She had, during her stay in Paris, become used to hearing little but French spoken. Speaking it so perfectly herself, she did not think she minded the lack of the sound of English. Yet suddenly, while the train stood for some time and for some mysterious reason at a little station, she heard through the open window a high-pitched voice singing a popular music hall ditty—and it sounded good!
"Yet I suppose he is intoxicated. He seems to be," she said to a man in uniform with the empty coatsleeve, who had strolled along the platform to speak to her with the camaraderie which it seemed was quite customary.
"But no, Mademoiselle. He is one Anglais blessé—a grand blessé. In an ambulance behind there," with a characteristic shrug of the shoulder indicating the direction. "They wait for the train sanitaire. He is one of these air pilots, it is said, and fell with his Nieuport—such a young man! And with red hair," added the one-armed poilu, as though the last fact made it all the more sad.
This information startled Belinda. She jumped up from her seat and rushed to the door, which stood open, for the soldiers returning from furlough who occupied the compartment with her had all stepped out.
"Where is he?" she demanded of the one-armed man. "Show him to me," she added as she leaped to the platform.
"But even you can do nothing for him, Mademoiselle," he said flatteringly. "He is delirious. They have removed both his legs. The ambulancier states that he cannot live."
Of course, it was foolish of her. Frank Sanderson could not possibly have joined the Aviation Corps, been assigned to this sector, and fallen with his airplane all in a few days' time! Yet the suggestion made her run around behind the station to where the now weakening voice of the singer still chanted the foolish song in English.
One look at the white face on the stretcher reassured her. But, oh, he was so young! And his eyes burned so brightly! He thought in his delirium that he knew her and he smiled and tried to reach forth his hand to her.
"Hi, there, Flossy! Was it you singin' that jolly bit? My word! but you're a long way from home."
"She doesn't understand you, old scout," said the American ambulance driver. "She's French like the rest of 'em."