"Just after the war, when I went to Paris for Harper's Bazaar I stayed at the Matignon. During the war it had been taken over by the Wehrmacht, and instead of loo [toilet] paper there were, cut up into thrifty squares, inter-office memoranda which made interesting reading.

"The hotel was also flea-ridden. After two sleepless nights I complained to the chambermaid. She affected not to believe me, but at the crucial moment of the argument a large flea scutted on to the arm of a chair. 'Voila!' I pointed. She bent over and examined it closely, then she straightened up.

"'Ce ne peut pas etre une puce Francaise,' she declared. 'Celle-ci doit etre Anglaise,' and she flounced out triumphantly."