Mr. Roquevillard smiled, and glanced at his companion. “How could you, from this distance?”
She laughed with him at this, graciously.
“There is a large red ribbon on the mountain.”
“And you read in the sky: ‘Hubert Roquevillard, twenty-eight years old, lieutenant of marines, decorated for bravery in war, recommended for promotion, campaign in China, defence of Pei-Tung.’”
“Indeed, I do,” she agreed: “I can read it all quite distinctly.”
She scrutinised the path again. “And Maurice. I don’t see Maurice.”
“He’s further back, I think, with some one else.”
Mrs. Roquevillard, satisfied, placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder.
“That must be our son-in-law, Charles Marcellaz. The roll is complete. I count them always, just as I did when they were little—Germaine, Hubert, Maurice, Margaret.”
“And Felicie was always absent,” he said.