Jo was taken to the converted d'Ochtè mansion and there dressed like a nice, feminine little woman, her hair curled by madame's maid. A tight velvet toque and a dotted veil completed the transformation and the commander himself would not have recognized his one time prize aviator. All of this masquerade was for the sole purpose of fooling Philippe, who, also, was to be one of the guests at the Tricots'.
Polly was so happy to see his Jo again that it was pathetic to behold, and her pride in him and his bravery was beautiful. Polly was vastly improved. Kent, who had always liked the little man and had insisted that there was much more to him than the other members of the colony could see, was delighted to have his opinion of his friend verified.
The ceremony was a very simple one, performed, not by the magistrate as Mère Tricot had suggested, but at the Protestant Episcopal Church. Polly Perkins gave away the bride, and Jo looked as though she would burst with pride at this honour done her husband. Jim Castleman was best man, and Cousin Sally fell in love with him on the spot.
"He is like the young men of my youth," she declared, "the young men of Kentucky, I am not saying how many years ago."
The little living room at the Tricots' soon after the ceremony was full to overflowing, but every one squeezed in somehow. The old couple were very happy in dispensing hospitality. Their Jean came home for a few hours and their hearts were thankful for this glimpse of their son. Marie beamed with joy and the rosy baby delighted them all by saying, "Pa-pa!" the first word it had ever uttered.
Philippe, looking so handsome that Judy, too, wondered that all the American girls passed him by, fraternized with Jean, the peasant's son, with that simplicity which characterizes the military of France.
The party was very gay, so gay that it seemed impossible that the Germans were really not more than thirty miles from them. Of course they talked politics, men and women. Old Mère Tricot had her opinions and expressed them, and they listened with respect when she pooh-poohed and bah-bahed the notion that the Nations had gone to war from altruistic motives.
"Belgium might as well die fighting as die not fighting. The Germans had her any way she jumped. France had to fight, too, fight or be enslaved. As for Great Britain--she couldn't well stay out of it! When the Germans got Antwerp, why, where was England? Let us fight, I say--fight to a finish; but let's be honest about it and each country say she is fighting for herself."