He was very happy. He had never thought to be so happy.
He felt the touch on his sleeves of hard brown, not overclean hands,
infinitely tender and caressing; and over there, as though she had never
gone, was Sara Lee, slightly flushed and very radiant.
And as though he also had never gone away, Henri pushed into the _salle
a manger_ and stood before her smiling.
"You bandage well, mademoiselle," he said gayly. "But I? I bandage
better! See now, a turn here, and it is done! Does it hurt, Paul?"
The man in the dressing chair squirmed and grinned sheepishly.
"The iodine," he explained. "It is painful."
"Then I shall ask you a question, and you will forget the iodine. Why
is a dead German like the tail of a pig?"
Paul failed. The room failed. Even Colonel Lilias confessed himself at
fault.
"Because it is the end of the swine," explained Henri, and looked about
him triumphantly. A gust of laughter spread through the room and even
to the kitchen. A door banged. Henri upset a chair. There was noise
again, and gayety in the little house of mercy. And much happiness.
And there I think we may leave them all--Henri and Sara Lee; and Jean
of the one eye and the faithful heart; and Marie, with her kettles; and
even Rene, who still in some strange way belonged to the little house,
as though it were something too precious to abandon.
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