necessary that they would have been dead by now in every case. It was
more glorious to die fighting for freedom and France than just to
die--fifty years later. Me, I'd enjoy very much to die fighting. But
look! You pulled up the roots. And what is that thing hanging to the
roots--not a rock?

_Angélique_. No, I think not a rock. (She takes the object in her hands
and knocks dirt from it.) But what is it, Jean-B'tiste?

_Jean-Baptiste_. It's--but never mind. I can't always know everything,
don't you see, Angélique? It's just something of one of the Americans
who died in the ditch. One is always finding something in these old
battle-fields.

_Angélique_. (_Rubs the object with her dress. Takes a handful of sand
and rubs it on the object. Spits on it and rubs the sand_.) _V'là_,
Jean-B'tiste--it shines.

_Jean-Baptiste_. (_Loftily_.) Yes. It is nothing, that. One finds such
things.

_Angélique._ (_Rubbing more_.) And there are letters on it.

_Jean-Baptiste_. Yes. It is nothing, that. One has flowers _en masse_
now, and it is time to go home. Come then, _p'tite_, drop the dirty bit
of brass and pick up your pretty flowers. _Tiens!_ Give me your hand.
I'll pull you up the side of the ditch. (_Jean-Baptiste turns as they
start_.) I forgot the thing which the grandfather told me I must do
always. (_He stands at attention_.) _Au revoir_, brave Americans. One
salutes your immortal glory. (_Exit Jean-Baptiste and Angélique_.)