Man and Maid

Oh! the long, long days--and the ugly nights!

One does not sleep very well now, the noise of "Bertha" from six A.M.

and the raids at night!--but I believe I grow to like the raids--and

last night we had a marvelous experience. I had been persuaded by

Maurice to have quite a large dinner party. Madame de Clerté, who is

really an amusing personality, courageous and agreeable, and Daisy

Ryven, and the fluffies, and four or five men. We were sitting smoking

afterwards, listening to de Volé playing, he is a great musician.

People's fears are lulled, they have returned to Paris. Numbers of men

are being killed,--"The English in heaps--but what will you!" the

fluffies said, "they had no business to make that break with the Fifth

Army! Oh! No! and, after all, the country is too dull--and we have all

our hidden store of petrol. If we must fly at the last moment, why on

earth not go to the theatre and try to pass the time!"

de Volé was playing "Madame Butterfly"--when the sirens went for a

raid--and almost immediately the guns began--and bombs crashed. One very

seldom sees any fear on people's faces now, they are accustomed to the

noise. Without asking any of us, de Volé commenced Chopin's Funeral

March. It was a very wonderful moment, the explosions and the guns

mingling with the splendid chords. We sat breathless--a spell seemed to

be upon us all--We listened feverishly. de Volé's face was transfigured.

What did he see in the dim light?--He played and played. And the whole

tragedy of war--and the futility of earthly interests--the glory, the

splendour and the agony seemed to be brought home to us. From this, as

the noise without became less loud, he glided into Schubert, and so at

last ceased when the "all clear" commenced to rend the air. No one had

spoken a word, and then Daisy Ryven laughed--a queer little awed laugh.

She was the only Englishwoman there.

"We are keyed up," she said.

And when they had all gone I opened my window wide and breathed in the

black dark night. Oh! God--what a rotter I am.

* * * * *

Friday--Maurice has a new suggestion--he says I should write a

book--he knows I am becoming insupportable, and he thinks if he

flatters me enough I'll swallow the bait, and so be kept quiet and not

try him so much.--A novel?--A study of the causes of altruism? What?--I

feel--yes, I feel a spark of interest. If it could take me out of

myself--I shall consult the Duchesse--I will tell Burton to telephone

and find out if I can see her this afternoon. She sometimes takes half

an hour off between four and five to attend to her family.