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Page 22
He walked down the main street, and unconsciously stopped whistling.
Then the awful silence and desolation brooded over him again. The storm
was thickening, and the lights in the plain below were entirely gone
now. He was not yet able to find any proof of human life in Chastel,
and, after all, the fighting in the town might have been so recent and
so fierce that not one of the inhabitants yet dared to return. The
thought made his heart throb painfully. What, then, had become of Julie?
He stopped before the cathedral, and looked up at the lofty Gothic spire
which seemed to tower above the whirling snow. As well as he could see
some damage had been done to the roof by shells, but the beautiful
stained-glass windows were uninjured. He stood there gazing, and he knew
in his heart that he was looking for a sign, like that which he and
Lannes had seen on the Arc de Triomphe when the fortunes of France
seemed lost forever.
A stalwart figure suddenly emerged from the white gloom and heavy hands
were laid upon him. John's own fingers in his overcoat pocket tightened
over the automatic, but the hands on his shoulders were those of
friendship.
"Ah, it is thou, Monsieur Scott!" exclaimed a deep voice. "The master
has not come but thou art thrice welcome in his place!"
It was Picard, no less than Antoine Picard himself, looming white and
gigantic through the storm, and John could not doubt the genuine warmth
in his voice. He was in truth welcome and he knew it. As Picard's hands
dropped from his shoulders he seized them in his and wrung them hard.
"Mademoiselle Julie!" he exclaimed. "What of her? Did she come? Or have
you only come in her place?"
"She is here, sir! In the church with Suzanne, my daughter. We arrived
two hours ago. I wanted to go on to the camp that we could see in the
plain below, but Mademoiselle Lannes would not hear of it. It was here
that Monsieur Philip wished her to meet him, and if she went on he would
miss her. We expected to find food and rooms, but, my God, sir, the town
is deserted! Most of the houses have been shot to pieces by the
artillery and if people are here we cannot find them. Because of that we
have taken shelter, for the present, in the church."
But John in his eagerness was already pushing open one of the huge
bronze doors, and Picard, brushing some of the snow from his clothes,
followed him. The door swung shut behind them both, and he stood beside
one of the pews staring into the dusky interior.
But his eyes became used to the gloom, and soon it did not seem so
somber as it was outside. Instead the light from the stained-glass
windows made the mists and shadows luminous. A nave, the lofty pillars
dividing it from the side aisles, the choir and the altar emerged slowly
into view. From the walls pictures of the Madonna and the saints,
unstained and untouched, looked down upon him. One of the candles near
the altar had been lighted, and it burned with a steady, beckoning
flame.
The cathedral, a great building for a small town, as happens so often in
Europe, presented a warm and cheerful interior to John. It seemed to him
soon after the huge bronze door sank into place behind him that war,
cold, desolation and loneliness were shut out. The luminous glow
streaming through the stained glass windows and the candle burning near
the altar were beacons.
Then he saw Julie, sitting wrapped in a heavy cloak, in one of the pews
before the choir, and the grim Suzanne, also shrouded in a heavy cloak,
sat beside her. John's heart was in a glow. He knew now that he loved
his comrade Philip's sister. Two or three of the golden curls escaping
from her hood, fell down her back, and they were twined about his heart.
He knew too that it was not the light from the stained windows, but
Julie herself who had filled the church with splendor. She was to John a
young goddess, perfect in her beauty, one who could do no wrong. His
love had all the tenderness and purity of young love, the poetic love
that comes only to youth.
But when he realized that Julie Lannes had become so much to him he felt
a sudden shyness, and he let the gigantic Picard lead the way. They had
made no noise in opening and closing the door, and their boots had been
soundless on the stone floor.
"The American, Lieutenant Scott, Mademoiselle," said Picard
respectfully.
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