“This may be a sad day for you, Lucie, but it is a very happy one for me, or would be if you were not so miserable.”
“I shall try not to be miserable, for who knows what may happen before the day is out? That is what my mother used to tell me. So bright and cheerful, such a sunny nature, mother had. I think, Odette, that all other sorrow would seem as nothing if I could see her again. Even if I knew her to be safe and well, I could be cheerful.”
“I can understand that,” Odette agreed. “That day may come, and sooner than you expect.”
It seemed that Odette was a true prophet, for that very evening the clouds began to break away for Lucie. “Well, mademoiselle,” said Paulette when she came in, “who is sending you presents? Here is a letter too.”
“But alas, no news of Pom Pom,” returned Lucie.
“I do not yet despair. He may be shut up somewhere and will come to us fast enough when he is free.”
This sounded encouraging, so Lucie opened her letter. “It is from Victor,” she announced, beginning to read.
“Humph!” exclaimed Paulette. “He loses no time.”
Lucie paid no attention to this; she was eagerly reading the page before her. “Paulette, Paulette,” she cried suddenly, “listen to this. Oh, that bad Pom Pom!”
Paulette dropped the soup ladle-back into the kettle. “Mon Dieu!” she cried. “What is this about Pom Pom?”