She
returned to the red-haired girl, who was weeping bitterly, and between tears,
kisses,--very few of those,--menthol, packing, and an interview with Kami, the
sultry afternoon wore away.
Thought might come afterwards. Her present duty was to go to Dick,--Dick who
owned the wondrous friend and sat in the dark playing with her unopened
letters.
"But what will you do," she said to her companion.
"I? Oh, I shall stay here and--finish your Melancolia," she said, smiling
pitifully. "Write to me afterwards."
That night there ran a legend through Vitry-sur-Marne of a mad Englishman,
doubtless suffering from sunstroke, who had drunk all the officers of the
garrison under the table, had borrowed a horse from the lines, and had then and
there eloped, after the English custom, with one of those more mad English
girls who drew pictures down there under the care of that good Monsieur Kami.
"They are very droll," said Suzanne to the conscript in the moonlight by the
studio wall. "She walked always with those big eyes that saw nothing, and yet
she kisses me on both cheeks as though she were my sister, and gives me--see--
ten francs!"
The conscript levied a contribution on both gifts; for he prided himself on
being a good soldier.
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