Voila.

I take zat hankshife, blue as ze skies of France, and I wear him roun' my necks.

Give me hims." My father smiled and then unknotted the bright blue silk neckerchief he wore, and accompanied it with a hearty shake of the hand.
"Thank you, captain," he said warmly.
"And you--merci.

We go to war some day.

Who know I may be prisonaire.
I may come to fight against you, and then.