“Madame,” he continued, shutting his golden box with a snap, “Guillaumette is right. We will take a cup of coffee and then we will ride to Saverne. Those fellows là-bas are going to fight. The glory will come afterwards. We shall return for that—you and I. There is always the glory for those who know how to come back. And we shall find Monsieur a colonel. I have just passed him on the road and told him so. ‘Madame and I are going to Saverne while you send those Prussians to the devil,’ I said. He is of my opinion. He has confidence in me, Monsieur votre mari. And Madame will share it. I have no doubt of it. She has ordered her pony already. She will give old Jules Picard a cup of coffee—and then, en avant. Oh, my child, what a cry is that when your back is towards the enemy and the guns are beyond the hills!”
He climbed from his horse laboriously and stood beside her, his enormous sombrero hat in his hand. There was no braver man in France, and she knew it, but she laughed at his assumption of her assent and did not seek to hide that laughter from him.
“Come,” she said, “we will have our coffee in the garden. We shall see the valley from there. And we can talk about Saverne afterwards. You will stay to déjeuner, Monsieur Picard?”
The old man raised his hands melodramatically.
“Madame,” he asked, “do I hear you aright?”
“I hope so.”
“And you will not ride to Saverne?”
“Not for all the soldiers in Prussia.”
“Then God be praised for His mercies.”