Her voice was low and full of a terror which she seemed unable to overcome and as she looked fearfully about Tom was reminded of the night when they had talked together alone in the arbor.
"They didn't catch me yet and they won't," he said. "They're not scouts. Come on."
She followed him out of the upturned earth and down the line, where he strode like a lord of creation. Never so much as a glance did he deign to give a soldier. A few of the young women who dared to look up watched the two as they cut across a field and, whispering, some said her lot would be worse than she suspected—that her arrest was only a ruse.... They came nearer to the truth in that than they knew.
Others spoke enviously, saying that, whatever befell her, at least she would have a little rest. The more bold among them continued to steal covert glances as the two went across the field, and fell to work again with a better submission, noticing the overbearing demeanor of the brutal young officer who had arrested their companion.
"You are come again," she finally said timidly; "like ze good genii." It was difficult for her to speak, but Tom was willing for her to cry and seem agitated, for they were coming to houses now, where crippled soldiers sat about and children scurried, frightened, out of their path and called their mothers who came out to stare.
"My father—I may not yet talk——"
"Yes, you can talk now. I know all about it."
"Everything you know—you are wonderful. He told us how ze zheneral, he say, 'Lafayette, we are here!' And now you are here——"
"I told you you could sing the Marseillaise again," he said simply. "When we get over there, you can."
"You have come before zem, even," she said, her voice breaking with emotion. "I cannot speak, you see, but some day ze Americans, zey will be here, and you are here ze first——"