“Always devil to pay in morning.”

We were soaked to the skin.

“Come home with me,” I said. “We can give you a shakedown.”

“Frightfully good, old man. Awfully sorry, you know, and all that. Are you a blooming general, or something? But I must find horse.”

By some means we succeeded in persuading him that the chase was useless and that it would be better for him to get into our billet and start out next morning, early. We dragged him up the rue des Augustins, to the rue Amiral Courbet. Outside the iron gates I spoke to him warningly:

“You’ve got to be quiet. There are staff-officers inside⁠ ⁠…”

“What?⁠ ⁠… Staff officers?⁠ ⁠… Oh, my God!”