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By Root 2528 0

problems of life. At a later date I should have been more curious regarding their story. Madame Dubuisson used to giggle, and behave generally in a fairly free manner, especially when her husband was not present; and I felt that – if an analogy could be drawn between two such different households – she represented at La Grenadière something comparable to Lady McReith’s position when staying at the Templers’. Madame Dubuisson was, for example, the guest whom Commandant Leroy undoubtedly liked best, and the boys, too, seemed to get on with her well. I never discovered her husband’s occupation. It appeared that – like Sunny Farebrother – he had distinguished himself during the war: or, at least, he mentioned this fact to me on one or two occasions; and at one period he seemed to have taught, or lectured, at some provincial university. He said that at present he was in business, but without specifying its nature.

“I am a very busy man, building up for my corporation, and trying to materialise along the same lines a few ideas regarding the financing of certain needs which actually are most difficult to meet,” he remarked to me soon after my arrival.

He must have suspected that I required further enlightenment before I could answer, because he added: “I might even come to London, when, and if, certain – certain negotiations pending with British houses mature.”

I asked if he knew London well.

“Probably better than yourself,” he replied, “Being nearly at the head of a finance corporation, I am trying to assure a certain percentage of the insolvency risk which might arise when I guarantee credits by endorsing bills.”

“I see.”

“You must not think,” Monsieur Dubuisson continued, smiling and showing a barrier of somewhat discoloured teeth, “that I am merely – merely a commercial gent. I am also developing my activity as a newspaperman, and publish weekly one, or a couple, of articles. I hope to be circulated in England soon.”

“Do you write in English?”

“Of course.”

I inquired about the subjects on which he wrote. Monsieur Dubuisson said: “I sent lately to the National Review a longish article entitled ‘Cash Payments; or Productive Guarantees?’ speaking my views on the actual and future relations of France, Great Britain, and Germany. I have had no answer yet, but I have a manuscript copy I can lend you to read.”

He paused; and I thanked him for this offer.

“As a matter of fact I write along three very different lines,” Monsieur Dubuisson went on. “First as a financial expert: second, summaries of big problems looked upon from an independent threefold point of view – political, military, economic: finally in consideration of the growth of the social idea in English literature.”

All this left me little, if at all, wiser on the subject of the Dubuisson background, but there could be no doubt that Monsieur Dubuisson had plenty of confidence in his own qualifications. Outwardly, he never showed much interest in his wife, though they spent a good deal of their time together: since neither of them took any part in the collective recreations of La Grenadière, such as the excursions to places of interest in the neighbourhood. This lack of public attention from her husband did not appear to worry Madame Dubuisson at all. She chattered away all the time to anyone who happened to find themselves next to her; and without any regard for the question of whether or not her listener understood what she was talking about: a habit perhaps acquired from her husband.

The two Scandinavians did not “get on” with each other. Both Berthe and Suzette warned me of this, in diplomatic terms, soon after I came to La Grenadière. According to the girls, Monsieur Örn complained that Monsieur Lundquist was “too proud;” while Monsieur Lundquist had actually stated openly that he considered Monsieur Örn to be lacking in chic. Monsieur Örn, like Monsieur Dubuisson, rarely spoke, spending most of his time writing lists of French words in a notebook. Berthe said that Monsieur Örn had confided to her that all Swedes were proud, often for no reason at all; Monsieur