"You don't speak their ugly tongue."
"I could be mute--shell shock. You could be helping me back."
But Henri only held his hand a moment and shook his head.
"You would double the risk, and--what good would it do?"
"Two pistols are better than one."
"I have two pistols, my friend," said Henri, and turned the corner of
the building, past the boards Rene had built in, toward the house of
the mill. But once out of Jean's sight he stopped a moment, his hand
resting against that frail wall to Sara Lee's room. It was his good-by
to her.
For three days Jean stayed in the village. He slept at the mill, but
he came for his meals to the little house. Once he went to Dunkirk and
brought out provisions and the mail, including Sara Lee's monthly
allowance. But mostly he sat in the mill house and waited. He could
not read.
"You do not eat at all, Jean," Sara Lee said to him more than once. And
twice she insisted that he was feverish, and placed a hand that was
somewhat marred with much peeling of vegetables, on his forehead.
"I am entirely well, mademoiselle," he would say, and draw back. He had
anxieties enough just now without being reminded by the touch of a
woman's hand of all that he had lost.
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