started off back.

When I returned I found everybody was getting ready to move, so I packed up.  This time the motor-cyclists rode in advance of the column.  About two miles out I found that the others had dropped behind out of sight.  I went on into Carlepont, and made myself useful to the Billeting Officer.  The others arrived later.  It seems there had been a rumour of Uhlans on the road, and they had come along fearfully.

The troops marched in, singing and cheering.  It was unbelievable what half a day’s rest had done for them.  Of course you must remember that we all firmly believed, except in our moments of deepest despondency, first, that we could have held the Germans at Mons and Le Cateau if the French had not “deserted” us, and second, that our retreat was merely a “mouvement strategique.”

There was nothing doing at the Signal Office, so we went and had some food—­cold sausage and coffee.  Our hostess was buxom and hilarious.  There was also a young girl about the place, Helene.  She was of a middle size, serious and dark, with a mass of black lustreless hair.  She could not have been more than nineteen.  Her baby was put to bed immediately we arrived.  We loved them both, because they were the first women we had met since Mons who had not wanted to know why we were retreating and had not received the same answer—­“mouvement strategique pour attaquer le mieux.”  I had a long talk that night with Helene as she stood at her door.  Behind us the dark square was filled with dark sleeping soldiers, the noise of snoring and the occasional clatter of moving horses.  Finally, I left her and went to sleep on the dusty boards of an attic in the Chateau.