It was pointed out to him later.  The railway ran out all but to the harbour mouth, and there ended in a great covered, wide station.  Above it, large and airy, with extensive verandahs parallel to the harbour, was the old Customs, and it was this that had been transformed into a hospital.  It was an admirable place.  The Red Cross trains ran in below, and the men could be quickly swung up into the cool, clean wards above.  These, all on one level, had great glass doors giving access to the verandahs, and from the verandahs broad gangways could be placed, running men, at high tide, on to the hospital ship alongside.  The nurses’ quarters were beyond, and their sitting-room was perched up, as it were, sea on one side and harbour on the other.

At present, of course, Peter did not know all this.  He was merely conducted by an orderly in the dusk to the anteroom of the mess, and welcomed by the orderly-officer, who led him into a comfortable room already lit, in a corner of which, near a stove, four officers sat at cards.

“Hearts three,” said one as Peter came in.

“Pass me,” said another, and it struck Peter that he knew the tone.

The four were fairly absorbed in their game, but the orderly officer led Peter towards the table.  At that they looked up, and next minute one had jumped up and was greeting him.

“By all that’s wonderful!  It’s you again,” he said.

“Donovan!” exclaimed Peter, “What:  are you doing here?”

The South African held out his hand.  “I’ve got attached to one of our nigger outfits,” he said, “just up the dock from here.  But what are you doing?”

“Oh, I’ve been moved from Rouen,” said Peter, “and told to join up here.  Got to look after the hospital and a few camps.  And I was told,” he added, “I’d live in this camp.”

“Good enough,” said Donovan.  “Let me introduce you.  This is Lieutenant Pennell, R.E.—­Lieutenant Pennell, Captain Graham.  This is a bird of your kidney, mess secretary and a great man, Padre Arnold, and this is one Ferrars, Australian Infantry.  He tried to stop a shell,” went on Donovan easily, “and is now recovering.  The shock left him a little insane, or so his best friends think; hence, as you may have heard, he has just gone three hearts.  And that’s all anyone can do at present, padre, so have a cigarette and sit down.  I hope you haven’t changed your old habits, as you are just in time for a sun-downer.  Orderly!”

He pulled up a large easy-chair, and Peter subsided into it with a pleasant feeling of welcome.  He remembered, now, having heard that Donovan was at Havre, but it was none the less a surprise to meet him.

Donovan played a good hand when he liked, but when he was not meeting his mettle, or perhaps when the conditions were not serious enough, he usually kept up a diverting, unorthodox run of talk the whole time.  Peter listened and took in his surroundings lazily.  “Come on,” said his friend, playing a queen.  “Shove on your king, Pennell; everyone knows you’ve got him.  What?  Hiding the old gentleman, are you?  Why, sure it’s myself has him all the time”—­gathering up the trick and leading the king.  “Perhaps somebody’s holding up the ace now....” and so on.