CHAPTER XL

IN April, not long after Jan and Christophe's
first leave. Colonel Prevost arrived at the barracks,
He had come upon special duty, it seemed, in connec-
tion with the training of officers, and the Colonel
in command was none too well pleased, or so it was
judged from his fierce expression. The Colonel in
command was stout and ageing, he had long been
politely shelved by his country and beneath his
aggressively military air of importance lay a crop of
sensitive feelings. However, there it was, a la guerre
comme a la guerre. The Colonel in command puffed
out his red cheeks, berated the Adjutant, cursed the
cook for a lazy lout who made poisonous coffee,
chewed the ends off a number of cheap cigars, drank
a small aperitif and subsided.
Emile Prevost on the other hand was still quite
youthful, yet his tunic was already blazing with
ribbons. He had seen bitter fighting on the French
front to which he had gone with his Colonial regiment,
and there it was that he had won his spurs, receiving
unusually quick promotion. But then had occurred
one of those monstrous blunders — or so it still
appeared to its victim. — that are apt to hatch out
well behind the front lines: he had suddenly been
transferred to the Staff, becoming liaison officer with
the 422nd Infantry, and now here he was at their
depot in Toulon. For barely had he entered upon
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