Elodie caught sight of him and rushed and threw herself into his arms, and embraced him rapturously.
"Oh, my André, it is good to have you back. O mon petit homme--how I have been longing for this moment. Now the war is finished, you will not leave me again ever. Et te voilà Général. You must be proud, eh? But your uniform? I who had made certain I should see you in uniform."
He smiled at her characteristic pounce on externals.
"I no longer belong to the Army, my little Elodie," he replied, walking with her, his porter in front, to the barrier.
"Mais tu es toujours Général?" she asked anxiously.
"I keep the rank," said Andrew.
"And the uniform? You can wear it? You will put it on sometimes to please me?"
They drove home through twilight Paris, her arm passed through his, while she chattered gaily. Was it not good to smell Paris again after London with its fogs and ugliness and raw beefsteaks? To-night she would give him such a dinner as he had never eaten in England--and not for two years. Did he realize that it was two years since he had seen her?
"Mon Dieu," said he, "so it is."
"And you are pleased to have me again?"