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just thinking that, if anything happened to the _petit monsieur_, I couldn't have the heart to go on putting his snuff up my old nose." "Nothing will happen to him," said Jeanne. The old woman sighed and re-engulfed the snuff-box. "Who knows? From one minute to another who knows whether the little ones who are dear to us are alive or dead?" "And this _petit monsieur_ is dear to you, Toinette?" Jeanne asked, in her even voice, without looking up from her sewing. "Since he resembles my _petiot_." "He will come back," said Jeanne. "I hope so," said the old woman mournfully. In spite of manifold duties, Jeanne found the days curiously long. She slept badly. The tramp of the sentry below her window over the archway brought her no sense of comfort, as it had done for months before the coming of Doggie. All the less did it produce the queer little thrill of happiness which was hers when, looking down through the shutter slats she had identified in the darkness, on a change of guard, the little English soldier to whom she had spoken so intimately. And when he had challenged the rounds, she had recognized his voice.... If she had obeyed an imbecile and unmaidenly impulse, she would have drawn open the shutter and revealed herself. But apart from maidenly shrinkings, familiarity with war had made her realize the sacred duties of a sentry, and she had remained in discreet seclusion, awake until his spell was over. But now the rhythmical beat of the heavy boots kept her from sleeping and would have irritated her nerves intolerably had not her sound common sense told her that the stout fellow who wore them was protecting her from the Hun, together with a million or so of his fellow-countrymen. She found herself counting the days to Doggie's return. "At last, it is to-morrow!" she said to Toinette. "What is it to-morrow?" asked the old woman. "The return of our regiment," replied Jeanne. "That is good. We have a regiment now," said Toinette ironically. The Midland company marched away--as so many had marched away before; but Jeanne did not go to the little embankment at the turn of the road to wish anyone good luck. She stood at the house door, as she had always done, to watch them pass in the darkness; for there is always something in the sight of men going into battle which gives you a lump in the throat. For Jeanne it had almost grown into a religious practice. The sergeant had told her that the new
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