He had that day received from
General Nivelle his _cravate_ as Commander of the Legion of Honour, and
his officers were giving him a dinner-party to celebrate the event. "See
how kind fate is to me," he added. "Only one thing was missing from the
feast--the presence of the ladies--and here you are."
It would need the brush of Rembrandt to paint the dining-hall in the
citadel of Verdun. At one long table in the dimly lighted vault sat
between eighty and ninety officers, who all rose, saluted, and cheered
as we entered. The General sat at the head of the table surrounded by
his staff, and behind him the faces of the cooks were lit up by the
fires of the stoves. Some short distance behind us was an air-shaft. It
appears that about a week or a fortnight before our arrival a German
shell, striking the top part of the citadel, dislodged some dust and
gravel which fell down the air-shaft on to the General's head. He simply
called the attendants to him and asked for his table to be moved forward
a yard, as he did not feel inclined to sit at table with his helmet on.
An excellent dinner--soup, roast mutton, fresh beans, salade Russe,
frangipane, dessert--and even champagne to celebrate the General's
_cravate_--quite reassured us that people may die in Verdun of shells
but not of hunger. We drank toasts to France, the Allies, and, silently,
to the men of France who had died that we might live. I was asked to
propose the health of the General, and did it in English, knowing that
he spoke English well.
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