“Well, you will be, give you time, and I may not be here then to make pretty speeches. I am but taking time by the forelock.”
Lucie paid no attention to the cryptic speech but gave a serious regard to the rosebush from which she should select the proper flower, at last deciding upon one of just the exact maturity to suit the fastidious taste of Victor. He nodded approvingly as he took it and stuck it in his buttonhole. “I shall wear it as an amulet,” he told her.
“Foolish boy,” replied Lucie disdainfully.
“Perhaps you think I shall need nothing to protect me from danger. I assure you I shall. Perhaps your rose may ward off German bullets.”
“Bullets?”
“Why not? A soldier must consider bullets.”
“A soldier?”
Victor nodded. “It seems that you are not very original, mademoiselle. You do nothing but repeat my words like a parrot.”
“But these surprises. You are too young. Surely, Victor, you are not thinking of going to the war.”
“And why not? I shall become eighteen next month. I am but waiting that day. I have had considerable military training. Aux armes, citoyens!” He sang in a fine clear voice. “Shall I not fly to the aid of our beloved France as well as another? I am no coward, I tell you, Lucie Du Bois down there among your flowers.”