Mademoiselle suddenly laid a hand on her shoulder, and drew her into one of the little music-rooms.
"For me perhaps also the words I used said what I did not altogether mean," she said slowly, "though I have not your excuse, my child, of finding your language 'slippy,' having been in this country since I was more young than you. I think I was not just to say you were not English, because you did not understand."
"Thank you awfully," Joey murmured.
"And your father has died for his country?" Mademoiselle went on. "Mine died when I was more young than you, but that was of a broken heart."
"Because of the Germans winning?" Joey ventured.
"My home was in Alsace," said Mademoiselle. "You—how would you have felt if the great Foch, the great Haig, and the great Americans had not conquered with the help of God, and your home had been handed over to the Hun."
"I don't know," Joey said. It was unthinkable.
"You don't know; you are fortunate. I had to know. But that is over, thank God; we have waited almost fifty years, but it is over."
Mademoiselle de Lavernais seemed to have forgotten her, Joey thought; her dull black eyes had lit up—her plain, tired face was quite transformed. Joey wondered whether she ought to slip out and go to the maths mistress—another apology would certainly be needed there. Fortunately, Mademoiselle came back to earth in a minute. "But what do I talk of? We should both be at our classrooms, you, I fear, will be in trouble in that you are late. My class will merely rejoice that cross old Maddy has given them a little longer of liberty to chatter in English. Should you not be at mathematics? Come with me."