ever return."

I told him that I too was glad to be sitting in the comparative quiet of
the Mazarin, and asked him how he fared.

Joseph smiled. "I 'ave a surprise for M'sieur," he said--"yes, a great
surprise. There are ten, fifteen years that I work in thees place, and
in four more weeks _le patron_ will retire and I become the proprietor.
Oh, it is bee-utiful," he continued, clasping his hands rapturously, "to
think that in so leetle time I, who came to London a poor waiter, shall
be _patron_ of one of its finest restaurants."

I offered him my warmest congratulations. If ever a man deserved success
it was he, and it was good to see the look of pleasure on his face as I
told him so.

"And now," said I presently, "I also have a surprise for you, Joseph."

He laughed. "Eh bien, M'sieur, it is your turn to take my breath away."

"My last billet in France, before being wounded," I told him, "was in a
Picardy village called Fléchinelle."

He raised his hands. "Mon Dieu," he cried, "it is my own village!"

"More than that," I continued, "for nearly six weeks I lodged just
behind the church, in a whitewashed cottage with a stock of oranges,
pipes and boot-laces for sale in the window."

"It is my mother's shop!" he exclaimed breathlessly.