“It seems I am always bound to be impolite, for I don’t think I thanked you,” smiled Doggie.
“You were at the end of your tether.” Then very gently, “Pauvre garçon!”
“The sales Boches had kept us awake for four nights,” said Doggie. “That was why.”
“And you are rested now?”
He laughed. “Almost.”
They were at the door. He looked out and drew back. A knot of men were gathered by the gate of the yard. Apparently she had seen them too, for a flush rose to her pale cheeks.
“Mademoiselle,” said Doggie, “I should like to creep back to the barn and sleep. If I pass my comrades they’ll want to detain me.”
“That would be a pity,” she said demurely. “Come this way, monsieur.”
She led him through a room and a passage to the kitchen. They shared a pleasurable sense of adventure and secrecy. At the kitchen door she paused and spoke to an old woman chopping up vegetables.
“Toinette, let monsieur pass.” To Doggie she said: “Au revoir, monsieur!” and disappeared.