Paulette smiled. “Such curiosity. It feels like a box, or, no, like something hard. One does not get many boxes these days. C’est la guerre.”
“Are you sure it is for me?”
“There is the name, the street, the number, even the floor. Madame Mathilde gave it to me with the letter as I came in.”
“If I were not so hungry I would open it directly. Do you think this a pretty good soup, Paulette?”
“Not so bad.”
“Will not mamma be surprised when she learns how I can cook a meal all by myself?”
Paulette was silent.
“Oh, I know what you are thinking; you do not believe that we shall see mamma again.”
“I said nothing.”
“No, but I know that look which means so much. I was very doubtful myself before this news of Pom Pom. I have been so unhappy all day, Paulette, and but for Odette I think I should have died. What should I do without Odette when I have no more a Pom Pom?”