Part 21 (1/2)

But a few days later--

”_Ah, je m'ennuie, je m'ennuie_,” she cried in an accent of boredom.

Then Bakkus elaborated a Machiavellian idea. Why shouldn't she work? At what? Why, hadn't she a troupe of trained birds? Madame Patou was not the first comer in the variety world. She could get engagements in the provinces. How did she know that the war would not last longer than Andrew's savings?

”_Mon Dieu_, it is true,” she said.

Forthwith she went to the agent Moignon. After a few weeks she started on the road with her aviary, and Bakkus once more left his eyrie to take charge of the flat in the Faubourg St. Denis.

It came to pa.s.s that the next time Andrew and Elodie met in their Paris house, he wore a Major's crown and the ribbons of the Distinguished Service Order, the Military Cross and the Legion of Honour. From his letters she had grasped but little of his career and growing distinction; but the sight of him drove her mad with pride. If she had loved to parade the Paris streets with him as a Sergeant, now she could scarcely bear to exist with him otherwise than in public places. Not only an officer, but almost a Colonel. And decorated--he, an English officer, with the Legion of Honour!

The British decorations she scarcely understood--but they made a fine display. The salutes from uniformed men of every nation almost turned her head. The little restaurant round the corner, where they had eaten for so many years, suddenly appeared to her an inappropriate setting for his exalted rank. She railed against its meanness.

”Let us eat then,” laughed Andrew, who had not given the matter a thought, ”on the Place de la Madeleine.”

But if the Restaurant Mangin in the Faubourg Saint-Denis was too lowly, the Restaurant Weber frightened her by its extravagance. She hit upon the middle course of engaging a cook for the wonderful fortnight of his leave and busying herself with collaborating in the preparation of succulent meals.

”My dear child,” said Andrew, sitting at his own table in the tiny and seldom-used _salle a manger_ for the first time since their early disastrous experience of housekeeping, ”why in the world haven't we had this cosiness before?”

He seemed to have entered a new world of sacred domesticity. The outward material sign of the inward grace drew him nearer to her than all protestations of affection.

”Why have you waited all these years?” he asked.

Elodie, expansive, rejoicing in the success of the well-cooked dinner, reproached herself generously. It was all her fault. Before the war she had been ignorant, idle. But the war had taught her many things. Above all it had taught her to value her _pet.i.t homme_.

”Because you now see him in his true colours,” observed Bakkus, who took for granted a seat at the table as the payment for his guardians.h.i.+p. ”The drill sergeant I always talked to you about.”

”Sergeant!” Elodie flung up her head in disdain. ”He is _Commandant_.

And see to it that you are not wanting in respect.”

”From which outburst of conjugal ferocity, my dear fellow,” said Bakkus, ”you can gauge the conscientiousness of my guidance of Elodie during your absence.”

Andrew grinned happily. He was full of faith in both of them--loving woman, loyal friend.

”It is true,” said he, ”that I have found my vocation.”

”What are you going to do when the war is over and Oth.e.l.lo's occupation is gone?”

”I don't think the war will ever be over,” he laughed. ”It's no good looking ahead. For the present one has to regard soldiering as a permanent pursuit.”

”I thought so,” said Bakkus. ”He'll cry when it's over and he can't move his pretty soldiers about.”

”That is true?” asked Elodie, in the tone of one possessed of insight.

Andrew shrugged his shoulders, a French trick out of harmony with his British uniform.

”Perhaps,” said he with a sigh.

”I too,” said Elodie, ”will be sorry when you become _Pet.i.t Patou_ again.”