“Of course I have an ideal,” Lucie continued the subject. “Sometimes I am very certain he is an American; again I tell myself I could only marry a Frenchman, a soldier of France, of course. I do so adore my France, and I might not like the United States. It is very hard to decide,” she sighed.
After a silence she spoke again. “Annette was not really in love with Gaspard, though she loved him very much after they were married. I’d love to see her and the baby.”
“Now that the war is over you may have the chance of going again to Coin-du-Pres. I should like to go there myself to thank them in person for their goodness to you, and to see our good neighbors again. I suppose for the present Victor will stay there, and in course of time he may marry Annette. It would be an excellent arrangement.”
“Oh, mamma, do you think so?”
“Certainly; an admirable arrangement.”
“They are cousins.”
“Not very nearly related, not too near.”
Lucie dropped the work she was engaged upon and sat for a long time gazing into the fire.
Her meditations were broken in upon by the sound of voices outside. She sprang to her feet. “Mother,” she breathed, “if it should be!”
Madame Du Bois arose and stood shaking nervously. “I am still easily unstrung,” she murmured weakly. “Go and see who it is, Lucie.”