“Any news of him?” asked Brand.
“Not a word. How could there be? Perhaps in a few days he will walk into Lille. So maman says.”
“That would be splendid!” said Brand. “What is his name?”
“Chéri, M. le Commandant Anatole Chéri, 59th Brigade, artillerie lourde.”
The girl spoke her father’s name proudly.
I saw a startled look come into the eyes of Pierre Nesle as he heard the name. In English he said to Brand: “I knew him at Verdun. He was killed.”
Wickham Brand drew a sharp breath, and his voice was husky when he spoke, in English, too.
“What cruelty it all is!”
The girl with the pig-tail—a tall young creature with a delicate face and big brown eyes—stared at Pierre Nesle and then at Wickham Brand. She asked an abrupt question of Pierre.
“Is my father dead?”