Lannes shook himself, as if he had laid violent hands upon his own body,
and his face cleared.

"That was the last time, John," he said. "I made that promise before,
but I keep it this time. You won't see me gloomy again. Henceforward
it's hope only. Now, we must hurry. My mother and Julie will be growing
anxious, for we are overdue."

They crossed the Seine by one of the beautiful stone bridges and entered
a region of narrow and crooked streets, which John thought must be a
part of old Paris. In an American city it would necessarily have been a
quarter of the poor, but John knew that here wealth and distinction were
often hidden behind these modest doors.

He began to feel very curious about Lannes' family, but he was careful
to ask no questions. He knew that the young Frenchman was showing great
trust and faith in him by taking him into his home. They stopped
presently before a door, and Lannes rang a bell. The door was opened
cautiously in a few moments, and a great head surmounted by thick, gray
hair was thrust out. A powerful neck and a pair of immense shoulders
followed the head. Sharp eyes under heavy lashes peered forth, but in an
instant, when the man saw who was before him, he threw open the door and
said:

"Welcome, Monsieur."

John had no doubt that this was the Antoine Picard of whom Lannes had
spoken, and he knew at the first glance that he beheld a real man. Many
people have the idea that all Frenchmen are little, but John knew
better.