that new role when along had come skimming a young
German airman with pink cheeks, yellow hair, and
an accurate eye —it should have been death, but
instead had been wounds and quite a number of
small odds and ends not too uncomfortably lodged
in the body; all the same it had knocked him out for a
time.
'Mais oui, you will fight again/ the doctors declared,
'that is if you are patient and behave with precaution.'
Yes, and mark you, not even so much as a scratch
until they had given him that cursed soft job: 'With-
out doubt,5 he would often think to himself rather
grimly, 'without doubt every bomb has its billet!'
In appearance Colonel Prevost was neat to a fault;
his minute moustache was a model of trimming,
while his straight black hair lay so shiny and sleek
that it gave the impression of being painted. For the
rest he was sallow, of medium height, with intelligent
eyes and a resolute mouth. When'he spoke his voice
was surprisingly soft, and when he was crossed it
became like satin. But perhaps his most salient
characteristics were his passion for fighting and his
passion for comfort. He loved piping hot baths into
which he would fling quite a generous fistful of ex-
pensive bath salts; he loved deep, cushioned chairs;
luxurious beds; warm rooms and warm-hearted
solicitous women. But he also loved the crude harsh-
ness of war, the rough life of the camp, the violence of
combat. Two Prevosts there were, the one who would
lead his men with the reckless dash of a tiger, and the
one who would fondle a woman's cheek and be able
to tell you what scent she used, what rouge, and what
special brand of face-powder.
He was not much impressed by the look of the
recruits when he scanned them with an eye to his
personal servants, yet he fully intended to be well
served, and this he was at pains to point out to the
447