"You don't live here alone?" he asked.
"But I do," I replied.
He looked at me bravely a moment, then off at the plain.
"Lived here long?" he questioned.
I told him that I had lived in this house only three months, but that I
had lived in France for sixteen years.
Without a word he turned back toward the house, and for half a minute,
for the first time in my life, I had a sensation that it looked strange
for me to be an exile in a country that was not mine, and with no ties.
For a penny I would have told him the history of my life. Luckily he did
not give me time. He just strode down to the gate, and by the time he
had his foot in the stirrup I had recovered.
"Is there anything I can do for you, captain?" I asked.
He mounted his horse, looked down at me. Then he gave me
another of his rare smiles.
"No," he said, "at this moment there is nothing that you can do for me,
thank you; but if you could give my boys a cup of tea, I imagine that
you would just about save their lives." And nodding to me, he said to
the picket, "This lady is kind enough to offer you a cup of tea," and he
rode off, taking the road down the hill to Voisins.
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