t the _lavoir_ for the sake of her _beaux yeux_.

Could this dark-eyed, smiling youth be a Hun spy? His smooth, boyish
features, his crisp short hair and tiny mustache shading lips a trifle too
red and overfull did not displease her. In his way he was handsome.

His voice, too, was attractive, gaily persuasive, but it was his
pronunciation of the letters c and d which had instantly set her on her
guard.

Seated on the bank near her, his roving eyes full of bold curiosity bent
on her from time to time, his idle fingers plaiting a little wreath out of
long-stemmed clover and _boutons d'or_, he appeared merely an intrusive,
irresponsible young fellow willing to amuse himself with a few moments'
rustic courtship here before he continued on his way.

"You are exceedingly pretty," he said. "Will you tell me your name in
exchange for mine?"

"Maryette Courtray."

"Oh," he exclaimed in quick recognition; "you are bell-mistress in Sainte
Lesse, then! _You_ are the celebrated carillonnette! I have heard about
you. I suspected that you might be the little mistress of Sainte Lesse
bells, because you wear the Legion--" He nodded his handsome head toward
the decoration on her blouse.

"And to think," he added effusively, "that it is just a mere slip of a
girl who was decorated for bravery by France!"

She smiled at him with all the beguilingly _bete_ innocence of the young
when flattered:

"You are too amiable, monsieur. I really do not understand why they gave
me the Legion. To encourage all French children, perhaps--because I really
am a dreadful coward." She tapped the holster on her thigh and gazed at
him quite guilelessly out of wide and trustful eyes. "You see? I dare not
even come here to wash my clothes unless I carry this--in case some Boche
comes prowling."

"Whose pistol is it?" he asked.

"The weapon belongs to Monsieur Steek. When I come to wash here I borrow
it."

"Are you the sweetheart of Monsieur Steek?" he inquired, mimicking her
pronunciation of "Stick," and at the same time fixing his dark eyes boldly
and expressively on hers.

"Does a young girl of my age have sweethearts?" she demanded scornfully.

"If she hasn't had one, it's time," he returned, staring hard at her with
a persistent and fixed smile that had become almost offensive.

"Oh, la!" she exclaimed with a shrug of her youthful shoulders. "Perhaps
you think I have time for such foolishness--what with housework to do and
washing, and ca