Suddenly the sound of wooden shoes rattling over stones announced the approach of some one. A woman came in from the barn carrying an apron full of potatoes and greens. A small army of chickens followed at a respectful distance. The woman was of medium height, kind of pudgy around the gills and places where a corset should have been. Her hands were red and big enough to handle any one-hundred-and-sixty-pound man. Of course, she wasn’t good-looking or particularly ugly, just an ordinary peasant face. “_Que désirez-vous, Messieurs?_” (What will you have, messieurs?) “Eh—_bonjour, madame_,” began Jimmy, unsteadily. “_Avey vouse de chambre for comrade_ and _moi_?” The woman cocked her ear to get the drift. “_Chambre—pour coucher?_” she asked. “Ah, _oui, madame_,” assured Jimmy, picking up courage. The woman dropped her load of potatoes and greens on the floor, kicked off the wooden boats, and, telling them to follow her, waddled into the next and only room in the house. “_Voilà!_” (There), she exclaimed, pointing to a bed that was at least seven feet high. “_Bon—tres-beans, madame_,” to the woman. Then Jimmy turned to O. D.: “We may need a step-ladder to get in and a pulley to get us out; but _say la guerre_. It’s a hundred times better than a hay-loft.” “Sure,” said O. D., enthusiastically. “_Madame, monjay ici?_” was Jimmy’s next effort. “_Mais, messieurs, je n’ai rien! Trés-difficile d’obtenir quoi que ce soit depuis la guerre! Figuerez-vous, une livre de sucre pour une personne par mois! Et du pain! O là là! C’est terrible, vous comprenz?_” (Oh, messieurs, I have very little. Too difficult to get things since the war started. One pound of sugar a person for a month, a ration of bread. It’s terrible, you understand?), answered the woman, evasively. “_Oui, madame, compree_; but _comrade, moi_, no _monjay. Beaucoup hungry. Beaucoup fatigue. Compree?_” questioned McGee, tapping his stomach as if it were an empty bag. “_Oui_,” answered the _madame_, solemnly. “_Omelette, pom du tear fritz, trey-bon vous, serve comrade, moi, s’il vous plate._” Jimmy did his darnest to tell her what he was thinking. She understood him after the fashion of the French people who had been near American soldiers before. Most of the peasants in the regions where many American soldiers were located soon learned to speak their native French just as brokenly as the Americans. It was necessary to do so in order that the likes of Jimmy McGee might _compree_ just a little bit. After much puffing and running around, the woman finally set a table for her hungry guests. A fifteen-egg omelet, _beaucoup_ French-fried potatoes, what was left of Jimmy’s bread, a dish of white cheese, and a tall bottle of wine awaited the offensive of the two Americans. “Ah, _madame_,” said McGee, licking his chops, “I’ll say that’s the _darb_——” “_Qu’est-ce qu’il dit?_” (What did you say?) “Oh, I said its mighty _bon—beaucoup monjay_, you _compree moi_?”