noon
She was crooning the verse of a ballad : `` Serais je nonette ' Crois que non -- '' and looking with happy eyes at the cool morning light on the forest . `` Up , sleepy-head , '' she cried . `` Listen to the merry trampling of the horses . I must start , if I would spare the poor things in the noon . Follow me with your prayers , for France rides with me . I love you , sweet sister . Be sure I will hasten to you when my work is done . ''