Several of the junior officers at the table visibly paled.

From Trying to Please by John Julius Norwich.  Page 96.  

We were by no means always in Paris. An ambassador’s duties take him all over the country, and my father always tried to arrange his provincial tours to coincide with my holidays. But my very first expedition was with my mother alone. She had been made marraine—“godmother”—to a French regiment, the Premiers Chasseurs d’Afrique; and early in January, 1945—while the war was still on—she arranged to go with me to visit them at the front. I wore my uniform of the school training corps—khaki battledress with “Eton College” on the shoulders—and off we drove to Strasbourg, where a French army car took us to the headquarters of the Supreme Commander of the French Sector, General de Lattre de Tassigny. Here lunch was waiting, during which the General questioned me closely about my school life, showing particular interest in the fagging system. I described it as best I could, finishing up with a brief description of what happened when someone shouted “Boy!” The General, much intrigued, announced his intention of instituting a similar system at the headquarters; several of the junior officers at the table visibly paled.