“I hope I’ll have that pleasure.  I was wondering if you’d forgotten her for the moment.  She doesn’t object to these diversions?”

Victor lifted his eyebrows in the old haughty way.  “Women don’t require that sort of fidelity of the air service.  Our engagements are too uncertain.”

Half an hour later Victor had gone in quest of amorous adventure, and Claude was wandering alone in a brightly lighted street full of soldiers and sailors of all nations.  There were black Senegalese, and Highlanders in kilts, and little lorry-drivers from Siam,—­all moving slowly along between rows of cabarets and cinema theatres.  The wide-spreading branches of the plane trees met overhead, shutting out the sky and roofing in the orange glare.  The sidewalks were crowded with chairs and little tables, at which marines and soldiers sat drinking schnapps and cognac and coffee.  From every doorway music-machines poured out jazz tunes and strident Sousa marches.  The noise was stupefying.  Out in the middle of the street a band of bareheaded girls, hardy and tough looking; were following a string of awkward Americans, running into them, elbowing them, asking for treats, crying, “You dance me Fausse-trot, Sammie?”

Claude stationed himself before a movie theatre, where the sign in electric lights read, “Amour, quand tu nous tiens!” and stood watching the people.  In the stream that passed him, his eye lit upon two walking arm-in-arm, their hands clasped, talking eagerly and unconscious of the crowd,—­different, he saw at once, from all the other strolling, affectionate couples.

The man wore the American uniform; his left arm had been amputated at the elbow, and he carried his head awry, as if he had a stiff neck.  His dark, lean face wore an expression of intense anxiety, his eyebrows twitched as if he were in constant pain.  The girl, too, looked troubled.  As they passed him, under the red light of the Amour sign, Claude could see that her eyes were full of tears.  They were wide, blue eyes, innocent looking, and she had the prettiest face he had seen since he landed.  From her silk shawl, and little bonnet with blue strings and a white frill, he thought she must be a country girl.  As she listened to the soldier, with her mouth half-open, he saw a space between her two front teeth, as with children whose second teeth have just come.  While they pushed along in the crowd she looked up intently at the man beside her, or off into the blur of light, where she evidently saw nothing.  Her face, young and soft, seemed new to emotion, and her bewildered look made one feel that she did not know where to turn.

Without realizing what he did, Claude followed them out of the crowd into a quiet street, and on into another, even more deserted, where the houses looked as if they had been asleep a long while.  Here there were no street lamps, not even a light in the windows, but natural darkness; with the moon high overhead throwing sharp shadows across the white cobble paving.  The narrow street made a bend, and he came out upon the church he and his comrades had entered that afternoon.  It looked larger by night, and but for the sunken step, he might not have been sure it was the same.  The dark neighbouring houses seemed to lean toward it, the moonlight shone silver-grey upon its battered front.