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"Cheer up, Seignior Quentin, and should we ever visit my ancient Castle of Bracquemont together, if I myself should stand your cup bearer, and hand it to you, you shall have a generous cup of wine, that the like never grew upon the vines of Hochheim or Johannisberg."
Most thankful of all were the transport drivers, for there are not many worse places than the Loos road, and few more desolate spots than Philosophe coal mine on a dark wet night, when the wind is making the loose sheets of iron rattle, and the horses have "got the wind up." 12th April, 1918. 10th Aug., 1918. Bracquemont was sadly changed.
At Philosophe we lost two mules, through a direct hit with a heavy shell, and the driver, H. Gamble, was very lucky to escape with nothing more than a bad wound. It was a miracle he was not killed. On the 12th the battle became quieter, and that night, relieved by the Canadians, who arrived very late owing to a railway accident, we marched out to Bracquemont.
"A glass of water, noble lady, from your hand," Thus far did Quentin begin, but his voice trembled, and Isabelle continued, as if she had been insensible of the tenderness of the accentuation upon the personal pronoun. "The wine was stocked in the deep vaults of Bracquemont, by my great grandfather the Rhinegrave Godfrey," said the Countess Isabelle.
At this despised Salon were to be found the names of Manet, Monet, Whistler, Bracquemont, Jongkind, Fantin-Latour, Renoir, Legros, and many others who have since risen to fame. Universal ridicule only fortified the friendships and resolutions of this group of men, and from that time dates the definite foundation of the Impressionist school.
Some blamed the gas, others the huts, and others the Bracquemont hospital buildings. The Medical Officer, wise man, would give no opinion. The weather was damp and raw and at times very cold. Consequently no one was very sorry when, on the 24th, the Brigade marched to Bruay. The Battalion and a 9" high velocity German shell arrived in Bruay about the same time and found the place deserted.
"Ha!" exclaimed Charles, but, as if subduing his own passion, he made a sign to him to proceed. "And, in right of his wife, the Honourable Countess Hameline of Croye, Count of Croye, and Lord of Bracquemont."
You wore her scarf, which partly misled me, and indeed I thought that Hameline, with her portable wealth, was more for your market penny than the other hen sparrow, with her old roost at Bracquemont, which Charles has clutched, and is likely to keep his claws upon." "Talk not so idly, unhappy man," said Quentin; "yonder officers become impatient."
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