The peasant woman smiled at him as if she understood, and Jimmy made a dive into the middle of the big yellow omelet. “Gee, this is the best feed I’ve sat down to in a long, long time,” admitted O. D. as he piled the brown potatoes knee-deep in his plate. “Wish I could speak French like you do, I’d be able to keep from starving.” “Oh, I don’t _parley_ much, just enough to get along. Course, I never have any time to study. If we get a chance I’ll teach you some of the stuff.” “Thanks. Say, wonder if you could get her to give me a drink of water. I’ll pass away with this thirst.” “Here, take a glass of the _vin rouge_. It may be better than the stuff I had in my canteen,” offered Jimmy. “No, believe I’d rather have the water, if you can get it without too much trouble.” “None t’all. Wait ’till the madame blows in again; I’ll see what we can do.” “_Madame, avey vous der low?_” asked Jimmy, hoping that she would get his meaning. “_Der low_,” repeated the woman, lost for a moment. “_Der low_,” again. This time with great wondering, “_Pas compris, monsieur_.” “_Cum see, cum saw_,” explained McGee, raising an empty glass to his lips. “_Oh, pardon, monsieur, pardon, oui, tout de suite._” She hurried over to the wall and pulled a part of it out, found a cupboard where nobody else would have ever dreamed there was one, and drew forth a glass. She brought the glass to Jimmy and gave it to him. “She didn’t get me,” groaned Jimmy. “Thought I wanted another glass, just like a Frog.” Then to the woman, “_Madame, compree low, der low_, drink, you _savvy_?” he floundered deeper. The woman shook her head while McGee scanned the room in search of a pump or something by which he might readily explain his desire. There was nothing in sight to help him. He turned again to the waiting woman. “_Madame, moi comrade—no van rouge_—no _pas bon_ for _comrade_. _Kisskesay, der low_, water, in _Fransay_?” Jimmy was at the limit of his resources. “Never mind, old man, I’ll go without it,” said O. D., coming to the rescue. “_Der low, der low_,” muttered the woman shaking her head uncomprehendingly and pronouncing the word just as Jimmy had done. Suddenly a light flashed across her stolid features. “_De l’eau, vous dites._” (Water you said.) “_Oui, Oui, madame._” “_Ah, mon Dieu, de l’eau, je comprends_,” and she dashed out of doors with a small bucket. “At last she gets it—some battlin’, though. These doggone French people can’t _compree_ this water stuff. Maybe if they’d drink more water the war’d be won faster. But I’m getting just like ’em—haven’t had any water in four days myself now. Guess I’ll tank up to-night.” Madame returned with the water and immediately poured it all in a basin, grabbed some soap and a towel and brought the whole outfit over to Jimmy. “_Voilà!_” she exclaimed as if the _guerre_ was won.