Lucie moved close up to her and put her arms tightly around her. “My little Odette,” she whispered, “my dear Odette whom I love. I shall miss my dear dog, but I am thankful that I have you, my friend.” “Lucie, Lucie,” murmured Odette, “you do not know how I love you, how I have longed to have you love me. I am only a little peasant girl, but I can be faithful and true. Do you know that many times when I have seen you fondling your dog I have wished that I, too, were a dog, for then some one might be as good to me as you were to Pom Pom.” “That seems very sad,” returned Lucie, “but it is better to be a friend than a dog, and that you are and always will be. Do you know what I think, Odette? I think when this war is over that it would be a fine thing for you to go back with us to our town. We must see about that. I shall talk of it to Paulette who already likes you so much. She is not one to take fancies, but she has said to me: ‘She is a bright one, that Odette. With a little training and experience she will do well,’ and that is a great deal for Paulette to say, for she is very chary of her praise.” “This may be a sad day for you, Lucie, but it is a very happy one for me, or would be if you were not so miserable.” “I shall try not to be miserable, for who knows what may happen before the day is out? That is what my mother used to tell me. So bright and cheerful, such a sunny nature, mother had. I think, Odette, that all other sorrow would seem as nothing if I could see her again. Even if I knew her to be safe and well, I could be cheerful.” “I can understand that,” Odette agreed. “That day may come, and sooner than you expect.” It seemed that Odette was a true prophet, for that very evening the clouds began to break away for Lucie. “Well, mademoiselle,” said Paulette when she came in, “who is sending you presents? Here is a letter too.” “But alas, no news of Pom Pom,” returned Lucie. “I do not yet despair. He may be shut up somewhere and will come to us fast enough when he is free.” This sounded encouraging, so Lucie opened her letter. “It is from Victor,” she announced, beginning to read. “Humph!” exclaimed Paulette. “He loses no time.” Lucie paid no attention to this; she was eagerly reading the page before her. “Paulette, Paulette,” she cried suddenly, “listen to this. Oh, that bad Pom Pom!” Paulette dropped the soup ladle-back into the kettle. “_Mon Dieu!_” she cried. “What is this about Pom Pom?”