Victor shook his head sadly. “I am sorry, but there is no news there. But cheer up, dear little Lucie, do not look so mournful. Any day you may have news of her. In this war surprises are what one must expect. You will write to me and tell me how you prosper?”
“Oh, yes, and you?”
“Will do the same. I shall cherish Nenette and Rintintin as if they were my own children. I came only to say good-by, for I must soon be getting off.”
“It is sad that you must go.”
“But has it not been a wonderful holiday? When I get another we will celebrate again. Adieu! Adieu! et bon chance!”
“Bon chance! Bon chance! Victor. Adieu! Adieu!” from Lucie.
“Adieu, monsieur. Que Dieu vous soit en aide,” from Paulette. And Victor was clattering down the stairs and out into the dim streets.
But the small shadow that followed him a trifle in the rear was not cast by the bobbing forms of Nenette and Rintintin.
CHAPTER XI
A DOG AND HIS DAY
IT was in the middle of the night that Lucie woke with a consciousness of something missing. The little furry ball always curled up at her feet was not there. She sat up in bed. “Pom Pom” she called softly, feeling along the edge of her cot and reaching over toward the foot. But no moist little tongue licked her hand in response. “He has gone to Paulette,” decided Lucie, for once in a great while he took a notion to cuddle down by the older woman. Having made up her mind that this was the way of it Lucie snuggled down again and it was not till morning that she discovered that Pom Pom was really gone.