She hummed the air of “La Tour, Prends Garde,” that old song which the French children sing and act so prettily in the summer evenings, reminding us of our own “London Bridge is Falling Down.” Gorgas touched the words softly,
“Mon duc, mon prince!
Mon duc, mon prince!
Je viens me plaindre à vous.”
“Duke and prince?” he shook his head. “I’m too American for that.”
Without further word she sang the next stanza,
“Mon capitaine,
Mon colonel!
Que me demandez-vous?”
“Ah, that’s better,” Blynn smiled.