Jean-Baptiste.  It’s the people that live in the so large country across the ocean.  They came over and saved all our lives, and France.

Angelique. (Surprised.) Did they save my life, Jean-B’tiste?

Jean-Baptiste.  Little drole.  You weren’t born.

Angelique.  Oh!  Whose life did they then save?  Maman’s?

Jean-Baptiste.  But no.  She was not born either.

Angelique.  Whose life, then—­the grandfather’s?

Jean-Baptiste.  But—­even he was not born. (Disconcerted by Angelique’s direct tactics.) One sees they could not save the lives of people who were not here.  But—­they were brave—­but yes—­and friends to France.  And they came across the ocean to fight for France.  Big, strong young soldiers in brown uniforms—­the grandfather told me about it yesterday.  I know it all.  His father told him, and he was here.  In this field. (Jean-Baptiste looks about the meadow, where the wind blows flowers and wheat.) There was a large battle—­a fight very immense.  It was not like this then.  It was digged over with ditches and the soldiers stood in the ditches and shot at the wicked Germans in the other ditches.  Lots and lots of soldiers died.

Angelique. (Lips trembling.) Died—­in ditches?

Jean-Baptiste. (Grimly.) Yes, it is true.

Angelique. (Breaks into sobs.) I can’t bear you to tell me that.  I can’t bear the soldiers to—­die—­in ditches.

Jean-Baptiste. (Pats her shoulder.) I’m sorry I told you if it makes you cry.  You are so little.  But it was one hundred years ago.  They’re dead now.

Angelique. (Rubs her eyes with her dress and smiles.) Yes, they’re quite dead now.  So—­tell me some more.

Jean-Baptiste.  But I don’t want to make you cry more, p’tite.  You’re so little.

Angelique. I’m not very little.  I’m bigger than Anne-Marie Dupont, and she’s eight.

Jean-Baptiste.  But no.  She’s not eight till next month.  She told me.

Angelique.  Oh, well—­next month.  Me, I want to hear about the brave ’Mericans.  Did they make this ditch to stand in and shoot the wicked Germans?

Jean-Baptiste.  They didn’t make it, but they fought the wicked Germans in a brave, wonderful charge, the bravest sort, the grandfather said.  And they took the ditch away from the wicked Germans, and then—­maybe you’ll cry.

Angelique.  I won’t.  I promise you I won’t.

Jean-Baptiste.  Then, when the ditch—­only they called it a trench—­was well full of American soldiers, the wicked Germans got a machine gun at the end of it and fired all the way along—­the grandfather called it enfiladed—­and killed every American in the whole long ditch.

Angelique. (Bursts into tears again; buries her face in her skirt.) I—­I’m sorry I cry, but the ’Mericans were so brave and fought—­for France—­and it was cruel of the wicked Germans to—­to shoot them.