There were
cigarettes for everybody, and food; and a dry uniform, rather small, for
Henri. Marie wept over her soup, and ran every few moments to the door
to see if he was still there. She had kissed him on both cheeks when
he came in, and showed signs, every now and then, of doing it again.
Sara Lee did her bandaging as usual, but with shining eyes. And soon
after Henri's arrival a dispatch rider set off post haste with certain
papers and maps, hurriedly written and drawn. Henri had not only
returned, he had brought back information of great value to all the
Allied armies.
So Sara Lee bandaged, and in the little room across the way, where no
longer Harvey's photograph sat on the mantel, Henri told his story to
the officers--of his imprisonment in the German prison at Crefeld; of
his finding Jean there, weeks later when he was convalescing from
typhoid; of their escape and long wandering; of Jean's getting into
Holland, whence he would return by way of England. Of his own business,
of what he had done behind the lines after Jean had gone, he said
nothing. But his listeners knew and understood.
But his dispatches off, his story briefly told, Henri wandered out among
the men again.
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