He looked down at her keenly. She knew what he was thinking about and opened her eyes very wide that he might see there were no tears in them.
He laid his hand gently on her head. “Dear daughter,” he murmured, “dear daughter.”
She took his hat and stick and put them in their place, then took her mother’s place at the table upon which Paulette was already setting the plates of soup. Neither of the two was able to eat very heartily, though they made a pretence of it and spoke at length of the excellence of Paulette’s omelette, and each tried to hearten the other by making foolish little jokes, but the meal was soon over, then although Lucie was ready to help Paulette with the dishes she would have none of it, but sent her off to keep her grandfather company.
It was not till almost dark that she found him sitting alone in the twilight, his hands upon the arms of the big chair by a window of his own room, his eyes fixed upon the eastern sky which reflected the afterglow in soft tints of rose and purple. Lucie seated herself upon his knee and his arms folded around her. Neither spoke but there was silent comfort in this nearness. At last the old man put the child gently from him. “I must see Antoine Le Brun,” he said. “Let us keep a great hope in our hearts, my child. To-morrow we may hear. God grant it to be good news.”
So he left her and Lucie went down to the kitchen to find Paulette telling her beads, with Mousse drowsing on the window sill beside her and Pom Pom curled up in a heap at her feet.
The next day came a hurried note from Madame Du Bois. She was making but slow progress owing to the hard conditions everywhere, but she was with friends, and she hoped to be able to continue her journey. They must not be alarmed if they did not hear at once. She would write as soon as opportunity afforded, and with this they were obliged to be satisfied.
A day or two of quiet when Lucie tried to get used to the loneliness and made a great effort to cheer up her grandfather. Between whiles there was Annette, to be sure, and there was also Pom Pom who was a ready pupil when the two girls attempted to teach him to bark when they cried: “Vive la France!” and to hold a small flag in his mouth waving it when they sang the Marseillaise. As for Mousse, he had reached the point of tolerating the newcomer, but not an inch further would he go. A proud disdain was the limit of what he felt he was called upon to express.
“It is as much as we can expect of him,” declared Lucie: “Cats are always more reserved than dogs, mamma says.”
Annette laughed. “How you are a funny one,” she said. “I could never analyze an animal in that way.”
“O, do not flatter me by imagining it was my thought,” replied Lucie. “It was mamma who said it. I think, Annette, that we must try to make a true poilu of Pom Pom. Perhaps in time we can persuade him to wear a sword and cap.”