"Thank you, but we've been on shipboard for so many days that we'll enjoy the chance to stretch our legs," replied Major Wells. "A walk of a few miles would do us a lot of good this morning."
"It is not that far," replied the French captain, who spoke excellent
English. "The distance is, I should say, about two kilometers."
As that meant a little more than a mile the party walked off briskly.
"Why, this doesn't look really like a French town," declared Major
Wells.
"You Americans have been coming here for so many months that you have made the city American," explained Captain Ribaut. "See, even the shops display signs in English, and very few in French. It is on American money that these shops thrive. Here comes one of our own poilus, a sight you will not see many times in this American town on French soil."
Poilus is a French word meaning "shaggy," and is commonly applied to the French enlisted man. As this French soldier drew close he brought up his hand in smart salute to his own officer and the Americans. Greg turned to look back, but the French soldier was no longer looking their way.
Up the street, away from where the Ninety-ninth American sentries were posted, soldiers of the American military police patrolled.
"You see how American this city has become," said Captain Ribaut. "Here French law runs only for citizens of France. Your American military authorities look after your own men."
French shopkeepers, speaking a quaint, broken English, came to their shop doors to greet the Americans, even to urge the newcomers to enter and buy, but Captain Ribaut waved all such aside with a simple gesture.
Further on they passed through a public square. By this time many French people were about, but Dick noted that they betrayed no curiosity over the appearance of newly arrived American officers. The sight had become an old story to these people who, however, bowed courteously as they passed.