Fanny, searching in her pocket
for her handkerchief, scattered a couple of German iron pennies on the
floor; an American from the table behind picked them up and returned
them to her. "These things are just a weight and a trouble," he said.
"I think I shall throw mine away?"
"You've come down from Germany, then?"
"Been up at Treves. They do you well up there."
"Not better than here!"
"No, this is an exception. It's a good place."
"Madame is a great manager."
"Hev' you got more German pennies than you know what to do with?" said
the American sergeant who had advised her to drink the wine. "Because,
if you hev' so hev' I and I'll play you at dominoes for them."
As Julien did not return at once, Fanny moved to his table and piled her
German pennies beside her, and they picked out their dominoes from
the pile.
"I want to go home," said the American, and lifted up his big face and
looked at her.
"You all do."
"That's right. We all do," assented another and another. They would make
this statement to her at every village where she met them, in every
_estaminet_, at any puncture on the road over which they helped her
--simply, and because it was the only thing in their minds.
"Do you hev' to come out here?" he enquired.
"Oh, no. We come because we like to."
Thinking this a trumpery remark he made no answer, but put out another
domino--then as though something about her still intrigued his heavy
curiosity: "You with the French, ain't you?"
"Yes.
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