In her heart of hearts Paulette was not so sure. She had never in all her life had the experience of a trip on the water, but if Lucie wanted it, be it far from her to object, so she said in the most indifferent way: “It is all one to me. Suit yourselves and I shall be suited.”
Down to the river they went to board one of the small steamers plying none too frequently between Charenton and Auteuil. On the way Victor stopped to buy a newspaper and some sweet chocolate, which latter he might not have been able to get but for the fact that he was a poilu to whom nothing was to be denied. He handed it to Lucie, who accepted as gratefully as any girl would who had not tasted chocolate in any form for months. Paulette seated herself gingerly. She was armed with the green umbrella, explaining that no one knew when it might rain. She balanced herself on the seat as if momentarily one might expect to be tipped over in one direction or the other, but she soon became accustomed to the easy motion of the steamboat and entertained herself by looking at the other passengers. There was quite a number of soldiers with their sweethearts, a few country people, a couple of nuns, a priest or two.
“At Auteuil we shall take our first meal,” announced Victor.
“I suppose you know where to go,” returned Paulette.
“Oh, yes,” he answered serenely. “I know; it is one reason why we go. These parents of my comrade, it is they who keep a small inn. I tell myself that it is a good policy to go there for we shall be well treated without doubt.”
“Ah-h,” breathed Paulette with satisfaction. “That was a clever idea, monsieur.”
“So I told myself. I said I will go there first because Honoré wishes me to; second, because we shall probably fare better there than anywhere else.”
“Ah-h,” breathed Paulette again. “It is well that those two reasons fitted so conveniently, monsieur.”
Victor laughed, opened his newspaper and began reading bits of news to Lucie. Pom Pom lay on the seat between them, gazing with fascinated eyes at these new scenes through which he was passing.
At last came their landing place, and they went ashore. Victor led the way through this and that street till they stopped before a small inn set in a garden. It bore a sign which set forth the fact that this was the restaurant Honoré, kept by one Pierre Blondot. Victor went in, the others following. A gray-haired man came forward. “Do I address the father of my comrade Honoré Blondot?” said Victor in his best manner.