There was a klip-klop of horses’ hoofs in the yard. I thought of D’Artagnan and the Musketeers who might have ridden into this very yard, strode into this very room, on their way to Dunkirk or Calais. Madame played the piano remarkably well, classical music of all kinds, and any accompaniment to any song. Our young officers sang. Some of them touched the piano with a loving touch and said, “Ye gods, a piano again!” and played old melodies or merry ragtime. Before Passchendaele was taken a Canadian boy brought a fiddle with him, and played last of all, after other tunes, “ The Long, Long Trail ,” which his comrades sang.

“Come and play to us again,” said Madame.

“If I come back,” said the boy.

He did not come back along the road through Ypres to Cassel.