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Page 92
"What is it, Mr. Scott?"
"What happened to me?"
"They say that you were knocked down by a horse, and that when you were
falling his knee struck your head. There was a concussion but the
surgeon says that when you come out of it you will recover very fast."
"Is the man who says it a good surgeon, one upon whom a fellow can rely,
one of the very best surgeons that ever worked on a hurt head?"
"Yes, Mr. Scott. But why do you ask such a question? Is it your odd
American way?"
"Not at all. Mademoiselle Julie. I merely wanted to satisfy myself. He
knows that I'm not likely to be insane or weak-minded or anything of the
kind, because I got in the way of that horse's knee?"
"Oh, no, Mr. Scott, there is not the least danger in the world. Your
mind will be as sound as your body. Don't trouble yourself."
She laughed and now John knew that it was she whom he had heard singing
the chansonette in that low murmuring tone. What was that little song?
Well, it did not matter about the words. The music was that of a soft
breeze from the south blowing among roses. John's imaginings were
growing poetical. Perhaps there were yet some lingering effects from the
concussion.
"Here is the surgeon now," said Mademoiselle Julie. "He will take a look
at you and he will be glad to find that what he has predicted has come
true."
It was the man in the white jacket, and with that wonderful tangle of
black whiskers, like a patch cut out of a scrub forest.
"Well, my young Yankee," he said, "I see that you've come around. You've
raised an interesting question in my mind. Since a cavalry horse wasn't
able to break it, is the American skull thicker than the skulls of other
people?"
"A lot of you Europeans don't seem to think we're civilized."
"But when you fight for us we do. Isn't that so, Mademoiselle Lannes?"
"I think it is."
"War is a curious thing. While it drives people apart it also brings
them together. We learn in battle, and its aftermath, that we're very
much alike. And now, my young Yankee, I'll be here again in two hours to
change that bandage for the last time. I'll be through with you then,
and in another day you can go forward to meet the German shells."
"I prefer to run against a horse's knee," said John with spirit.
Surgeon Lucien Delorme laughed heartily.
"I'm confirmed in my opinion that you won't need me after another change
of bandages," he said. "We've a couple of hundred thousand cases much
worse than yours to tend, and Mademoiselle Lannes will look after you
today. She has watched over you, I understand, because you're a friend
of her brother, the great flying man, Philip Lannes."
"Yes," said John, "that's it, of course."
Julie herself said nothing.
Surgeon Delorme passed through the bar of brilliant light and
disappeared, his place being taken by a gigantic figure with grizzled
hair, and the stern face of the thoughtful peasant, the same Antoine
Picard who had been left as a guardian over the little house beyond the
Seine. John closed his eyes, that is nearly, and caught the glance that
the big man gave to Julie. It was protecting and fatherly, and he knew
that Antoine would answer for her at any time with his life. It was one
remnant of feudalism to which he did not object. He opened his eyes wide
and said:
"Well, my good Picard, perhaps you thought you were going to look at a
dead American, but you are not. Behold me!"
He sat up and doubled up his arm to show his muscle and power. Picard
smiled and offered to shake hands in the American fashion. He seemed
genuinely glad that John had returned to the real world, and John
ascribed it to Picard's knowledge that he was Lannes' friend.
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