She turned away and went back to the house to learn that another piece of news had come with the morning’s mail: Annette was going on to Marseilles with her husband, and would stay with him there until he should receive orders. He might be sent to Italy instead of to Turkey.
Close upon this news came a letter from Miss Lowndes to Lucie. The two had kept up a correspondence all this time, but this letter was of special interest, since it told of a certain undertaking in which Miss Lowndes would take part. “We are trying to restore the evacuated towns in the devastated areas,” she wrote, “and I am hoping that I will be sent to your native place. We hear that it is not so badly wrecked as some, and that some of the people have stayed on. We shall do our best to make these comfortable and the others too who are fast returning.”
Lucie lost no time in running out to Paulette with this letter. She was so out of breath and read so fast that Paulette was bewildered. “Stop, stop, my little one,” she cried. “I cannot keep up with this. Begin over again.”
Lucie began reading more slowly, Paulette making queer muttered exclamations as she continued. At the end the good woman wiped her eyes, then clasped her hands and cast a look heavenward. “At last,” she murmured. “Le bon Dieu restores us at last. Eh bien, my child, I am ready.”
“What shall we do first, Paulette, what shall we do?”
Paulette considered. “We write two letters, one to your father, one to the American young lady. We ask your father if he will permit that you accompany me and Odette back to the home. We ask the young lady when she departs and where we may join her. Then we wait for replies.”
“Excellent, Paulette. How much good sense you have. I will write these letters immediately, and get them off as soon as possible. In the meantime I will talk to Grandpa Le Brun and he will tell the others.” She started off, then came running back to ask: “Paulette, what about the money? Shall we have any to begin on?”
“I have all the wages I have earned here, or nearly all. Odette has hers, and then there is my allotment.” Paulette always talked very grandly of her allotment, but considering that the pay of a common soldier was but a sou a day, one can estimate that the amount paid her as mother of a poilu could not be very munificent.
“I have my allotment, too,” Lucie made the statement, “and of course papa will contribute what he can, just as he pays for my board here. We shall do very well, I believe.”
She went off to write her letters, and it may be stated that she left out no argument in pleading her cause. Then she took her confidence to Mons. Le Brun.