At another place and under different circumstances this meeting would have been a most ordinary and commonplace event, but, somehow, in the shadowed and deserted farmhouse it seemed to have imparted to it a curiously dramatic effect.
It was Peur Jamais who broke a rather intense and awkward silence.
“Hello! You are here after all!” he cried.
“Ah! So it is some of my young friends, the aviateurs Americaines!” exclaimed the peasant. His manner was that of a man who had been startled by an unlooked-for intrusion, and, in consequence, felt considerably displeased. “In France, mes amis, before entering a dwelling one usually knocks.”
“So we do when we enter a dwelling,” said Peur Jamais, airily. “But what in the world are you doing here?”
“And, may I inquire, what in the world are you doing here?”
“We came to see you.”
“You came to see me! How did you get here?”
Thereupon George Glenn, who had a more fluent command of French than Bobby, smilingly explained.
“But, you must remember, people cannot go everywhere they please without knowing that they have the right,” said the peasant, chidingly.