Maman would bring her knitting to the garden and watch them.  This last suggestion relieved Claude’s apprehension that he might be left alone with his hostess.  When David called him and presented him to the ladies, Mlle. Claire gave him a quick handshake, and said she would be very glad to try him out on the court as soon as she had beaten David.  They would find tennis shoes in their room,—­a collection of shoes, for the feet of all nations; her brother’s, some that his Russian friend had forgotten when he hurried off to be mobilized, and a pair lately left by an English officer who was quartered on them.  She and her mother would wait in the garden.  She rang for the old valet.

The Americans found themselves in a large room upstairs, where two modern iron beds stood out conspicuous among heavy mahogany bureaus and desks and dressing-tables, stuffed chairs and velvet carpets and dull red brocade window hangings.  David went at once into the little dressing-room and began to array himself for the tennis court.  Two suits of flannels and a row of soft shirts hung there on the wall.

“Aren’t you going to change?” he asked, noticing that Claude stood stiff and unbending by the window, looking down into the garden.  “Why should I?” said Claude scornfully.  “I don’t play tennis.  I never had a racket in my hand.”

“Too bad.  She used to play very well, though she was only a youngster then.”  Gerhardt was regarding his legs in trousers two inches too short for him.  “How everything has changed, and yet how everything is still the same!  It’s like coming back to places in dreams.”

“They don’t give you much time to dream, I should say!” Claude remarked.

“Fortunately!”

“Explain to the girl that I don’t play, will you?  I’ll be down later.”

“As you like.”

Claude stood in the window, watching Gerhardt’s bare head and Mlle. Claire’s green hat and long brown arm go bounding about over the court.

When Gerhardt came to change before tea, he found his fellow officer standing before his bag, which was open, but not unpacked.

“What’s the matter?  Feeling shellshock again?”

“Not exactly.”  Claude bit his lip.  “The fact is, Dave, I don’t feel just comfortable here.  Oh, the people are all right.  But I’m out of place.  I’m going to pull out and get a billet somewhere else, and let you visit your friends in peace.  Why should I be here?  These people don’t keep a hotel.”

“They very nearly do, from what they’ve been telling me.  They’ve had a string of Scotch and English quartered on them.  They like it, too,-or have the good manners to pretend they do.  Of course, you’ll do as you like, but you’ll hurt their feelings and put me in an awkward position.  To be frank, I don’t see how you can go away without being distinctly rude.”

Claude stood looking down at the contents of his bag in an irresolute attitude.  Catching a glimpse of his face in one of the big mirrors, Gerhardt saw that he looked perplexed and miserable.  His flash of temper died, and he put his hand lightly on his friend’s shoulder.