There had been a
bottle of red wine on the table. A few of the staff took a little,
diluting it with water. General Foch did not touch it.
We rose. I had an impression that I had had my interview; but the
hospitality and kindness of this French general were to go further.
In the little corridor he picked up his dark-blue cap and we set out
for official headquarters, followed by several of the officers. He
walked rapidly, taking the street to give me the narrow sidewalk and
going along with head bent against the wind. In the square, almost
deserted, a number of staff cars had gathered, and lorries lumbered
through. We turned to the left, between the sentry and the gendarme,
and climbing a flight of wooden stairs were in the anteroom of the
general's office. Here were tables covered with papers, telephones,
maps, the usual paraphernalia of such rooms. We passed through a pine
door, and there was the general's room--a bare and shabby room, with a
large desk in front of the two windows that overlooked the street, a
shaded lamp, more papers and a telephone. The room had a fireplace,
and in front of it was a fine old chair. And on the mantelpiece, as
out of place as the chair, was a marvellous Louis-Quinze clock, under
glass. There were great maps on the walls, with the opposing battle
lines shown to the smallest detail.
Pages:
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213