At that moment two soldiers were passing—­one a tall, thin man, and one much smaller.  They paused and laughed, and the tall man laid his hand on his stomach, too, and smacked his lips.

“Are you hungry, kid?” he said genially to Pierre.  Pierre looked blank.

The short man punched the tall man in the ribs.  “Don’t you see he’s French,” he said derisively.  “Did you think you were back home in Illinois?  Why don’t you try some of your parley-voo on him?  You’re not getting on with the language; here’s your chance for a real Parisian accent.”

“Oh, g’wan,” answered the tall man.  “Try your own French on him!  I guess it won’t kill him; he looks strong.”

The short man came nearer to Pierre and shouted at him as if he were deaf.  “Avvy-voo-doo faim?”

Pierre withdrew a step nearer his mother and Pierrette.  “Je ne comprends pas!” he said politely.  “Pardon.”

The tall man took off his cap and rumpled his hair.  “Try it again, Jim,” he said, “even if he is scared.  They look to me like refugees, and as if a good bowl of soup wouldn’t strike their insides amiss, but your French would stampede a herd of buffaloes!”

“Try it yourself, then,” said the short man, grinning.

The tall man sat down on a box at the door of the tent and beckoned to Pierre.  “I say, kid,” he began, “avvy-voo-doo-fam—­ fam?” He rubbed his stomach in expressive pantomime.

“Mamma,” cried poor puzzled Pierre, “he asks me if I have a wife, and rubs his stomach as if he had a stomach-ache.  What does he mean?”

Mother Meraut came forward, trying hard not to laugh.  “Que voulez-vous, Messieurs?” she said politely.

The tall man was on his feet instantly with his cap in his hand.  “You see, ma’am,” he began, “we’re from the States-des Etats-Unis!  We’ve come here to fight le Boche—­savez-vows? —­combattre le Boche!” He waved his arms frantically and made a motion as if shooting with a gun.

A smile broke over Mother Meraut’s face, and she held out both hands.  “Les Americains!"she cried joyfully, “des Etats-Unis, dans l’uniforme de la France!  Mais maintenant nous exterminons le Boche!” She called Pierrette and Pierre to her side.  “These are Americans,” she explained in French, “come from the United States of America to fight with us.  Shake hands with them.”

The Twins obeyed shyly, and when their Father rejoined the family a few moments later, their friendship had progressed to such an extent that Pierre was seated on one side of the tall man and Pierrette on the other, and they were all three studying a French phrase-book.  The short man, called Jim, was gesticulating wildly, and talking to Mother Meraut, and she, good soul, looked so wise, and said “Oui” and “Non,” and nodded her head so intelligently to encourage him, that he never suspected that she did not understand one word in ten, and cast triumphant glances at the tall man to see if he was observing his success.