She told me for the first time, that in a forest not far from Bruges
she had a little summer-house, to which she used to retreat for
week-ends in the hot weather when the Colonel was away. He knew nothing
of this country house (she was very insistent on that point), so I
imagined she paid for it out of her dress allowance or in some other
way. The idea that had just struck her was that she had a sudden fancy
to go and spend two days there, and I was to go with her.
I was ready to go to Africa with her if my leave permitted, and it so
happened that I was due for four days' overseas leave (limited to
Belgian territory) so that this fitted in very well, and I told her so.
She was delighted, then, with one of those quick intuitions which women
are so clever at, she read the half-formed thought in my mind, and
said: "You mustn't think it's not going to be conventional; old Babette
will be with us to chaperon me." Old Babette is an aged female whom she
calls her maid. I think she is jealous of me.
I agreed at once that of course I quite understood it was to be highly
conventional, etc., though I smiled to myself as I visualized my
mother's shocked face and uplifted hands had she heard my Zoe's ideas
on the conventions.
I was trying to fathom what was at the bottom of it all when she
remarked: "Of course, as my prisoner you will have to obey all my
orders."
I replied that this was certainly so.
"And one of the first things," she continued, "that happens to a
prisoner when he goes through the enemy lines is that he is
blindfolded, and in the same way I shan't let you know where you are
going.
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