delights which she
had renounced in the rich and voluptuous drawing-room of the Albany;
she gazed under the reddish illumination at the tedious eternal
market-place on which she exposed her wares, and which in Tottenham
Court Road went by the name of bedstead; and she gathered nausea and
painful longing to her breast as the Virgin gathered the swords of
the Dolours at the Oratory, and was mystically happy in the ennui of
serving the miraculous envoy of the Virgin. And when Marthe, uneasy,
stole into the sitting-room, Christine, the door being ajar, most
faintly transmitted to her a command in French to tranquillise herself
and go away. And outside a boy broke the vast lull of the Sunday night
with a shattering cry of victory in the North Sea.

Possibly it was this cry that roused the officer out of his doze. He
sat up, looked unseeing at Christine's bright smile and at the black
gauze that revealed the reality of her youth, and then reached for his
tunic which hung at the foot of the bed.

"You asked about my mascot," he said, drawing from a pocket a small
envelope of semi-transparent oilskin. "Here it is. Now that is a
mascot!"

He had wakened under the spell of his original theme, of his sole
genuine subject. He spoke with assurance, as one inspired. His eyes,
as they masterfully encountered Christine's eyes, had a strange,
violent, religious expression. Christine's eyes yielded to his, and
her smile vanished in seriousness. He undid the envelope and displayed
an oval piece of red cloth with a picture of Christ, his bleeding
heart surrounded by flames and thorns and a great cross in the
background.

"That," said the officer, "will bring anybody safe home again."
Christine was too awed even to touch the red cloth. The vision of the
dishevelled, inspired man in khaki shirt, collar and tie, holding
the magic saviour in his thin, veined, aristocratic hand, powerfully
impressed her, and she neither moved nor spoke.

"Have you seen the 'Touchwood' mascot?" he asked. She signified
a negative, and then nervously fingered her gauze. "No? It's a
well-known mascot. Sort of tiny imp sort of thing, with a huge head,
glittering eyes, a khaki cap of _oak_, and crossed legs in gold and
silver. I hear that tens of thousands of them are sold. But there is
nothing like my mascot."

"Where have you got it?" Christine asked in her queer but improving
English.

"Where did I get it? Just after Mons, on the road, in a house."

"