“What are you doing here? Are you watching the grass grow?”
Luc, cheered up, smiled: “P'raps.”
She continued: “It's not growing fast, is it?”
He answered, still laughing: “Not exactly.”
She went on. But when she came back with her pail full of milk, she stopped before them and said:
“Want some? It will remind you of home.”
She had, perhaps instinctively, guessed and touched the right spot.
Both were moved. Then not without difficulty, she poured some milk into the bottle in which they had brought their wine. Luc started to drink, carefully watching lest he should take more than his share. Then he passed the bottle to Jean. She stood before them, her hands on her hips, her pail at her feet, enjoying the pleasure that she was giving them. Then she went on, saying: “Well, bye-bye until next Sunday!”
For a long time they watched her tall form as it receded in the distance, blending with the background, and finally disappeared.
The following week as they left the barracks, Jean said to Luc: