"Now then, with my leave coming along, she asked for a permit to
Mont-St-Eloi, where my old folks are, and my permit was for
Mont-St-Eloi too. See the move?
"Being a little woman with a head-piece, you know, she had applied
for her permit long before the date when my leave was expected. All
the same, my leave came before her permit. Spite o' that I set
off--for one doesn't let his turn in the company go by, eh? So I
stayed with the old people, and waited. I like 'em well enough, but
I got down in the mouth all the same. As for them, it was enough
that they could see me, and it worried them that I was bored by
their company-how else could it be? At the end of the sixth day--at
the finish of my leave, and the very evening before returning--a
young man on a bicycle, son of the Florence family, brings me a
letter from Mariette to say that her permit had not yet come--"
"Ah, rotten luck," cried the audience.
"And that," continued Eudore, "there was only one thing to do.--I
was to get leave from the mayor of Mont-St-Eloi, who would get it
from the military, and go myself at full speed to see her at
Villers."
"You should have done that the first day, not the sixth!"
"So it seems, but I was afraid we should cross and me miss
her--y'see, as soon as I landed, I was expecting her all the time,
and every minute I fancied I could see her at the open door. So I
did as she told me."
"After all, you saw her?"
"Just one day--or rather, just one night.
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