When I came into Lille rockets were rising above the city. English
soldiers were firing off Verey lights. Above the houses of the city in
darkness rose also gusts of cheering. It is strange that when I heard
them I felt like weeping. They sounded rather ghostly, like the voices
of all the dead who had fallen before this night of Armistice.
I went to my billet at Madame Chéri’s house, from which I had been
absent some days. I had the key of the front door now, and let myself
into the hall. The dining-room door was open, and I heard the voices
of the little French family, laughing, crying, hysterical. Surely
hysterical!
“_O mon Dieu! O mon petit Toto! Comme tu es grandi! Comme tu es
maigre!_”