“But monsieur--” Lucie began to protest. “La la, there is nothing to say, not a word. Let us go in and see what that Marianne has for us.” There was indeed nothing to do but to accept the hospitality so readily offered, so Lucie went in, but though her host did his best to make her feel at ease and to declare himself fortunate in having the opportunity of entertaining a guest at table, Lucie felt too troubled to enjoy her meal very much, though she realized that Fate had been kinder to her than to most refugees. She made an effort to appear cheerful, but her wistful smile went to Mons. Carriere’s heart, and made him even more fatherly in his manner toward her. He left her to Paulette when the meal was over, and then these two conferred together. “I am troubled, so troubled, Paulette,” said Lucie. “I am most unfortunate. My father wounded, my mother lost, my grandfather who knows where?” “Take heart, my child, it is not so bad as it appears,” Paulette made the effort to console her. “It is much better than yesterday when your only shelter was a cow shed and you were entirely alone. Your father lives, we are assured, and since he has recovered thus far we may believe that he has turned the corner. Your mother is with him, no doubt, and as for your grandfather, there is no need to worry about him, for he is with friends who will look after him. One must do what one can in these times, and I have my belief that we shall find him in Paris waiting for us.” “Then do we go on at once?” “Not at once. In another day, I think. We must give them another day. This is a good place. One finds it peaceful, restful. This Marianne so friendly, monsieur so kind. Yes, it is not showing appreciation to hurry away without reason. Another day, _chèrie_. We will take a good night’s rest and let the morrow take care of itself.” “Do you think grandfather will be here then?” “It may be. If not we shall meet him in Paris. We have had that message of his. It is enough.” And with this Lucie was obliged to be satisfied. It had been an eventful day, but its excitements appeared to Lucie no greater than those to which she looked forward in that great city of Paris, which place she half feared, then longed to see. Was it there that their home was to be henceforth, and what would it be like? She could not form any picture of it in her mind, but wherever it might be it was there that she would next see her parents. She fell asleep wondering how soon they would all be united, and slept soundly, the “so intelligent dog” curled up at her feet. She awoke bright and early the next morning, at first imagining herself back in her own room, though she soon perceived the difference and sat up, the better to observe what she had failed to take in the night before. It was a clean, orderly little room adorned with such things as appeal to a young man’s taste, and she concluded that one of those three sons must have occupied it before he went soldiering.