“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?”
Pierre Nesle stammered something. He was not sure. He had heard that the Commandant Chéri was wounded at Verdun.
The girl understood perfectly.
“He is dead, then? Maman will be very sorry.”
She did not cry. There was not even a quiver of her lips. She shook hands with Brand and said:
“I must go and tell maman. Will you come and see us one day?”