So they pumped and filled the crocks, and one man got hold of one and Doggie got hold of another, and they carried them to the kitchen steps.
“Merci, monsieur,” said Toinette to the first; and he went away with a friendly nod. But to Doggie she said, “Entrez, monsieur.” And monsieur carried the two crocks over the threshold and Toinette shut the door behind him. And there, sitting over some needlework in a corner of the kitchen by a lamp, sat Jeanne.
She looked up rather startled, frowned for the brief part of a second, and regarded him inquiringly.
“I brought in monsieur to show him the photograph of mon petiot, the comrade who sent me the snuff,” explained Toinette, rummaging in a cupboard.
“May I stay and look at it?” asked Doggie, buttoning up his tunic.
“Mais parfaitement, monsieur,” said Jeanne. “It is Toinette’s kitchen.”
“Bien sûr,” said the old woman, turning with the photograph, that of a solid young infantryman. Doggie made polite remarks. Toinette put on a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles and scanned the picture. Then she handed it to Jeanne.
“Don’t you think there is a great deal of resemblance?”
Jeanne directed a comparing glance at Doggie and smiled.
“Like two little soldiers in a pod,” she said.