“Those are the names of my parents.”
“Lucie, little Lucie! My blessed child, I am your uncle Phil!” And without further ceremony he put his arms around her and hugged her tight up to him, to the horror and dismay of an old woman nearing the church.
Blushing and laughing Lucie disengaged herself. “I am so glad, so very glad to see you,” she murmured.
“Let’s go somewhere and talk,” suggested Philip. “I haven’t heard a word from my sister since the first year of the war. We knew this town was occupied by the Germans for a time, that your father was at the front, but what had become of you all there seemed to be no way to find out.”
“There is much to tell,” replied Lucie, a look of sadness passing over her face. “Our home was nearly destroyed, but we are living in a part of it, at least—But here is Paulette. Perhaps you know who Paulette is.”
Paulette with an expression of outraged dignity approached. That Lucie should so far forget herself as to permit an ardent embrace in the eyes of the public, and, so far as she could see, from a perfectly unknown young man, was scandalous. The child must have gone mad.
Lucie, however, seemed not in the least ashamed. She ran to meet Paulette, seized her by the hands and urged her forward. “Such a surprise, Paulette,” she cried. “Who do you think this is?”
Paulette regarded the young man who stood smiling down at her. She shook her head uncompromisingly. “I have never seen monsieur before.”
“Of course you haven’t, but I have, although I don’t remember it, for I was only three years old when mama took me to see her people. This is my Uncle Philip, my very own uncle.”
“Monsieur!” Paulette clasped her hands rapturously. “I ask ten thousand pardons.”