"And has he on his head the crown of gold?"
"No, ma petite, but he has in his heart the Sons of France."
"And Clément and Fernand and Alphonse also?"
Claire René waited while Jacques passed his fingers through her hair. "Yes, ma petite," he said at last.
Claire René wished that she had more hands and feet and lips and eyes and more than such a little body to hold her joy. She made circles of dancing about Jacques on their way back to the cottage. She said her happiness was so great that she might fly up into the sky and laugh from the tops of the trees. "Dear Jacques," she said as they paused at the dried garden patch, "do you think to-morrow they will come—my brothers?"
Jacques shook his head.
"Do you think one day from to-morrow?"
Again Jacques shook his head.
But Claire René was busy in her thoughts. She turned suddenly and threw her arms about him. "Will you again walk the miles of the forest for Claire René, will you?"
"But—why—for what reason, ma petite?"