servant
always put me through the same catechism:

"Avez-vous tue des Allemands?"

"La guerre, quand finira-t-elle?"

The immense seriousness, not to say solicitude, with which these
inquiries were addressed to me eventually led me into the most
enterprising mendacities. I killed a German every day, greatly to
Madame's satisfaction, and my total bag when I came away was
sufficiently remarkable to be worth a place in an official _communique_.
I think it gave Madame a feeling of security, and I hoped Jeanne might
consider that it appreciably accelerated the end of the war. But
"Guillaume," as she always called him, was the principal object of
Madame's aversion, and she never mentioned the name of the All-Highest
without a lethal gesture as she drew her tremulous hand across her
throat and uttered the menacing words: "Couper la gorge." She often
uttered these maledictions to Sykes in the kitchen, as she watched him
making the toast for my breakfast, and I have no doubt that the "Oui,
Madame," with which he invariably assented, gave her great satisfaction.
Doubtless it made her feel that the heart of the British Army was sound.
Sykes used to study furtively a small book called _French, and how to
speak it_, but he was very chary of speaking it, and seemed to prefer a
deaf-and-dumb language of his own. But he was naturally a man of few
words, and phlegmatic. He described the first battle of Ypres, in which
he had been "wownded," in exactly twenty-four words, and I could never
get any more out of him, though he became comparatively voluble on the
subject of his wife at Norwich and the twins. He was an East Anglian,
and made four vowels do duty for five, his e's being always pronounced
as a's; he had done his seven years' "sarvice" with the colours, and was
a reservist; he was an admirable servant--steady, cool, and honest. I
imagine he had never acted as servant to any of his regimental officers,
for on the first occasion when he brought up my breakfast I was not a
little amused to observe that the top of the egg had been carefully
removed, the rolls sliced and buttered, and the bread and butter cut
into slender "fingers," presumably for me to dip into the ochreous
interior of the egg; it reminded me of my nursery days. Perhaps he was
in the habit of doing it for the twins. I gently weaned him from this
tender habit. He performed all his duties, such as making my bed, or
handing me a letter, with quick automatic movements