before seen
a household that really enjoyed little jokes shared in common, whose
members were full of kind consideration the one for the other. The
Roubideaus had more than a touch of the French temperament. They took
life gayly and whimsically, and though they poked all kinds of fun at
each other there was never any sting to their wit.

Pauline was a famous little nurse. It was not long before she was
offering herself as a crutch to help young Clanton limp to the sunny
porch. Two or three days later Billie joined his fellow invalid. From
where they sat the two young men could hear the girl as she went about
her work singing. Often she came out with a plate of hot, new-baked
cookies for them and a pitcher of milk. Or she would dance out without
any excuse except that of her own frank interest in the youth she shared
with her patients.

One of the Roubideau jokes was that Polly was the mother of the family
and her father and Jean two mischievous little boys she had to scold and
pet alternately. Temporarily she took the two cowpunchers into her circle
and browbeat them shamefully with an impudent little twinkle in her
eyes. Whatever the state of Billie's mind may have been before, there can
be no doubt that now he was fathoms deep in love. With hungry eyes he
took in her laughter and raillery, her boyish high spirits, the sweet
tenderness of the girl for her father. He loved her wholly--the charm of
her comradeship, of her swift, generous impulses, of that touch of
coquetry she could not entirely subdue.

Pierre had been a chasseur in the Franco-Prussian War. His daughter was
very proud of it, but one of her games was to mock him fondly by
swaggering back and forth while she sang:

"Allons, enfants de la patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrive."

When she came to the chorus, nothing would do but all of them must join.
She taught the words and tune to Prince and Jimmie so that they could
fall into line behind the old soldier and his son:

"Aux armes, citoyens! formez vos bataillons!
Marchons! Marchons!
Qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons."

It always began in pretended derision, but as she swept her little
company down the porch all the gallant, imperishable soul of France spoke
in her ringing voice and the flash of her brown eyes. Surely her
patriotism was no less sound because the blood of Alsace and that of
Tennessee were fused in her ardent veins.

The wounds of the young men healed rapidly, and b