The exhilaration of crossing the Rhine was past. The 102nd were now sitting on their duffs in Boitsfort Belgium, and growing impatient.

For the umpteenth time, John went to see his Captain.

"Sir, I need to find a way to take my discharge here. Not in Canada."

"John, I understand. But it's too early to start talking discharges. We're still an occupying army; there's no peace treaty signed - or even negotiated."

Then an idea came to John.

"I understand, Sir, but what about a short leave? If I could have a few days - a week would be better - I could get back to see Marie. We could even get married. Then I'll come back and we'll sort the rest out."

"John, that might be possible. I'll talk to the Colonel."

"Thank you, Sir."

The Captain was persuasive. He reminded the Colonel that John had stayed with the Battalion instead of pursuing the Staff appointment the General had created. He pointed out that John's mother, recently widowed, was even now in France.

He walked out with a week's leave for John.

There followed a slew of highly unauthorized signals. John's friends in the Signals platoon raised Lieutenant Drouin. Drouin alerted the General and Dominique. Dominique visited the Maire and Curé, and a date for the wedding was set. Marie was whisked off to Paris, to a salon of haute couture, where within 48 hours the midinettes had created a fairy tale wedding dress. The General had his chateau prepared for the couple, and arranged for a guard of honour from his own command.

John asked his Captain to stand up for him, which he accepted with pleasure.

And so it was that John and his Captain arrived at the church in their best uniforms. They were met by Dominique and the General. Monsieur Drolet gave Marie away. Young Matthieu was the ringbearer.

That evening, as they lay together in the General's baroque master bedroom, John said, "I feel like this isn't the first time I've been in bed with you. Even your perfume is familiar." Marie looked impishly at John, and asked innocently "What time is it?" John looked at his watch. "It's eleven..."

"No, silly, it's après la guerre!" And she reached for him.