There were few traces of tears upon the little girl’s face when she returned, and she gave Paulette a smile as she went out with Pom Pom to hunt for eggs. “She is a marvel, that child,” murmured Paulette. “It is not only for me who adore her to see that, but it is the same with others, so brave, so cheerful. Hark, she sings of that Jeanne who is cheerful all the day, like herself. Ah, my little heart, sing while you can. There may come a day when you cannot.” Determined not to look forward to trouble Lucie went on toward the hen house, Pom Pom leaping and barking as he accompanied her. This was a great game, for he could nose about in the hay and bark when he came upon a nest. It was not always the right nest, but that did not matter; it was just as amusing to him though it might not be to the hen who was in possession and who would fly madly off squawking a protest. In due time a sufficient number of eggs filled the little basket Lucie carried. She might not participate in the preparation of the omelette, for that must be made at exactly the right moment and be served at once, but she could watch for her grandfather and be ready to greet him in the manner of her mother. “Well, grandfather, how has gone the day? Not badly, I hope. And you are not too tired. I will take your hat and stick. The meal is almost ready, so come in and rest.” He looked down at her keenly. She knew what he was thinking about and opened her eyes very wide that he might see there were no tears in them. He laid his hand gently on her head. “Dear daughter,” he murmured, “dear daughter.” She took his hat and stick and put them in their place, then took her mother’s place at the table upon which Paulette was already setting the plates of soup. Neither of the two was able to eat very heartily, though they made a pretence of it and spoke at length of the excellence of Paulette’s omelette, and each tried to hearten the other by making foolish little jokes, but the meal was soon over, then although Lucie was ready to help Paulette with the dishes she would have none of it, but sent her off to keep her grandfather company. It was not till almost dark that she found him sitting alone in the twilight, his hands upon the arms of the big chair by a window of his own room, his eyes fixed upon the eastern sky which reflected the afterglow in soft tints of rose and purple. Lucie seated herself upon his knee and his arms folded around her. Neither spoke but there was silent comfort in this nearness. At last the old man put the child gently from him. “I must see Antoine Le Brun,” he said. “Let us keep a great hope in our hearts, my child. To-morrow we may hear. God grant it to be good news.” So he left her and Lucie went down to the kitchen to find Paulette telling her beads, with Mousse drowsing on the window sill beside her and Pom Pom curled up in a heap at her feet.