Victor stooped down to examine it. “There is only one little place where it is very wet,” he said, “and I can carry you over that, Lucie.”
“You will do nothing of the kind,” declared Paulette, bristling up. “If mademoiselle cannot walk without getting her feet wet I will carry her.”
“And a pretty spectacle it would be,” protested Victor, “if any one were to come along, to behold a soldier permitting a woman to do such a thing. Are we men permitted to show no chivalry?”
“Zut!” exclaimed Paulette, snapping her fingers. “That for your chivalry; it is all because you wish to have your own way.”
“La! La!” cried Lucie, “are you two going to spoil the day by quarreling over me? No one shall carry me. I shall walk.”
“And get your feet wet,” grumbled Paulette.
“A happy thought!” cried Victor, whipping out his newspaper. “We will arrange this. Step upon the paper, Lucie.” He spread the doubled paper upon the spot, Lucie put out her little slim foot, stepped lightly and was over without further ado. Victor picked up the paper, looked at the footprint for a second, then with a chuckle, folded the paper, put it back in his pocket and followed on.
Pom Pom, always in the lead, enjoyed his day quite as much as the rest, at least he had not the somber thoughts which haunted Lucie during every silence. To be sure these silences were not many, for the young people chatted constantly while Pom Pom explored, dashed on ahead, lay down to rest till the others came up, and was quite as tired a member of the party as any when at last they stopped at a modest restaurant on a side street.
“Another home of a comrade, Victor?” asked Lucie smiling.
“No, although the place was recommended by one. We shall not fare so well as we did this morning, I fancy, but I have the password which will probably serve to bring out such food as they have, and it will be well cooked, though simple. Are you tired, Lucie, and are those shoes entirely worn out?”