"Au revoir, my son.... Au revoir, my daughter.... I'm off--off for France!" Here he seemed to gather a moment's strength.... He attempted to sing:
"'Will you buy any tape, Any lace for----for----'
"I'm off, my dear-a, for Picardy, for beautiful Amiens, Rouen, to black Rennes, for dear old Paris, for the road from Lille to Dunkerque."
Here his voice grew faint and it was with an effort he whispered:
"Sometimes, my dear-a, come here to the green and watch for me as of old.... Who knows? Who knows, my children? Perhaps I shall be gone forever and a day.... Perhaps," and he rose from his pillows, "perhaps--au revoir--
"Rogue, you sacré pig of a zebra, home.... Home!"
And Monsieur l'Abbé Jacques Picot had gone upon his journey.