However, Madame Bonnèt was watching for their approach and came out at once and put her arm through Eugenia’s.
“We have news of your husband, Captain Castaigne. No, it is not good news, my dear, although he is not dead, nor is he a prisoner,” she said without waiting, knowing how hard delay would be for Eugenia.
Besides, she must take up her burden.
“You would rather not be with us, Nona. Then you stay here in the garden while I talk to Madame Castaigne alone.”
Nona had a sensation of utter gratitude when she saw Eugenia and Madame Bonnèt enter the tiny little French house together. There had been that in Madame Bonnèt’s face and manner which made Nona feel no one else could be so wise or so kind. Besides, Eugenia would be braver than most people. She had not been so young as the rest of the group of American Red Cross girls at the beginning of the war and certainly her experiences since had left their impression.
Nona found a little bench in the garden at some distance from Madame Bonnèt’s house and sat down. She had not fully realized how her knees were trembling and how utterly cowardly she felt, so much so that she wished even now to be as far away as possible, so as not by any chance to see Eugenia’s meeting with her husband, or hear any sound that she might make.
She had been sitting there alone for several moments when the little French girl, Jeanne, came slowly down the path toward her. For the first time Jeanne was without her Captain and for the first time she appeared unhappy. Indeed, she looked as if she were fighting back tears.
“She wished to see him alone and without me,” Jeanne explained, taking the seat next her, which Nona indicated. “I think it would have been wiser had I stayed with him. Madame Bonnèt came out to tell me that he did not know her when they first met. She thinks he may know her later. Madame Bonnèt left them alone, also, but I hope she will not ask him any questions. It makes him so tired when people ask questions.”
Nona noticed that Jeanne carefully avoided using Eugenia’s name or even Captain Castaigne’s. But it was simple enough to understand Jeanne’s emotions, they were not so unlike many older persons’. She had found her Captain’s friends; more than that, she had discovered the one human being who cared for him most, and this was what they had set out upon their pilgrimage to seek. But now her Captain had no longer the same need for her and Jeanne had no one else.
Understanding her mood, Nona slipped her arm across the little girl’s shoulders, but very gently and hesitatingly, for Jeanne might not care for her caress. She had a curious pride and dignity, this little French Jeanne, which no one could fail to respect.