A cavalryman of the little garrison
in the town was talking to Kami's cook. The moonlight glittered on the scabbard
of his sabre, which he was holding in his hand lest it should clank
inopportunely. The cook's cap cast deep shadows on her face, which was close to
the conscript's. He slid his arm round her waist, and there followed the sound
of a kiss.
"Faugh!" said Maisie, stepping back.
"What's that?" said the red-haired girl, who was tossing uneasily outside her
bed.
"Only a conscript kissing the cook," said Maisie.
"They've gone away now." She leaned out of the window again, and put a shawl
over her nightgown to guard against chills. There was a very small night-breeze
abroad, and a sun-baked rose below nodded its head as one who knew unutterable
secrets. Was it possible that Dick should turn his thoughts from her work and
his own and descend to the degradation of Suzanne and the conscript? He could
not! The rose nodded its head and one leaf therewith. It looked like a naughty
little devil scratching its ear.
Dick could not, "because," thought Maisie, "he is mine,--mine,--mine. He said
he was. I'm sure I don't care what he does. It will only spoil his work if he
does; and it will spoil mine too.
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