the month of February 1918, Aurelle was ordered by the French
mission at British G.H.Q. to report at the _sous-prefecture_ at
Abbeville and to hold himself for one day at the disposal of M.
Lucas, who would call for him in due course.

Aurelle waited for some time for M. Lucas, who eventually appeared
escorted by an English chauffeur. He was a rather stout, clean-shaven
little man, and wore a well-made blue suit and a yachting cap. With
his hands in his pockets, his curt speech and the authority of his
demeanour, he looked every inch a man accustomed to command.

"You are the interpreter from G.H.Q.?" he asked. "Have you a written
order?"

Aurelle was obliged to admit he had only received an order by
telephone.

"I can't understand it!" said M. Lucas. "The most necessary
precautions are neglected. Have you at least been told who I am? No?
Well, listen to me, my friend, and kindly hold your tongue for a
minute."

He went and shut the door of the _sous-prefet's_ office, and came
back to the interpreter. "I am----" he began.

He looked nervously about him, closed a window, and whispered very
softly, "I am His Majesty the King of England's chef."

"Chef?" Aurelle repeated, not grasping his meaning.

"His Majesty the King of England's chef," the great man deigned to
repeat, smiling kindly at the astonishment the young man showed at
this revelation.

"You must know, my friend, that to-morrow the President of the
Republic is to be His Majesty's guest in this town. The activity of
the German airmen obliges us to keep the programme secret till the
last moment. However, I have been sent out in advance with Sir
Charles to inspect the British Officers' Club, where the lunch is to
take place. You are to accompany me there."

So they set off for the former Chateau de Vauclere, now transformed
by British genius for comfort into an officers' club, Aurelle
escorting the royal cook and the equerry, who was an old English
gentleman with a pink face, white whiskers and grey spats. Above
their heads circled the squadron of aeroplanes which had been ordered
to protect the favoured city.

During the drive, M. Lucas condescended to say a few words of
explanation.

"Our lunch is to be quite informal; the menu very simple--ever since
the beginning of the war His Majesty has expressed a wish to be
rationed like his people--river trout, _tournedos aux pommes,_ some
fruit, and cider to drink."

"But, Monsieur Lucas," interrupted