Noll roused:
“Oh, yes—let me see—where were we?”
He laughed embarrassedly:
“Oh, yes—we’re to march her across Paris to the tune of the Marseillaise.... We’ve been practising the Marseillaise all night, Gaston Latour’s hunting-horn going full blare. We’ve been raising the ghosts—I can—promise you.... It’s a strange—thing—how few patriots know the words of—their own—national anthem! However—tra-la-la, sung loud enough—goes a long way—to—express a patriot’s parochial emotion. An-extra—ordinary—long—way——”
He mumbled into a drowse.
Betty made a last effort to tell him, before he should relapse into sleep:
“Such a strange thing has happened—to me—Noll,” she said.
“Y-e-s?” drawled he, missing the shy hint.
There was a long silence.
His heavy breathing told that he slept.