But even this assurance did not stop the flow of Paulette’s tears, and she still clung to him while he patted her encouragingly, his eyes on Odette.
“It has been a long time that she has kept back her tears,” explained Odette. “When she believed the worst she was brave, oh very full of courage. Now, you see, it is the relief which brings the tears.”
Paulette wiped her eyes and allowed herself to be led to a chair. “It was all because of that child,” she said. “I accepted the report and believed I had lost you. Did she? Not at all. ‘It is not true,’ she said. ‘I shall not believe it till we have the proof.’ It is she who has kept me in heart, for not once would she believe it.”
“Why did you of all others refuse to believe it?” asked Jean, looking at Odette.
“I do not know,” the girl returned. “Why should one believe an unhappy thing till one is obliged to?”
Jean nodded thoughtfully. “It is good philosophy,” he returned. “Why I was reported missing I do not know, but yes, I think I do, for there is a Jean Ribaud who was taken prisoner. The names sound the same, you see.”
“I am sorry for that other poor Jean,” said Odette.
“As you would have been sorry for me? Probably he had no Nenette and Rintintin to protect him.”
A flashing smile lighted up Odette’s face as she picked up a bucket to go for water.
Jean looked at his mother who had now quite recovered her calm, and who rose, upon hospitality intent, and went into the little kitchen. Then Jean’s eyes turned toward Odette’s vanishing form. It was Odette whom he followed. The smile which dawned upon Paulette’s face ended in a little chuckle.