“Oh, those are my planets,” he says, as if he owns the night skies quite as much as he does France. Suspended from crisscrossing wooden beams is a series of beautiful silver spheres, some of them ringed with silver haloes, some with other tiny balls floating nearby. It is such a pretty sight that I forget all about the map and the flags of campaigns and clasp my hands together. “Oh, how pretty! What is this?”
