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Page 11
"My friend, John Scott, of whom I have already spoken to you, Madame my
mother," said Lannes.
John bowed. He knew little of French customs, particularly in the heart
of a French family, and he was afraid to extend his hand, but she gave
him hers, and let it rest in his palm a moment.
"Philip has told me much of you," she said in her deep, bell-like voice,
"and although I know little of your far America, I can believe the best
of it, if its sons are like you."
John flushed at the compliment, which he knew to be so sincere.
"Thank you, Madame," he said. "While my country can take no part in this
war, many of my countrymen will fight with you. France helped us once,
and some of us, at least, will help France now."
She smiled gravely, and John knew that he was welcome in her house.
Lannes would see to that anyhow, but he wished to make a good impression
on his own account.
"I know that Philip risks his life daily," she said. "He has chosen the
most dangerous of all paths, the air, but perhaps in that way he can
serve us most."
She spoke with neither complaint nor reproach, merely as if she were
stating a fact, and her son added briefly:
"You are right, mother. In the air I can work best for our people. Ah,
John, here is my sister, who is quite curious about the stranger from
across the sea."
A young girl came into the room. She was tall and slender, not more than
seventeen, very fair, with blue eyes and hair of pure gold. John was
continually observing that while many of the French were dark and small,
in accordance with foreign opinion that made them all so, many more were
blonde and tall. Lannes' sister was scarcely more than a lovely child,
but his heart beat more quickly.
Lannes kissed her on the forehead, just as he kissed his mother.
"Julie," he said lightly and yet proudly, "this is the young American
hero of whom I was telling you, my comrade in arms, or rather in the
air, and adopted brother. Mr. John Scott, my sister, Mademoiselle Julie
Lannes."
She made a shy curtsey and John bowed. It was the first time that he was
ever in the heart of an old French home, and he did not know the rules,
but he felt that he ought not to offer his hand. Young girls, he had
always heard, were kept in strict seclusion in France, but the great war
and the approach of the German army might make a difference. In any
event, he felt bold enough to talk to her a little, and she responded, a
beautiful color coming into her face.
"Dinner is ready for our guest and you," said Madame Lannes, and she led
the way into another apartment, also with long, low windows, where the
table was set. The curtains were drawn from the windows, and John caught
through one of them a glimpse of the Seine, of marching troops in long
blue coats and red trousers, and of the great city, massing up beyond
like a wall.
He felt that he had never before sat down to so strange a table. The
world without was shaking beneath the tread of the mightiest of all
wars, but within this room was peace and quiet. Madame was like a Roman
matron, and the young Julie, though shy, had ample dignity. John liked
Lannes' manner toward them both, his fine subordination to his mother
and his protective air toward his sister. He was glad to be there with
them, a welcome guest in the family.
The dinner was served by a tall young woman. Picard's daughter Suzanne,
to whom Lannes had referred, and she served in silence and with
extraordinary dexterity one of the best dinners that he ever ate.
As the dinner proceeded John admired the extraordinary composure of the
Lannes family. Surely a woman and a girl of only seventeen would feel
consternation at the knowledge that an overwhelming enemy was almost
within sight of the city they must love so much. Yet they did not refer
to it, until nearly the close of the dinner, and it was Madame who
introduced the subject.
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