"I am Maryette Courtray, bell-mistress of Sainte Lesse," she answered, trembling.
"And—this young man?"
"They shot him—the Prussians, monsieur."[pg 207]
"My poor child! Was he your lover, then?"
Her tear-filled eyes widened:
"Oh, no," she said naïvely; "it is sadder than that. He was my friend."
The big gendarme scratched his chin; then, with an odd glance at the young airman who stood beside him:
"To lose a friend is indeed sadder than to lose a lover. What was your friend's name, little one?"
She pressed her hand to her forehead in an effort to search among her partly paralyzed thoughts:
"Djack.... That is his name.... He was the first real friend I ever had."