"From Fontanes corral," they replied, surprised to hear their own tongue spoken. "Do you know Jack Burley, one of your people?" "Sure. He’s just been winged bad." "The Huns done him up something fierce," added the other. "Very bad?" Maryette came back with a loaf and two bottles. "I seen him at Fontanes," replied the muleteer, taking the provisions from the girl. "He’s all shot to pieces, but they say he’ll pull through." The airman turned to Maryette: "Jack will get well," he translated bluntly. The girl, who had just refused the money offered by the American muleteer, turned sharply, became deadly white for a second, then her face flamed with a hot and splendid colour. One of the muleteers said: "Is this here his girl?" "Yes," nodded the airman. The muleteer became voluble, patting Maryette on one arm and then on the other: "J’ai vue Jack Burley, mamzelle, toot a l’heure! Il est bien, savvy voo! Il est tray, tray bien! Bocoo de trou! N’importe! Il va tray bien! Savvy voo? Jack Burley, l’ami de voo! Comprenny? On va le guerir toot sweet! Wee! Wee! Wee!----" The girl flung her arms around the amazed muleteer’s neck and kissed him impetuously on both cheeks. The muleteer blushed and his comrade fidgeted. Only the girl remained unembarrassed. Half laughing, half crying, terribly excited, and very lovely to look upon, she caught both muleteers by their sleeves and poured out a torrent of questions. With the airman’s aid she extracted what information they had to offer; and they went their way, flustered, still blushing, clasping bread and bottles to their agitated breasts. The airman looked her keenly in the eyes as she came back from the door, still intensely excited, adorably transfigured. She opened her lips to speak--the happy exclamation on her lips, already half uttered, died there. "Well?" inquired the airman quietly. Dumb, still breathing rapidly, she returned his gaze in silence. "Now that your friend Jack is going to live--what next?" asked the airman pleasantly. For a full minute she continued to stare at him without a word. "No need to avenge him now," added the airman, watching her. "No." She turned, gazed vaguely into space. After a moment she said, as though to herself: "But his country’s honour--and mine? That reckoning still remains! Is it not true?" The airman said, with a trace of pity in his voice, for the girl seemed very young: "You need not go with me to Nivelle just because you promised." "Oh," she said simply, "I must go, of course--it being a question of our country’s honour." "I do not ask it. Nor would Jack, your friend. Nor would your own country ask it of you, Maryette Courtray." She replied serenely: "But _I_ ask it--of _myself_. Do you understand, monsieur?" "Perfectly." He glanced mechanically at his useless wrist watch, then inquired the time. She went to her room, returned, wearing a little jacket and carrying a pair of big, wooden gloves.