"Blood will tell."
"If God gives back my country to my people, Mr. Barnes," she said,
after a long silence, "will you not one day make your way out there to
us, so that we may present some fitting expression of the gratitude--"
"Don't speak of gratitude," he exclaimed. "I don't want to be thanked.
Good Lord, do you suppose I--"
"There, there! Don't be angry," she cried. "But you must come to my
country. You must see it. You will love it."
"But suppose that God does not see fit to restore it to you. Suppose
that he leaves it in the hands of the vandals. What then? Will you go
back to--that?"
She was still for a long time. "I shall not return to my country until
it is free again, Mr. Barnes," she said, and there was a break in her
voice.
"You--you will remain in MY country?" he asked, leaning closer to her
ear.
"The world is large," she replied. "I shall have to live somewhere. It
may be here, it may be France, or England or Switzerland."
"Why not here? You could go far and do worse."
"Beggars may not be choosers. The homeless cannot be very particular,
you know. If the Germans remain in my country, I shall be without a
home."
His voice was tense and vibrant when he spoke again, after a moment's
reflection.
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