Glenn drained his glass and smacked his lips: "No, ma’am," he said. "No balloonists, either?" "I don’t guess so, Maryette. We’ve got the Boche flyers scared stiff. They don’t come over our first lines anymore, and our own people are out yonder." "Keed," she said, winningly sweet, "do you, in fact, love me a little--for Djack’s sake?" "Yes’m." "I borrow of you that automatic pistol. Yes?" She smiled at him engagingly. "Sure. Anything you want! What’s the trouble, Maryette?" She shrugged her pretty shoulders: "Nothing. It just came into my cowardly head that the path to the _lavoir_ is lonely at sundown. And there are new muleteers in Sainte Lesse. And I must wash my clothes." "I reckon," he said gravely, unbuckling his weapon-filled holster and quietly strapping it around her shoulder with its pocketed belt of clips. "You will not require it this afternoon?" she asked. "No fear. You won’t either. Them mule-whacking coons is white." She understood. "Some men who seem whitest are blacker than any negro," she remarked. "_Eh, bien!_ I thank you, Keed, _mon ami_, for your complaisance. You are very amiable to submit to the whim of a silly girl who suddenly becomes afraid of her own shadow." Glenn grinned and glanced significantly at the cross dangling from her bosom: "Sure," he said, "your government decorates cowards. That’s why it gave you the Legion." She blushed but looked up at him seriously: "Keed, if I flew a little toy balloon in the air, where would the west wind carry it?" "Into the Boche trenches," he replied, much interested in the idea. "If you’ve got one, we’ll paint ’To hell with Willie’ on it and set it afloat! But we’ll have to get permission from the gendarmes first." She said, smiling: "I’m sorry, but I haven’t any toy balloons." She picked up her basket with its new load of soiled linen, swung it gracefully to her head, ignoring his offered assistance, gave him a beguiling glance, and went away along the sheep-path. Once more she followed the deep-trodden and ancient trail through copse and pasture and over the stream down into the meadow, where the west wind furrowed the wild-flowers and the early afternoon sun fell hot. She set her clothes to soak, laid paddle and soap beside them, then, straightening up, remained erect on her knees, her intent gaze fixed on the distant clump of aspens, delicate as mist above the hazel copse on the little hill beyond. It was a whole hour before her eyes caught the high glimmer of a tiny balloon. Only for a moment was it visible at that distance, then it became merged in the dazzling blue above the woods. She waited. At last she concluded that there were to be no more balloons. Then a sudden fear assailed her lest she had waited too long to investigate; and she sprang to her feet, hurried over the single plank used as a footbridge, and sped down through the alders.