At a fresh outbreak of gunfire Mme. Gagnon begged him to lower himself.
But Pierre’s eyes were fixed wildly on a point near the cottages. His mouth dropped open and closed again excitedly.
“Maman!” he gasped. “Patchou! I see Patchou!”
The doctor and M. Angell turned to him in alarm.
Mme. Gagnon stood up. “I do not see Patchou,” she cried. “But if he is here, certainly André must be near.”
Suddenly the vague noises broke into a noisy scuffle on the rocky, brush-covered knoll above them. German and American voices rang out angrily.
“It is unbearable!” Mme. Gagnon cried. “I must find André!”
She broke and ran.
Pierre gave a lunge. He caught his wife’s sleeve and was about to pull her to the ground when a racing dog, like a tornado, streaked up the slope.
Patchou danced to Pierre and then to Mme. Gagnon, lathering their hands in rapturous welcome, yelping shrilly.