“Mon ami, it is a beautiful thought; but it is not possible.”
She saw the muscles of his jaw tighten.
“You mean that it is impossible for me to stay here?”
“No, no! But how can you put a roof on my house? Where are the wood and the tiles to come from? Besides——”
He began to smile.
“It could be done.”
“But—you are dreaming?”
“I’m very wide awake,” he said, “and I say that it could be done. You have not seen as much of Beaucourt as I have. There are army huts over there—a little knocked about—but I could get enough timber and corrugated iron out of them to do the job. You see—ten years ago I was building houses with my own hands.”
“Are you serious?”
“I was never more serious in my life.”