“Not so much noise, Pom,” chided Lucie. “Did you hear the _pompier_ last night? I know you did for you trembled and whined your fear. Well, Paulette declares we would be safer in our old home, so we may take to the road again. Come, you must have your soldier clothes, for you may have to fight for us.” Pom Pom backed away, for this was a game that he did not care for, but seeing that there was no help for it he meekly submitted to being dressed up in the funny little coat and cap which Annette and Lucie had made for him. “Now come show yourself to the people,” said Lucie after he was attired. “You must let them see that there is a _poilu_ here to help in the defense of the city.” She carried him over to the open window and held him so he stood upright upon his hind legs, though he did not like this one little bit, and began to whine his protests. Lucie expostulated with him. “I am surprised at you, Pom Pom; a soldier of France, a _poilu_, to act as if he were afraid. That is no way to behave. You were brave enough when we were on the road. Here, here, show how you can sing the Marseillaise: ‘_Aux armes, citoyens_.’” A very shrill, high-pitched whine was Pom Pom’s accompaniment to Lucie’s song, the whine increasing in shrillness as the song proceeded. Presently Lucie was aware of an audience, for she heard a mirthful laugh, and looking across to the next window she saw the head of a bright-eyed little girl. “How he is amusing, this dog,” said the child. “Is he yours, and what is his name?” “Yes, he is mine and he is called Pom Pom,” Lucie replied. “He must be much company for you.” “Certainly I should be very lonely without him. I do not know in fact what would become of me without him when I am here so long alone.” “Why are you alone?” “Because I have no brothers or sisters. I know no one here in Paris. My father has gone to the war. My mother has gone to the hospital where he lies wounded. My grandfather has lost himself on the road to this city, and I have arrived here with only our old servant, Paulette. We were obliged to leave our home, you see, when the Germans came.” “Ah, but you are better off than I am, for your parents are still living. My dear papa was killed in the war, and my mamma died, the little baby too; it was such a little baby, and she was too ill to make such a long journey on foot. I am here with the old aunt of my father, and we lodge with a friend of hers. They must both go to work every day, so I am also alone. It is very _triste_, this place, is it not? One misses so many things, particularly the animals and the garden.” “You mean this Paris? You do not belong here then?” “No, I come from Picardy.” “Then we are comrades,” cried Lucie, “for I come from the Aisne district, and like you I have left my home to come to this place of refuge. What is your name?” “I am called Odette, Odette Moreau.” “And I am Lucie Du Bois.” “I wish I could come to see you and your dog,” said Odette.