"I see," nodded the airman gravely. "Yes--that is the way. He came--my first friend, Djack--with mules from America, monsieur--one thousand mules. And God knows Sainte Lesse had never seen the like! As for me--I thought I was a child still--until--do you understand, monsieur?" "Yes, Maryette." "Yes, that is how I found I was grown up. He was a man, not a boy--that is how I found out. So he became my first friend. He was quite droll, and very big and kind--and timid--following me about--oh, it was quite droll for both of us, because at first I was afraid, but pretended not to be." She smiled, then suddenly her eyes filled with the tragedy again, and she began to whimper softly to herself, with a faint sound like a hovering pigeon. "Tell me about him," said the airman. She staunched her tears with the edge of her apron. "It was that way with us," she managed to say. "I was enchanted and a little frightened--it being my first friendship. He was so big, so droll, so kind.... We were on our way to Nivelle this morning. I was to play the carillon--being mistress of the bells at Sainte Lesse--and there was nobody else to play the bells at Nivelle; and the wounded desired to hear the carillon." "Yes." "So Djack came after me--hearing rumours of Prussians in that direction. They were true--oh, God!--and the Prussians caught us there where you found us." She bowed her supple figure double on the seat, covering her face with her sun-browned hands. The airman drove on, whistling "La Brabançonne" under his breath, and deep in thought. From time to time he glanced at the curved figure beside him; but he said no more for a long time. Toward sunset they drove into the Sainte Lesse highway. He spoke abruptly, dryly: "Anybody can weep for a friend. But few avenge their dead." She looked up, bewildered. They drove under the old Sainte Lesse gate as he spoke. The sunlight lay pink across the walls and tipped the turret of the watch tower with fire. The town seemed very still; nothing was to be seen on the long main street except here and there a Spahi horseman _en vidette_, and the clock-tower pigeons circling in their evening flight. The girl, Maryette, looked dumbly into the fading daylight when the cart stopped before her door. The airman took her gently by the arm, and that awakened her. As though stiffened by fatigue she rose and climbed to the sidewalk. He took her unresisting arm and led her through the tunnelled wall and into the White Doe Inn. "Get me some supper," he said. "It will take your mind off your troubles." "Yes." "Bread, wine, and some meat, if you have any. I’ll be back in a few moments." He left her at the inn door and went out into the street, whistling "La Brabançonne." A cavalryman directed him to the military telephone installed in the house of the notary across the street.