The Love of an Unknown Soldier Found in a Dug-Out | Page 3

future; it is his way of compensating himself
for the brevity of the life that he has. It was a Sunday that we met. I had
been so bold as to ask you to come to lunch, and you, quite wonderfully,
had accepted. I think I remember every step and emotion of that walk
up to the ChampsElysees to call for you. You'd never guess how long I
spent in polishing my belt and buttons. Yes, men are like that. Are you
smiling? Perhaps you had spent just as long in making yourself
beautiful. I should like to think that.
And my emotions! Shall I be frank? They were awfully muddled. They
were made up of longing, hope, doubt and the terror that I might appear
absurd. The longing was all for you. The hope was that you might be
sharing my longing. The doubt was lest I might have idealized a
memory which, when I saw you, would fade into reality. Oh, the heresy
of me! I feared lest you might be actually quite ordinary, like any other
of the many girls who crowd the world. And then my terror lest I might
appear absurd I wonder if girls know it. You see, a man in love is at
such a disadvantage; he is not sure that he is cared for in return. I had
no right to that assurance I, a mere stranger who had met you once.
I came to your hotel. When I inquired for you of the concierge, he
seemed to distrust me. He answered me gruffly that he would apprise
you of my presence. When he returned he informed me with jealous

reluctance that Mademoiselle would presently descend. 1 waited.
Heavens, how long I waited! It was five minutes probably; but it
seemed a century. As each second ticked by I grew more and more
dissatisfied with my conduct. How impertinent you must think me to
presume on this slight acquaintance !
Your footstep on the stairs! A gentle rustling! You were standing
before me, girlish and friendly, offering me the frailness of your hand.
As I touched it a novel happiness swam through me. I felt alive, exalted
and somehow rested the way one does in hospital when one reckons up
the days of one's probable respite from cold and fighting and
discomfort. What I write is inadequate. It doesn't express a tithe of what
I felt. I have spoken of the touch of your hand, but I think it was the
sympathy in your eyes that touched me.
We were out in the Avenue, all shyness gone, the frost in the wind
tingling against our faces. We caught a tram and lost ourselves; caught
another and recognized where we were going. All the while we were
chatting, asking questions and breaking in with new questions on each
other's answers. Then we alighted and walked for the mere fun of
walking. I suppose you'll never know how proud I was to be seen
beside you. You didn't notice how people paused to gaze after you. You
wouldn't; one of your dearest qualities is your gay unconsciousness of
self. But picture me, fresh from the defilement of battle-fields, where
man's only hope is to die as heroically as he can; where one never sees
a woman or children; where one dare not encourage tenderness lest one
should become a coward; where all beauty, save of the soul, and every
ambition for the future is blotted out. Here was I, a Lazarus restored
from the dead, walking beside the most beautiful girl in Paris. It was
wonderful, don't you think, to a man who had been so long buried that
the earth was as yet scarcely out of his eyes? The fun we had at the cafe
where we went for lunch do you remember that? The choosing of the
courses! The way you concealed your smile at my halting French and at
last came to my rescue! Our laughter at the curious people all of them
kind, but not all of them respectable! And who were we that we should
laugh at others we two who, by such strange chances, had found each
other from all across the world? When we left it was snowing, not hard

but in little puffy flakes like jewels that settled on your hair and furs. 1
didn't want to lose you, so proposed a visit to the Luxembourg. By luck
we found a taxi and, when the doors were shut, were for the first time
alone together. It was a strange sensation. Our words faltered; we fell
into a trembling silence. This alone ness, which I feared, was the thing
which for months I had most desired. I felt so keenly aware of you;
your beauty was almost painful. I