L'ENVOI 221 



ingle-nook, gazing beyond the glowing fire, 

 his piteous mouth agape. If one could 

 only paint him just like that 1 His rigid 

 pose, his tense white face, those staring 

 vacant eyes. Velasquez could have done 

 it. But what were they talking about 

 now? War that was certain, imminent. 

 They harped on it, leaving me cold and 

 sceptical. In these days — war with 

 Germany — preposterous ! These peasants 

 should talk of things they understood — 

 their sheep, their crops. In turn I tried 

 every subject, but each led back to 

 war. 



Solemnly the Greffier raised his bowl: 

 A bas les Alhoches ! A mort les 

 Prussiens 1 Vive la France ! The toast 

 was drunk. The china mugs then clat- 

 tered down in unison, while grey heads 

 nodded knowingly. There would be war 

 — they knew it. " And when war comes " 

 (this from old Morvan, garrulous and 

 flushed) — " and when it comes " — he 

 pointed a jabbing finger — " monsieur will 

 leave his paints and fight for France." That 

 nettled me, drawing the retort : " My 

 friend, I may be all kinds of a fool in this 



