She smiled at him with all the beguilingly bête innocence of the young when flattered:
"You are too amiable, monsieur. I really do not understand why they gave me the Legion. To encourage all French children, perhaps—because I really am a dreadful coward." She tapped the holster on her thigh and gazed at him quite guilelessly out of wide[pg 330] and trustful eyes. "You see? I dare not even come here to wash my clothes unless I carry this—in case some Boche comes prowling."
"Whose pistol is it?" he asked.
"The weapon belongs to Monsieur Steek. When I come to wash here I borrow it."
"Are you the sweetheart of Monsieur Steek?" he inquired, mimicking her pronunciation of "Stick," and at the same time fixing his dark eyes boldly and expressively on hers.
"Does a young girl of my age have sweethearts?" she demanded scornfully.
"If she hasn't had one, it's time," he returned, staring hard at her with a persistent and fixed smile that had become almost offensive.
"Oh, la!" she exclaimed with a shrug of her youthful shoulders. "Perhaps you think I have time for such foolishness—what with housework to do and washing, and caring for my father, and my duties in the belfry every day!"
"Youth passes swiftly, belle Maryette."[pg 331]
"Imitate him, beau monsieur, and swiftly pass your way!"