"Mademoiselle," said Phineas gallantly, "we would not be such imbeciles." At that moment the voice of Toinette came from within. "Ma'amselle Jeanne! Ma'amselle Jeanne!" "_Oui, oui, j'y viens_," she cried. "_Bon soir, messieurs_," and she was gone. Doggie looked into the empty vestibule and smiled at the friendly brandy cask. Provided it is pronounced correctly, so as to rhyme with the English "Anne," it is a very pretty name. Doggie thought she looked like Jeanne--a Jeanne d'Arc of this modern war. "Yon's a very fascinating lassie," Phineas remarked soberly, as they started on their stroll. "Did you happen to observe that all the time she was talking so prettily she was looking at ghosts behind us?" "Do you think so?" asked Doggie, startled. "Man, I know it," replied Phineas. "Ghosts be blowed!" cried Mo Shendish. "She's a bit of orl right, she is. What I call class. Doesn't chuck 'erself at yer 'ead, like some of 'em, and, on the other 'and, has none of yer blooming stand-orfishness. See what I mean?" He clutched them each by an arm--he was between them. "Look 'ere. How do you think I could pick up this blinking lingo--quick?" "Make violent love to Toinette and ask her to teach you. There's nothing like it," said Doggie. "Who's Toinette?" "The nice old lady in the kitchen." Mo flung his arm away. "Oh, go and boil yourself!" said he. * * * * * But the making of love to the old woman in the kitchen led to possibilities of which Mo Shendish never dreamed. They never dawned on Doggie until he found himself at it that evening. It was dusk. The men were lounging and smoking about the courtyard. Doggie, who had long since exchanged poor Taffy Jones's imperfect penny whistle for a scientific musical instrument ordered from Bond Street, was playing, with his sensitive skill, the airs they loved. He had just finished "Annie Laurie"--"Man," Phineas used to declare, "when Doggie Trevor plays 'Annie Laurie,' he has the power to take your heart by the strings and drag it out through your eyes"--he had just come to the end of this popular and gizzard-piercing tune and received his meed of applause, when Toinette came out of the kitchen, two great zinc crocks in her hands, and crossed to the pump in the corner of the yard. Three or four would-be pumpers, among them Doggie, went to her aid. "All right, mother, we'll see to it," said one of them. So they pumped and filled the crocks, and one man got hold of one and Doggie got hold of another, and they carried them to the kitchen steps. "_Merci, monsieur_," said Toinette to the first; and he went away with a friendly nod. But to Doggie she said, "_Entrez, monsieur_." And monsieur carried the two crocks over the threshold and Toinette shut the door behind him. And there, sitting over some needlework in a corner of the kitchen by a lamp, sat Jeanne. She looked up rather startled, frowned for the brief part of a second, and regarded him inquiringly.