spur, and they galloped away after the rapidly disappearing regiment.
The last the actress saw of Pierre, he was looking backward at her from under the Colonel's elbow.
He was going to be a soldier with one of the bravest men in France. Perhaps he would like that even better than his mistress's petting and fondling. In some ways he was a man's dog. Now he would be a War Dog.
"Laporte, start up the machine," she said irritably. "What are we waiting here for?"
"Oui, Madame," said Laporte, and they moved slowly on into the heart of Paris and to work—which after all is the best balm for aching hearts.
