“Oh no, sir. Different type!”
The woman showed some mild interest at the sight of the car, and exchanged banter in pidgin English with the chauffeur and policeman. The invitation from the latter “promenade,” and the smiling, flattered refusal “promenade no bon!” could be heard. Then she entered and stood before them.
“Bonjour, offizer, what you want?”
“Will you kindly tell the Maire’s Secretary one waits to see him.”
“You want billets?” in English. “Billets na poo!”
“No!” Dormer was always piqued when his French was disregarded or misunderstood. “We want M. Blanquart!”
“All right.” She returned with him in a moment.
“M. Blanquart, we have been to the farm and seen Vanderlynden. He’s very busy, and we didn’t get much out of him, but we gather his daughter has left home. Do you know her address?”
A look of incredulity visited the face of the schoolmaster. He pointed across the square. “There. She has taken the ‘Lion of Flanders.’ She gives lunch to officers!”
When this was conveyed to the A.P.M. he was considerably annoyed. “Why couldn’t that old fool Vander what’s-his-name say so?”