The latter had also, with an appearance of great seriousness, laden me with messages for His Majesty the King, the Prime Minister, Lord Kitchener, the two Houses of Parliament, and the ministers and clergy of all denominations:  all of which I promised faithfully to remember and to deliver in person.  Sykes, with more modesty, had asked me if I would send a photograph, when the film was developed of the snapshot I had taken of him, to his wife and the twins at Norwich.

My car, upon whose carburettor an operation for appendicitis had been successfully performed by the handy men up at the H.Q. of the Troop Supply Column, stood at the door.  I held out my hand to Sykes, who was in the act of saluting; he took it with some hesitation, and then gave me a grip that paralysed it for about a quarter of an hour.

“If you be coming back again, will you ask for me to be de-tailed to you, sir?  My number is ——.  Sergeant Pope at the Infantry Barracks sees to them things, sir.”

I nodded.

“Bon voyage, monsieur,” cried Madame in a shrill voice.

“Bon voyage,” echoed Jeanne.

I waved my hand, and the next moment I had seen the last of two noble women who had never looked upon me except with kindness, and who, from my rising up till my lying down, had ministered to me with unfailing solicitude.

* * * * *

At the Base I boarded the leave-boat.  Several officers were already on board, their boots still bearing the mud of Flanders upon them.  It was squally weather, and as we headed for the open sea I saw a dark object gambolling upon the waves with the fluency of a porpoise.  A sailor stopped near me and passed the time of day.

“Had any trouble with German submarines?” I asked.

“Only once, sir.  A torpedo missed us by ’bout a hund-erd yards.”

“Only once!  How’s that?”

For answer the sailor removed a quid of tobacco from one cheek to the other by a surprisingly alert act of stowage and nodded in the direction of the dark object whose outlines were now plain and salient.  It was riding the sea like a cork.

“Them,” he said briefly.  It was a t.b.d.

At the port of our arrival the sheep were segregated from the goats.  The unofficial people formed a long queue to go through the smoking-room, where two quiet men awaited them, one of whom, I believe, always says, “Take your hat off,” looks into the pupil of your eyes, and lingers lovingly over your pulse; the other, as though anxious to oblige you, says, “Any letters to post?” But his inquiries are not so disinterested as they would seem.