The meal at the Restaurant Honoré, while not quite so great a success as before, was merrier. Odette was of the party and was so excited that she sparkled and bubbled over with fun, matching Victor’s saucy speeches with wittier ones, till Lucie felt herself quite cast in the shade. She was glad that Odette was having so good a time, but she was rather aggrieved that she was not placed more to the fore. She was still brooding over the secret, and more than once was far away in thought while Odette and Victor chatted and made merry. She was not sorry to leave Paris, but this going to the unknown was not in the manner of an ordinary undertaking and she wondered what the new life would be like. She was so silent on the way home that Victor, too, became grave and asked her very seriously: “What is the matter, Lucie? Are you really so angry with me?” She shook her head and sighed. “Then what is it? Are you sorry to be leaving Paris, or have I said something to hurt your feelings? I like blue eyes, of course, but I really like brown ones better.” And then Lucie laughed. “You foolish boy,” she said, “as if I would care for a silly thing like that. Why should I care what sort of eyes you prefer?” “But I should much prefer that you liked blue eyes. Do you?” “I don’t know whether I do or not. It isn’t a matter that I ever think about.” “No,” returned Victor reflectively, “I don’t suppose you do--yet. I hope we shall have fine weather for our journey to-morrow, don’t you?” “Our journey? Are you going, too?” “Of course. I promised your father that I would see you to the very end of it, and take word back to him of how you fared.” “You didn’t tell me that before.” “No, but I tell you now. I hope you are going to be comfortable and happy, happier than you have been here.” “It has not been so bad of late, but I shall not be grieved to go. I am longing for spring in the country. Is it real country to which we are going? You can tell me that much, can’t you?” “I think one would call it real country.” “I shall like that better than any town, unless it were our own little town, which after all is more like country than city.” “I think you will like it. I hope so.” “Is it far?” “That depends upon what you call far. It would be quite a walk, not so great a distance to drive, and still less if one went by train.” “And how do we go?” “By train. Now I shall not tell you another word or you will worm the whole secret out of me. That Odette is a bright child.” “She is older than I.” “But you are still a child, very much of a child.” “You are not much more yourself.” “Oh, yes, or I would not be in the army.” “You tell us very little about it. I heard more when you were talking to Madame and Monsieur Pierre to-day than I have heard at all.”