We put our flowers with him, and went away Madame Bayle always saying, "C'est triste tout de même, d'être comme ça, tout seul."
The wounded went so fast ahead of us out of the cemetery that Madame Bayle could not keep up at all.
She panted, "They are so glad to get out of it, poor boys, poor boys. They will wait for us at the entrance; We will go all of us together to the café on the right of the entrance for our 'little glass.'"
Thursday, July 20th: Little Florist
Very early this morning, on my way to the hospital, I stopped at the little florist's shop round the corner, near the church, to get some blue and purple larkspur and crimson ramble-roses.
It was so early, I was afraid Jeannette would not yet be back with the day's flowers from the great central markets.
It is Jeannette, the younger, pretty sister, who goes every morning to choose the fresh flowers, and Caroline, who in the meanwhile puts the little shop in order to receive them, washing their window and filling their bowls and vases with water, and scrubbing out the floor.
Caroline is not yet twenty-five years old, and Jeannette is eighteen. They are quite alone now to keep the little shop.
Their father is paralyzed, helpless, and they must take care of him.
The brother, who used to take care of them all, is at the war.