"Oh, zat iss what he say?" Florette cried. "Zat iss my brother—Armand—yess!"
She explained to her parents and then advanced upon Tom, who retreated to his second line of defence behind a chair to save himself from the awful peril of a grateful caress.
"He told me all about how your father fought in the Franco-Prussian War," Tom went on, "and he gave me this button and he said it was made from a cannon they used and——"
"Ah, yess, I know!" Florette exclaimed delightedly.
"He said if I should ever happen to be in Alsace all I'd have to do would be to show it to any French people and they'd help me. He said it was a kind of—a kind of a vow all the French people had—that the Germans didn't know anything about. And 'specially families that had men in the Franco-Prussian War. He told me how he escaped, too, and got to America, and about how he hit the German soldier that came to arrest you for singing the Marseillaise."
The girl's face colored with anger, and yet with pride.
"Mostly what we came here for," Tom added in his expressionless way, "was to get some food and get rested before we start again. We're going through Switzerland to join the Americans—and if you'll wait a little while you can sing the Marseillaise all you want."
Something in his look and manner as he sat there, uncouth and forlorn, sent a thrill through her.
"Zey are all like you?" she repeated. "Ze Americans?"
"Your brother and I got to be pretty good friends," said Tom simply; "he talked just like you. When we got to a French port—I ain't allowed to tell you the name of it—but when we got there he went away on the train with all the other soldiers, and he waved his hand to me and said he was going to win Alsace back. I liked him and I liked the way he talked. He got excited, like——"