We went on to the other captain’s, and lunched with him and his major and colonel. The beautiful young lady proved every bit as pretty as a pair of army shoes. But the food was good and the captain’s French better. He kept hurling it at the beautiful young lady, who received it with derisive laughter. His accent, it appeared, was imposseeb.

“I like to make her laugh,” he told me. “It takes me back home among the coyotes.”

On the street of the village I held converse with a private, aged about twenty-three. I said I supposed he was glad it was payday.