So the little class was begun. Madame Le Brun and Madame Guerin nearly had a pitched battle over it. One objected to the studies taking place in the morning, for it was then that Annette should be learning to sew, to preserve, to do various household tasks. The other objected to the afternoon because it interfered with the hour when her husband read aloud to her, but finally the morning had it, because it was the man who preferred that time of day. Therefore almost every morning after this would be seen three heads bending over books and papers, the blossoming apple trees a background for Annette’s dark locks, Monsieur’s gray ones and Lucie’s sunny brown ones. They were never arduous tasks and judging from the frequent laughter they were often amusing.
News from the outside world reached them but slowly. The battle of Ypres was going on. The Germans failed to pierce the British lines, but Madame Guerin sighed and shook her head at every fresh sacrifice of troops. The shocking news of the Lusitania tragedy sobered every one. The German successes gave a harder, more determined expression to every face.
It was one glorious day in May that the bolt struck nearer home. The morning lessons were over. Lucie was lingering under the tree where the chairs and table were set, when she saw Odette running up from Paulette’s little house. She arrived breathless, agitated. “Lucie,” she cried panting, “where is madame?”
“In the house, I think. She came in from the garden some time ago.”
“There is some one to see her. And, Lucie, go, go yourself to Paulette; she wants you; she needs you.”
In alarm Lucie ran down the lane, leaving Odette to find Madame Guerin. The door of Paulette’s little house stood open. Lucie did not stop to knock but entered at once. She saw a man with Paulette; both were bending over something which lay on a chair. “What is it?” exclaimed Lucie in alarm. The man turned around, showing a haggard face. “Jean!” cried the girl.
He stepped back to allow her to come up to the chair from which suddenly came a faintly pitiful attempt at a bark. Lucie flung herself on her knees. “Pom Pom,” she whispered, “dear little Pom Pom. Oh, what is this that has happened? Give him to me! Give him to me, Paulette. He will like being in my lap.”
Paulette gently lifted the little creature from the chair. “He appears to understand,” she said, as Pom Pom feebly tried to lick Lucie’s hand.
As Paulette uncovered him, Lucie perceived that two of his legs were bound up, and that he could not move without pain. The tears flowed down her cheeks. “Poor, dear one,” she crooned, gently stroking the soft little head. Pom Pom’s eyes showed that he understood and again he sought to lick her hand.
Then Madame Guerin came hurrying in. “What is all this?” she asked. “A sick dog? I don’t know a thing about dogs. If it were a cat I might know what to do.” Then something in Jean’s face made her stop short. “Who is this?” she asked, “and why does he bring the dog here?”