One brilliant morning Miss Patricia entered the French officer’s room bearing a cup of bouillon to find him staring out a window which he had just opened in order to let in the air and for another purpose which Miss Patricia instantly suspected.
“Breaking parole,” she commented tersely.
The young officer had not heard her entrance. In return he swung round and laughed.
“Is that fair, Miss Lord? A cat may look at a king, comme cá why not at a number of queens? Besides, don’t you realize it is a miracle for a French soldier to be able to dream that these devastated fields of France are soon to become green and fruitful again? Having lost everything in the early days of the German invasion, my family, home, my small fortune, nevertheless I rejoice that for other French soldiers there may be a happier future when they return to their former homes, thanks to the great hearts of the American people!”
The young officer’s deep feeling and his quiet self-contained manner caused a lump to rise in Miss Patricia’s throat and a mist before her eyes. Therefore her manner became more belligerent than ever.
“Here, sit down and drink this,” she commanded. “I suppose you consider that you have entirely recovered your strength and that I am the veriest old termagant not to permit you to enjoy your convalescence with a group of more or less charming American girls. But as a matter of fact I am really protecting you as well as the girls. We have lived without masculine society, unless you wish to count old Jean, ever since our arrival at the farm house. So whatever your impression, I am afraid you would soon be overpowered with attention once I allowed you to leave this room.”
Lieutenant Fleury finished his bouillon with a proper degree of gratitude and enthusiasm before replying.
Afterwards he gazed at Miss Patricia for several moments in silence as if carefully considering a number of important matters.
The young French officer was of more than medium height, had dark eyes and hair, and except when he was talking, his expression was grave and sad. His arm remained bandaged.
“Miss Patricia, I do not wish to meet all your Camp Fire girls. I agree with you I am not strong enough to make myself agreeable to them. But I do wish to see one of them again. You are aware that I mean Miss Ashton. If ever a man had cause to be grateful to a girl—-”