Zoe
unfortunately saw it and blushed scarlet.
I could have struck him on his impudent mouth, but for her sake I
judged it advisable to notice nothing.
I feel I could go on writing about her all night, but it is nearly 2
a.m. I must get some sleep.
The guns rumble steadily in the south-west, and the sky is lit by their
flashes; may the fighting on the Somme be bloody these coming days.
[_Probably about ten days later.--Etienne._]
We leave to-night, having had a longer spell than usual. I am in a
distracted state of mind. Since our glorious day in the forest I have
seen her nearly every afternoon, though twice that swine Alten has kept
me in the boat in connection with some replacements of the battery.
I have found out that, like me, she is intensely musical. She plays
beautifully on the piano, and we had long hours together playing Chopin
and Beethoven; we also played some of Moussorgsky's duets, but I love
her best when she plays Chopin, the composer pre-eminent of love and
passion.
She has masses of music, as the Colonel gives her what she likes. We
also played a lot of Debussy. At first I demurred at playing a living
French composer's works, but she pouted and looked so adorable that all
my scruples vanished in an instant, so we closed all the doors and she
played it for hours very softly whilst I forgot the war and all its
horrors and remembered only that I was with the well-beloved girl.
The Colonel writes from Thiepval, where the British are pouring out
their blood like water.
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