My Troubles With Time by Benson Grayson Read Free Book Online

dozen or so men seated with him, and extended his hand to shake mine.
    “It’s very good to have you join us for dinner, Colonel Snodgrass,” he said, “Let me introduce you to my officers.”
    He proceeded to rattle off their names. As he did so, each one in turn came up to me, saluted, bowed, and shook my hand. A few of them were dressed in regular army uniforms resembling his. The majority, whom I learned later were officers of the National Guard, wore makeshift uniforms.
    The introductions complete, De Porte motioned me to sit down next to him in the place of honor at his right. The National Guard officer seated on my other side, a Captain Gerard, explained to me in rather good English that in peacetime he was a professor of English Literature at the University of Paris. I gathered that he had been placed next to me to help translate my comments for the other officers, none of whom spoke more than a word or two of English.
    Everything on the table from the china to the tablecloth and napkins was of the finest quality, except for the food. The meal consisted of a watery soup, a stew of vegetables and a few pieces of tough meat, and some stale bread.
    “The quality of the food is not what we would have wished to offer you,” De Porte explained. “The siege makes it difficult for us to eat as we did before the war.”
    I nodded sympathetically and attempted to cover the taste of the food with a sip of wine. I found it delicious and drained my glass.
    Captain Gerard nodded approvingly. “Fortunately,” he remarked in a low voice, the owner of this house left behind him a well-stocked wine cellar. It makes it easier to get down the horse meat.”
    I looked at him surprised, but said nothing. Although I was still hungry, I tried to avoid getting any of the meat in my fork as I finished up the stew. As I did so, I noticed De Porte staring angrily at Gerard. The Captain, in the midst of translating into English some comments by one of the other officers saw my face and turned to look at De Porte.
    “I’m afraid the Colonel is annoyed because I let spill the fact that the stew contains horse meat,” he said with a shrug as he turned back to me.
    When orderlies removed the dishes, I thought the meal over. However, they brought in several bottles of champagne and proceeded to fill glasses which were placed in front of each of the diners.
    “Gentlemen,” said De Porte, rising to his feel, “I give you a toast to our honored guest, Colonel Maynard Snodgrass of the Army of the United States.”
    The others at the table all rose to their feet and drained their glasses.
    They looked at me and I gathered it was my turn to offer a toast. My previous experience left me uncertain as to what protocol required. Trying to play safe, I raised my glass and said, “To the gallant defenders of Paris, who have earned by their courage the admiration of the world.”
    As I drained my glass, I looked anxiously at their faces. Apparently my toast sufficed. De Porte and the other officers smiled and the Colonel delivered an elaborate toast to the people of the United States.
    After several more toasts, the champagne on top of the wine I had consumed left me feeling tipsy. I felt relieved when Colonel De Porte arose and indicated that the evening’s festivities were over. With considerable effort, I was successful in getting to my feet and bidding good night to my fellow diners. My efforts to confine this to shaking hands was only partially successful; several of the officers, also somewhat the worse for our consumption of champagne, embarrassed me by first embracing me and then kissing me on both cheeks.
    Colbert led me back to my room, saluted me and said goodnight.
    As he left he told me that he would be on duty during the night and that his orderly would awaken me for breakfast. The room was freezing. Getting into the bed fully dressed except for my boots, I wrapped the heavy quilt on it around me. The champagne I had drunk had its