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Her Djack lived; that was what occupied her mind; other men were merely men even his comrades, Sticky Smith and Kid Glenn, assumed individuality to distinguish them from other men only because they were Djack’s friends.
"Je vous aime, Carillonnette." "Oh, Djack! Djack!" she cried in terror. He heard the orders; was aware of the levelled rifles; but his reckless greyish eyes were now fixed on her, and he began to laugh almost mischievously. "Vooz êtes tray belle," he said, " tray, tray chick " "Djack!"
She had beaten him off she had or God had routed Death, driven him from the dream. For it was a dream to her still, and she thought she could never be able to comprehend the magic reality of it, even when at last her man, "Djack," came back to prove the blessed miracle which held her in the magic of its thrall. "Who’s the guy with the wheelbarrow?" inquired Sticky Smith, rolling a cigarette.
I was to play the carillon being mistress of the bells at Sainte Lesse and there was nobody else to play the bells at Nivelle; and the wounded desired to hear the carillon." "Yes." "So Djack came after me hearing rumours of Prussians in that direction. They were true oh, God! and the Prussians caught us there where you found us."
"Thank you, my friend," she murmured.... "And if you wish to call me Carillonnette do so." "I do want to. And my name’s Jack.... If you don’t mind." Her eyes were fixed on her donkey’s ears. "Djack," she repeated, musingly. "Jacques Djack it’s the same, isn’t it Djack?" He turned red and she laughed at him, no longer afraid. "Listen, my friend," she said, "it is très beau what have you done."
But how can you answer me, you who lie there all alone in a hospital at Nice? Also, I am ashamed of myself for doubting the unfortunate young man. I am too happy to doubt anybody, perhaps. And so good night, my Djack. Sleep sweetly, guarded by powerful angels. Thy devoted, MARYETTE. She had been writing in the deserted café. Now she took a candle and went slowly upstairs.
"Vooz êtes tray belle " "Non! Please stop! It is not a question of me " "Vooz êtes tray chick " "Stop, Djack! That is not good manners! No! I was merely saying that you have done something very nice. Which is quite true. You heard rumours that Nivelle had become unsafe. People whispered last evening something about the danger of a salient being cut at its base.... I heard the gossip in the street.
You understand, mon ami Djack, I had to come." He nodded. She added, naïvely: "God watches over our trenches. We shall be quite safe in Nivelle." A dull boom shook the sunlit air. Even in the cart they could feel the vibration. An hour later, everywhere ahead of them, a vast, confused thundering was steadily increasing, deepening with every ominous reverberation.
However, it signified little to the youthful mistress-of-the-bells, Maryette Courtray, called "Carillonnette," for her Yankee lover still lay in his distant hospital her muleteer, "Djack."
"Never at Nivelle.... The belfry is being destroyed.... The sweetest carillon in France the oldest, the most beautiful.... Fifty-six bells, Djack a wondrous wilderness of bells rising above where one stands in the belfry, tier on tier, tier on tier, until one’s gaze is lost amid the heavenly company aloft.... Oh, Djack! And the great bell, Clovis!
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