"Beautiful," he said, as he took out his field-glass, and turned up the
map case which hung at his side. "What town is that?" he asked,
pointing to the foreground.
I told him that it was Mareuil-on-the-Marne.
"How far off is it?" he questioned.
I told him that it was about two miles, and Meaux was about the same
distance beyond it.
"What town is that?" he asked, pointing to the hill.
I explained that the town on the horizon was Penchard--not really a
town, only a village; and lower down, between Penchard and Meaux, were
Neufmortier and Chauconin.
All this time he was studying his map.
"Thank you. I have it," he said. "It is a lovely country, and this is
a wonderful view of it, the best I have had."
For a few minutes he stood studying it in silence--alternatively looking
at his map and then through his glass. Then he dropped his map, put his
glasses into the case, and turned to me--and smiled. He had a winning
smile, sad and yet consoling, which lighted up a bronzed face, stern and
weary. It was the sort of smile to which everything was permitted.
"Married?" he said.
You can imagine what he was like when I tell you that I answered right
up, and only thought it was funny hours after--or at least I shook my
head cheerfully.
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