Lieutenant Van Drissel, of the Belgian army, whose wound, received in the fighting outside Dixmude long months before, obstinately refused to heal, found himself in very pleasant quarters, thanks to the hospitality of Mrs. Dashwood, who had also given his sister an asylum as French governess to the small fry.
Like Captain Bob, he was in khaki, but the contrast between the two officers was very striking. The one was lean and athletic in every line of his figure, with laughing grey eyes in a handsome face; the other, a stolid, fair-haired Fleming, whose square visage would have been rather colourless and commonplace but for the pleasant smile which showed his white teeth.
He followed Mrs. Dashwood's every movement with the expression of a grateful dog, and waited upon her hand and foot, doing his best to justify his presence there.
"Ah, you have better luck than I, Dashwood," he said in perfect English, with a doleful shrug of his shoulders.
"Don't worry, Van Drissel; keep smiling, as my fellows sing," laughed Captain Bob encouragingly. "Your turn will come, and we shall both march into Berlin one of these days."
"It is a long time," said the Belgian lieutenant gravely. "Even Ottilie here loses heart," and he looked across the table at his sister.
Mademoiselle Ottilie, as dark as her brother was fair, heaved a deep sigh and made a funny little gesture with her hands. "For myself, I dread to go back to poor Belgium," she murmured in broken English. "I wish it might be possible that perhaps I might stay here for evaire—you are all to me so kind."
"Mamma," said Billy with a perfectly grave face as he mimicked her accent, "I wish it might be possible that perhaps I could have that last piece of toast, eh?"
"Billy, go out of the room," said Mrs. Dashwood severely, but Mademoiselle Ottilie threw an impulsive arm round the young monkey's neck, and looked appealingly at his mother.
"Oh, no, please not, madame. He is so young," she interposed.