"No, Mademoiselle, an American."
"American! And you've fought long for France?"
"More than two years."
"You were living in France?"
"No, Mademoiselle, in America. But I could not stand what happened in Belgium. And so I came. It's very simple."
"But you speak French----"
"German and Italian. I've been much in Europe. I had a gift for languages. But I'm not of much account otherwise. I'm a ne'er-do-well--a black sheep." He grinned at her.
"I do look rather black now, don't I? You'd be surprised to see how much better I look when I'm clean."
"I don't doubt it, Monsieur."
Youth called to youth. Her laugh echoed softly among the venerable trees and as she raised her chin, the cowl slipped from her head again disclosing her curly hair, a copper-colored nimbus against the glow of the lantern.