"Petite maman," she said, "let us talk of happy things to-night. Pierre has brought us a good friend."
Later in the evening, when Pierre and Hélène had gone into another room to find some biscuits for our wine, Madame Chéri spoke to me about their betrothal.
"Pierre is full of strange and terrible ideas," she said. "They are shared by other young men who fought bravely for France. To me they seem wicked, and the talk of cowards, except that their medals tell of courage. But the light in Hélène's eyes weakens me. I'm too much of a Frenchwoman to be stern with love."
By those words of hers I was able to give Pierre a message of good-cheer when he walked back with me that night, and he went away with gladness.
With gladness also did Elsa Brand set out next day for England where, as a girl, she had known happy days, and where now her dream lived with the man who stood beside her. Together we watched for the white cliffs, and when suddenly the sun glinted on them she gave a little cry, and putting her hand through Brand's arm, said, "Our home!"
