As Clethera propped the glass again in place, she heard Jules come in. She resumed her sweeping with resolute strokes on the bare boards, which would explain to his ear the necessity of her presence. He appeared at the door, and it was Honoré!
“HE APPEARED AT THE DOOR, AND IT WAS HONORÉ”
It was Honoré, shamefaced but laughing, back from the war within twenty-four hours! Clethera heard the broom-handle strike the floor as one hears the far-off fall of a spar on a ship in harbor. She put her palms together, without flying into his arms or even offering to shake hands.
“You come back?” she cried out, her voice sharpened by joy.
“The war is end',” said Honoré. “Peace is declare' yesterday!” He threw his bundle down and looked fondly around the rough walls. “All de peop' laugh at me because I go to war when de war is end'!”
“They laugh because de war is end'! I laugh too?” said Clethera, relaxing to sobs. Tears and cries which had been shut up a day and a night were let loose with French abandon. Honoré opened his arms to comfort her in the old manner, and although she rushed into them, strange embarrassment went with her. The two could not look at each other.
“It is de 'omesick,” she explained. “When you go to war it make me 'omesick.”