She turned to Doggie. “One would say, monsieur, that you were the Three Musketeers.”
“Possibly, mademoiselle,” laughed Doggie. He had not felt so light-hearted for many months. “But we lack a d’Artagnan.”
“When you find him, bring him to me,” said the girl.
“Mademoiselle,” said Phineas gallantly, “we would not be such imbeciles.”
At that moment the voice of Toinette came from within.
“Ma’amselle Jeanne! Ma’amselle Jeanne!”
“Oui, oui, j’y viens,” she cried. “Bon soir, messieurs,” and she was gone.
Doggie looked into the empty vestibule and smiled at the friendly brandy cask. Provided it is pronounced correctly, so as to rhyme with the English “Anne,” it is a very pretty name. Doggie thought she looked like Jeanne—a Jeanne d’Arc of this modern war.
“Yon’s a very fascinating lassie,” Phineas remarked soberly, as they started on their stroll. “Did you happen to observe that all the time she was talking so prettily she was looking at ghosts behind us?”
“Do you think so?” asked Doggie, startled.