"I was so glad to see you," he said, so simply that she flushed again and offered no further comment. For a long while she let him do the talking, which was perfectly agreeable to him. He talked on every subject he could think of, frankly practicing idioms on her, pleased with his own fluency and his progress in French. After a while she said, looking around at him with a curiosity quite friendly: "Tell me, Monsieur Burley, _why_ did you desire to come with me today?" He started to reply, but checked himself, looking into the dark blue and engaging eyes. After a moment the engaging eyes became brilliantly serious. "Tell me," she repeated. "Is it because there were some rumours last evening concerning Nivelle?" "Wee!" "Oh," she nodded, thoughtfully. After driving for a little while in silence she looked around at him with an expression on her face which altered it exquisitely. "Thank you, my friend," she murmured.... "And if you wish to call me Carillonnette--do so." "I do want to. And my name’s Jack.... If you don’t mind." Her eyes were fixed on her donkey’s ears. "Djack," she repeated, musingly. "Jacques--Djack--it’s the same, isn’t it--Djack?" He turned red and she laughed at him, no longer afraid. "Listen, my friend," she said, "it is _très beau_--what have you done." "Vooz êtes tray belle----" "_Non!_ Please stop! It is not a question of me----" "Vooz êtes tray chick----" "Stop, Djack! That is not good manners! No! I was merely saying that--you have done something very nice. Which is quite true. You heard rumours that Nivelle had become unsafe. People whispered last evening--something about the danger of a salient being cut at its base.... I heard the gossip in the street. Was that why you came after me?" "Wee." "Thank you, Djack." She leaned a trifle forward in the cart, her dimpled elbows on her knees, the reins sagging. Blue and rosy jays flew up before them, fluttering away through the thickets; a bullfinch whistled sweetly from a thorn bush, watching them pass under him, unafraid. "You see," she said, half to herself, "I _had_ to come. Who could refuse our wounded? There is no bell-master in our department; and only one bell-mistress.... To find anyone else to play the Nivelle carillon one would have to pierce the barbarians’ lines and search the ruins of Flanders for a _Beiaardier_--a _Klokkenist_, as they call a carillonneur in the low countries.... But the Mayor asked it, and our wounded are waiting. You understand, _mon ami_ Djack, I had to come." He nodded. She added, naïvely: "God watches over our trenches. We shall be quite safe in Nivelle." A dull boom shook the sunlit air. Even in the cart they could feel the vibration. An hour later, everywhere ahead of them, a vast, confused thundering was steadily increasing, deepening with every ominous reverberation. Where two sandy wood roads crossed, a mounted gendarme halted them and examined their papers.