Toinette talked of her petiot who was at St. Mihiel. It was far away, very far. She sighed as though he were fighting remote in the Caucasus.
Presently came the sharp ring of a bell. Jeanne put aside her work and rose.
“It is my aunt who has awakened.”
But Toinette was already at the door. “I will go up, Ma’amselle Jeanne. Do not derange yourself.”
She bustled away. Once more the pair found themselves alone together.
“If you don’t continue your sewing, mademoiselle,” said Doggie, “I shall think that I am disturbing you, and must bid you good night.”
Jeanne sat down and resumed her work. A sensation, more like laughter than anything else, fluttered round Doggie’s heart.
“Voulez-vous vous asseoir, Monsieur—Trevor?”
“Vous êtes bien aimable, Mademoiselle Jeanne,” said Doggie, sitting down on a straight-backed chair by the oilcloth-covered kitchen table which was between them.
“May I move the lamp slightly?” he asked, for it hid her from his view.