“Like that,” the Colonel said. “Exactly like that.”
So, the Colonel thought, here we come into the last round and I do not know even the number of the round. I have loved but three women and have lost them thrice.
You lose them the same way you lose a battalion; by errors of judgment; orders that are impossible to fulfill, and through impossible conditions. Also through brutality.
I have lost three battalions in my life and three women and now I have a fourth, and loveliest, and where the hell does it end?
You tell me, General, and, incidentally, while we are discussing the matter, and it is a frank discussion of the situation and in no sense a Council of War, as you have so often pointed out to me General: GENERAL WHERE IS YOUR CAVALRY?
I have thought so, he said to himself. The Commanding Officer does not know where his cavalry is, and his cavalry are not completely accurate as to their situation, nor their mission, and they will, some of them, enough, muck off as cavalry have always mucked off in all the wars since they, the Cavalry, had the big horses.
“Beauty,” he said, “Ma tr'ès ch'ère et bien aim'ée. I am very dull and I am sorry.”
“You are never dull, to me, and I love you and I only wish we could be cheerful tonight.”
“We damn well will be,” said the Colonel. “Do you know anything particular we should be cheerful about?”
“We might be cheerful about us, and about the town. You’ve often been very cheerful.”
