As Sally had a matter-of-fact appreciation of the difference between idealistic theories in life and their practical application, which was rather unusual in so young a girl, it occurred to her at this moment to contemplate how extremely angry her Camp Fire guardian would be, should she attempt to speak to the two soldiers who were strangers to her. Reflecting upon Mrs. Burton’s disapproval should she adopt this method of following her advice, Sally’s brown eyes brightened, one of her infrequent dimples reappeared.
Then her expression changed; in spite of her momentary frivolity she was beginning to feel seriously troubled.
The two soldiers, one a French officer, the other an American private, had neither separated nor ended their misunderstanding.
Sally was only a girl, and one who expended little energy in thinking of the larger problems of life, yet she appreciated that at this time any disagreement between France and the United States in the settlement of the terms of peace would be a political calamity. Surely, any personal difficulty between a French and an American soldier was likewise a misfortune. One did not like to think that men who had been lately united against a common enemy and fighting for a common ideal could so soon quarrel with each other.
She moved a little nearer. She then saw the American soldier raise his arm as if intending to strike his companion, she also saw that the French officer either had forgotten the fact that an officer does not strike a private, or else preferred to ignore it.
Involuntarily Sally called out her feeble protest. No one heeded her. However, the officer, who was older, at the same moment evidently appreciating that he must not participate in a street fight, turned and without another word to his companion moved away.
He came back toward Sally Ashton.
This time she studied him more attentively. The French officer was young and of medium height with fine dark eyes and a rather prominent nose.
“Lieutenant Fleury!”
Sally extended her hand.