“What a brisk worker,” exclaimed the latter. “You are very clever, Odette.”
“Oh, not at all. I do everything at a gallop; it has always been my way. Where is it that your father is?”
“Somewhere in the provinces, Paulette said, and he will then be sent to another place where the convalescents are. Paulette is so timid, so afraid in this Paris that she will not venture anywhere that she is not obliged to go, neither will she allow me to go. I think there may be places where one could find out things, but we are ignorant of them, and can only do so much.”
Odette nodded understandingly. “We of the country are afraid in this city so large. Me, when the time comes I shall go back to the country, somewhere in the country. I know not where; so says my aunt and so say I.”
“Hark,” said Lucie, jumping up, “there comes Paulette. She may seem severe, but she is kind, oh, so kind, and you will not mind when she looks at you sharply; it is her way, that is all.”
“One knows the way of these old ones,” returned Odette imperturbably, going on with her knitting.
Paulette came to the door, and, as Lucie had warned, looked sharply at the little visitor. “And pray who is this?” she asked.
“It is our next door neighbor, Odette Moreau.”
“Then you have opened the door to her,” Paulette said this disapprovingly.
Odette looked up with a mischievous smile.