Paulette wiped her eyes and allowed herself to be led to a chair. “It was all because of that child,” she said. “I accepted the report and believed I had lost you. Did she? Not at all. ‘It is not true,’ she said. ‘I shall not believe it till we have the proof.’ It is she who has kept me in heart, for not once would she believe it.” “Why did you of all others refuse to believe it?” asked Jean, looking at Odette. “I do not know,” the girl returned. “Why should one believe an unhappy thing till one is obliged to?” Jean nodded thoughtfully. “It is good philosophy,” he returned. “Why I was reported missing I do not know, but yes, I think I do, for there is a Jean Ribaud who was taken prisoner. The names sound the same, you see.” “I am sorry for that other poor Jean,” said Odette. “As you would have been sorry for me? Probably he had no Nenette and Rintintin to protect him.” A flashing smile lighted up Odette’s face as she picked up a bucket to go for water. Jean looked at his mother who had now quite recovered her calm, and who rose, upon hospitality intent, and went into the little kitchen. Then Jean’s eyes turned toward Odette’s vanishing form. It was Odette whom he followed. The smile which dawned upon Paulette’s face ended in a little chuckle. Three days later Jean was back with his _copains_. The evening he took his departure Paulette and Odette knelt side by side for a long time in the dusk of the little church. The next news was that Italy, who had already broken with Austria-Hungary, had declared war on Germany. The battle of the Somme continued. Roumania, siding with the Allies, entered the war only to be utterly crushed. The end of the war appeared further off than ever. The old joyous days seemed over for both Lucie and Annette. Tragedy was too near them. What was the outcome for France? Madame Guerin’s face grew grimmer and sharper. Madame Le Brun became more feeble. The days of fatness were over. So many things were scarce. Poor little Madame Le Brun fretted at the short rations, especially she missed sugar. “Of course,” she said, she was willing to make sacrifices for the soldiers, for her country, but why sugar? “You are so childish, Marcelline,” said her sister. “Look at Lucie and Annette; they never make a complaint, and surely girls like sugar as well as you do.” “They can eat anything, which I cannot do,” returned Madame Le Brun plaintively. “I am sure, grandma, I am perfectly willing to give up anything but bare necessities, if it will do Gaspard any good,” said Annette. “Well, but I have no Gaspard,” returned her grandmother with some asperity. “If I were young and romantic I might feel differently.” “Poor grandmother,” said Annette to Lucie when they were alone, “I wish I had a ration of sugar to give her, for I do not mind in the least going without.” “Nor I. If it does my father any good, I am willing to live on the very plainest fare.”