“No,” Lucie caught her breath quickly, “but a letter from papa at last. Come in and I will read it to you. How tired you are, my poor Paulette, but never mind, you shall hear the news and that will make you feel better.” She read the letter, interrupted by many exclamations and comments and when she had finished she rushed over to hug the good woman who, brave enough under misfortune, was wiping her eyes at this good news. “Now we need have no fear of the winter,” said Lucie excitedly. “We shall be able to keep warm and to have more food. Will it be enough, this money, to keep us without your working, Paulette? I do dislike to see you coming home so worn out. You walk all the way and it is not well for you to stay in that heated place and then come out into the cold.” “It is better that I walk,” protested Paulette, “for I am less liable to take cold doing so. As for my not working, my little child, that is not to be thought of. Better that we have more comforts than merely eke out a subsistence. However, I can look out for something better and who knows what chance may bring?” “It seems as if there were no evil without some good,” remarked Lucie reflectively. “I miss Pom Pom so very much; this morning it seemed as if I could not endure it, then came this letter. Dear little Pom Pom, I do hope he is well and happy. He will be if it depends upon Victor.” “This money of which your father speaks. How does one get it? Read that again.” Lucie re-read the part relating to the money. “You see,” she said, “that we have no trouble about it. Some one will bring it to us, which is very good. I wonder how soon. I shall have to open the door to whoever it is, Paulette.” “I will speak to Mathilde about that. She will interrogate and if it is a proper person there can be no objection. She has the face of a fish and the manner of an ill-tempered goat, but she is not so bad. The heart is there, though one must not expect always to find it.” “She was very, very kind and interested about Pom Pom, and how she laughed when I told her of his following Victor. ‘When one of them wants to be a _poilu_ there is no keeping them,’ she said. I think she is very fond of animals, more than of people.” “Probably with good reason,” returned Paulette. “Even though I no longer have Pom Pom I shall not be lonely to-morrow,” remarked Lucie, “for I shall write a long letter to my father, and I shall begin to expect a letter from Victor and to look for the person with the money. We are having a good deal of excitement, Paulette.” Paulette shrugged her shoulders. “Thank heaven it is not of a different kind.” CHAPTER XII TERRORS BY NIGHT