It was not for some time that Jean spoke what was in his mind, and when

he had done so she turned to him gravely: "You are wrong, Jean. He is the kindest of men. Once I am back, and

safe, he will be very different. I'm afraid I've given you a wrong

impression of him."

"You think then, mademoiselle, that he will forget all these months--he

will never be unhappy over them?"

"Why should he?" said Sara Lee proudly. "When I tell him everything he

will understand. And he will be very proud that I have done my share."

But Jean's one eye was dubious.

At the wharf in Dunkirk they found Henri, a pale but composed Henri.

Jean's brows contracted. He had thought that the boy would follow his

advice and stay away. But Henri was there.

It was as well, perhaps, for Sara Lee had brought him a letter, one of

those missives from the trenches which had been so often left at the

little house.

Henri thrust it into his pocket without reading it.

"Everything is prepared," he said. "It is the British Admiralty boat,

and one of the officers has offered his cabin. You will be quite

comfortable."

He appeared entirely calm. He saw to carrying Sara Lee's small bag on

board; he chatted with the officers; he even wandered over to a

hospital ship moored near by and exchanged civilities with a wounded man

in a chair on the deck. Perhaps he swaggered a bit too much, for Jean

watched him with some anxiety. He saw that the boy was taking it hard.

His eyes were very sunken now, and he moved his right arm stiffly, as

though the old wound troubled him.

Jean did not like leave-takings. Particularly he did not like taking

leave of Sara Lee. Some time before the boat sailed he kissed her hand,

and then patted it and went away in the car without looking back.

The boat was preparing to get under way. Henri was standing by her very

quietly. He had not slept the night before, but then there were many

nights when Henri did not sleep. He had wandered about, smoking

incessantly, trying to picture the black future.

He could see no hope anywhere. America was far away, and peaceful.

Very soon the tranquillity of it all would make the last months seem

dreamlike and unreal. She would forget Belgium, forget him. Or she

would remember him as a soldier who had once loved her. Once loved her,

because she had never seemed to realize the lasting quality of his love.

She had always felt that he would forget her. If he could only make her

believe that he would not, it would not be so hopeless.




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