Three men jumped up from a ditch below a brown wall round the château garden and ran hard for the gateway. A shell had pitched quite close to them. One man laughed as though at a grotesque joke, and fell as he reached the courtyard. Smoke was rising from the outhouses, and there was a clatter of tiles and timbers, after an explosive crash.

“It rather looks,” said my companion, “as though the Germans knew there is a party on in that charming house.”

It was as good to go on as to go back, and it was never good to go back before reaching one’s objective. That was bad for the discipline of the courage that is just beyond fear.