shoulders and but little gray in her hair. Her eyes were anxious, but
John saw in them the Spartan determination that marked the women of
France.

"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