Annette let her eyes rest for a moment upon her friend. “It may not be a strange name,” she remarked.
“Oh, yes, it will have to be, for I have not yet met the man that I mean to fall in love with.”
Annette tipped her head to one side and regarded Lucie reflectively. “You say funny things,” she asserted, “but all the same I repeat that it may not be an unfamiliar name; one never knows. Do you like the name of Guerin?” she asked after a pause.
“It is a very good name. I do not dislike it.”
“Which do you like better, the name of Gaspard or Victor?”
“Why, I don’t know. I never thought. I believe Victor—no, Gaspard. It is less common, although Victor sounds well, as if the owner might really be a victor.”
“Which I hope our Victor will be. You are going to be my bridesmaid of course, Lucie.”
“In refugee clothes?”
“Nonsense! This is a war wedding and it doesn’t matter what one wears. If my grandmother had not treasured her own wedding frock and had not insisted upon bringing it away rather than more sensible things, I should be without a proper gown myself. It will have to be altered a little, but Aunt Clothilde knows some one who will do that to-morrow.”
“And I shall have no wedding present for you,” Lucie went on sadly, “unless,” she added with a little laugh, “I can find you a volume of Dickens.”