It was the bravest word on record; a silence followed, as when they opened the seventh seal in heaven. Salad, chicken mayonnaise and foie gras sandwiches hung in our wet mouths unmunched, while we turned to Allenby and gaped. Even he seemed for the moment at a loss. We began to fear that the idol might betray a frailty. But his face grew red: he swallowed, his chin coming forward (in the way we loved), whilst he said, grimly, “In the military zone the only authority is that of the Commander-in-Chief⁠—myself.” “But Sir Grey, Sir Edward Grey⁠ ⁠…” stammered M. Picot. He was cut short. “Sir Edward Grey referred to the civil government which will be established when I judge that the military situation permits.” And by car again, through the sunshine of a great thankfulness, we sped down the saluting mountainside into our camp.