while the kettle was placed on the stove
and the fire replenished. I glanced at the Indian major's tall figure.
Even sitting, he was majestic. When he took the cape off he was
discovered clothed in the khaki uniform of his rank in the British
Army. Except for the olive colour of his skin, his turban, and the
fact that his beard--the soft beard of one who has never shaved--was
drawn up into a black net so that it formed a perfect crescent around
the angle of his jaw, he might have been a gallant and interested
English officer.

For the situation assuredly interested him. His eyes were alert and
keen. When he smiled he showed rows of beautiful teeth, small and
white. And although his face in repose was grave, he smiled often. He
superintended the making of the coffee by the peasant woman and
instructed her to prepare the table.

She obeyed pleasantly. Indeed, it was odd to see that between this
elderly Frenchwoman and her strange guests--people of whose existence
on the earth I dare say she had never heard until this war--there was
the utmost good will. Perhaps the Indians are neater than other
troops. Certainly personal cleanliness is a part of their religion.
Anyhow, whatever the reason, I saw no evidence of sulkiness toward the
Indians, although I have seen surly glances directed toward many of
the billeted troops of other nationalities.

Conversation was rather difficult. We had no common ground to meet on,
and the ordinary currency of polite society seemed inadequate, out of
place.

"The weather must be terrible after India," I ventured.

"We do not mind the cold. We come from the north of India, where it is
often cold. But the mud is bad. We cannot use our horses."

"You are a cavalry regiment?" I asked, out of my abysmal ignorance.

"We are Lancers. Yes. And horses are not useful in this sort of
fighting."

From a room beyond there was a movement, followed by the entrance of a
young Frenchman in a British uniform. Makand Singh presented him and
he joined the circle that waited for coffee.

The newcomer presented an enigma--a Frenchman in a British uniform
quartered with the Indian troops! It developed that he was a pupil
from the Sorbonne, in Paris, and was an interpreter. Everywhere
afterward I found these interpreters with the British Army--Frenchmen
who for various reasons are disqualified from entering the French Army
in active service and who are anxious to do what they can. They wear
the British