“And I only a year younger,” Lucie said. “Why do I seem so young to you, Odette?” “Because you still have things to expect, to hope for. I have nothing, because all has been taken.” “Oh, but Odette!” “La, la, let us not speak of it. I shall laugh and be gay, very gay like the soldiers. Is it for the soldiers you are knitting?” “Yes, but I cannot do the toe of my sock without Paulette. I am very stupid about it.” “Ah, that is where I can help you, for I have been knitting socks for so long a time I cannot remember when I began it. Give me your knitting, I shall like to work upon it.” She took the sock which Lucie handed to her, and at once made the needles fly so fast that Lucie looked on in admiration. “What a brisk worker,” exclaimed the latter. “You are very clever, Odette.” “Oh, not at all. I do everything at a gallop; it has always been my way. Where is it that your father is?” “Somewhere in the provinces, Paulette said, and he will then be sent to another place where the convalescents are. Paulette is so timid, so afraid in this Paris that she will not venture anywhere that she is not obliged to go, neither will she allow me to go. I think there may be places where one could find out things, but we are ignorant of them, and can only do so much.” Odette nodded understandingly. “We of the country are afraid in this city so large. Me, when the time comes I shall go back to the country, somewhere in the country. I know not where; so says my aunt and so say I.” “Hark,” said Lucie, jumping up, “there comes Paulette. She may seem severe, but she is kind, oh, so kind, and you will not mind when she looks at you sharply; it is her way, that is all.” “One knows the way of these old ones,” returned Odette imperturbably, going on with her knitting. Paulette came to the door, and, as Lucie had warned, looked sharply at the little visitor. “And pray who is this?” she asked. “It is our next door neighbor, Odette Moreau.” “Then you have opened the door to her,” Paulette said this disapprovingly. Odette looked up with a mischievous smile. “That she did not, Madame,” she said. “One cannot open it without a key,” said Paulette, shaking her head, “and there is no other way of entering.” “Ah, but there is, Madame, and I took that way.” There was such a roguish look in Odette’s eyes that Lucie laughed. “You are mocking me, and trying to deceive me, but me, I am not one to be deceived even in this so great city,” declared Paulette. “But I am not deceiving you,” protested Odette, “and if you wish to know how I entered I will tell you that it was by the window.” “The window!” Paulette gazed at the window of the little room as if she expected to see at least a ladder there. “Not this one, but that in the other room,” Odette went on. “There is a small balcony there if you remember.” “But one cannot reach it except from the room. That is a poor method, mademoiselle, of getting out of a bad situation.”