𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 | | 1917

6. THE FRENCH GIRL

" No, you don't understand; I was there."

-

"BONJOUR, MONSIEUR," said Jo, sitting down at the chair next to the bed. She let out a breath and put her hands in her lap.

"Ça va?" he asked her.

"Bien, merci," she said and Julian nodded.

Jo thought for a second. She was not equipped for this. She was barely equipped for anything other than certain medical usage and that seemed to be the very last thing they would allow her to do.

"Je pense qu'ils essaient de me tuer," he said blankly. I think they're trying to kill me.

Jo furrowed her eyebrows and scoffed slightly under her breath. "Personne n'essaye de vous tuer. Sauf peut-être les Allemands." No one is trying to kill you. Except maybe the Germans.

"Mais ils ne sont pas ici pour le moment," she continued, pressing her lips together and letting her shoulders fall back. But they are not here at the moment.

The corners of his mouth tilted upwards and he leaned back into his pillow. It looked warm.

"Pourquoi êtes-vous ici?" he then asked. Why Are you here? Jo stayed still, looking at him. "Vous n'étiez pas placé ici, non?" he continued. You weren't placed here, right?

She straightened her pose and thought for a second.
"Ce n'est pas à propos de moi," she said. This is not about me.

"Really?" he asked.

She blinked. Her upper lip curling and her cheeks deepening. His accent was slightly amusing and she fought back to not lift an eyebrow at him.

"On dirait que vous peux parlez Anglais après tout," she spoke, leaning back and crossing her arms. Seems like you can speak English after all.

He hummed, whatever that meant, and glanced away. "I don't want to. The English are so full of themselves."

"Ce n'est pas important," she said. That doesn't matter.

The man murmured something beneath his breath and turned his gaze towards the ceiling. A silence fell in between them, the ones she dreaded so much. Tilting her heels back and forwards she decided to speak up again.

"How did you come here?" she asked and bit the inside of her cheek. She felt rather silly asking questions. But then again, that was what they wanted out of her, was it not?

The man opened one eye and looked at her.

"J'ai rencontré des britanniques et ils m'ont amené ici." I ran into some brits and they brought me here.

It wasn't enough to leave her satisfied, she told herself. But perhaps she just wanted the silence to come to an end.

She looked down and nodded slightly.
"Et d'où venez vous?" she murmured. And where are you from?

"Au début, j'ai été placé à Saint-Malo."

Once her attention peeked, he must have noticed, for soon enough both his eyes were open and looking intently at the nurse. Her arms had fallen away from her chest and she had already taken an unnoticed step forward.

"Saint-Malo?" her light voice broke off slightly and the man watched her carefully. He didn't answer.

"Est-ce que vous connaissez le Sergent Avair?" she continued, not hesitating this time.

It was André. André was at Saint-Malo and Jo needed to know if he was alright. She needed to know so many things which she didn't. Letters took weeks to arrive, sometimes months, depending on whether the post office was freed on not. There was no way she could keep track of her brothers moving- but perhaps the young man lying in front of her could.