floored with stone, the walls were stone and the light was dim. Lannes
divined John's thoughts.

"You'll find it more cheerful, presently," he said. "As for us, we're
used to it, and we love it, although it's so old and cold and dark. It
goes back at least five centuries."

"I suppose some king must have slept here once," said John. "In England
they point out every very old house as a place where a king passed the
night, and make reverence accordingly."

Lannes laughed gayly.

"No king ever slept here so far as I know," he said, "but the great
Marshal Lannes, whose name I am so proud to bear, was in this house more
than once, and to me, a staunch republican, that is greater than having
had a king for a tenant. The Marshal, as you may know, although he took
a title and served an Emperor, was always a republican and in the early
days of the empire often offended Napoleon by his frankness and brusque
truths. But enough of old things; we'll see my mother."

He led the way up the steps, of solid stone, between walls thick enough
for a fortress, and knocked at a door. A deep, full voice responded
"Enter!" and pushing open the door Lannes went in, followed by John.

It was a large room, with long, low windows, looking out over a sea of
roofs toward the dome of the Invalides and Napoleon's arch of triumph. A
tall woman rose from a chair, and saying "My son!" put her hands upon
Lannes shoulders and kissed him on the forehead. She was fair like her
son, and much less than fifty years of age. There was no stoop in her