Brent smiled like a boy.
“Trust a Frenchwoman to be practical! Just what I wanted. Now then.”
They sat down side by side in the open street, with the February sunlight shining on them, and the silence of Beaucourt unbroken save by their two voices. Brent had the note-book open on his knee, and he was looking critically at the house.
“Now then, let’s be obvious. What do you see?”
Her intense and glowing seriousness delighted him. It was like playing a game with a charming child.
“I see no roof,” she said.
“Exactly. That’s the most obvious thing. Let’s start with that. A roof means timber, corrugated iron, nails, a saw, a hammer, a jemmy or iron bar for getting the stuff. That’s bedrock. I’ll make notes of all these—under the word ‘Roof.’ ”
She looked over his shoulder while he wrote.
“How pleasant it looks on paper. We must find all that we can in Beaucourt. Can we not go now, at once?”
He turned and looked at her with eyes that laughed.