“Captain” Grace nodded and gave her companion a warning look, for Marie was faintly heard coming up the stairs. Grace said it was time to close and go home.
“Marie, you have done well. Thank you. Madame should be pleased.”
“Nothing will please her,” complained the French girl.
Elfreda said she agreed with Marie, and declared that the maid was a girl of good common sense, which made Marie smile, a thing she seldom did. The three went home together, Grace engaging the maid in conversation most of the way, asking her questions about her home in France, her family and how she came to be with the Army of Occupation. Marie said that Madame was billeted in her home and had asked her to come along with the welfare workers.
Reaching the house Grace thrust a hand to the maid, a bright new shining franc piece resting in the palm.
Marie Debussy drew herself up, shook her head, and smiled as she opened the door and entered Mrs. Smythe’s apartment.
“My! What offended dignity,” exclaimed Elfreda when the girls had gained their own room. “Did you see the look she gave you?”
“Yes,” answered Grace meekly, placing a finger on her lips and giving Miss Briggs a warning glance. “Remember, Elfreda,” she reminded in a low tone, “if I talk rather erratically at any time this evening and place my finger on my cheek this way, you will understand that I have a motive, and that you are not to express any opinions out loud,” whispered Grace in her companion’s ear.
“It is my opinion that you have too many motives,” whispered Miss Briggs in reply. “My head is swimming already. Well, here we are home again,” she added out loud. “I’m sick of war and everybody in it. Suppose we have some chow and forget war.”