When dinner was over they returned to the room in which Madame Lannes
had received them. The dark had come already, and Suzanne had lighted
four tall candles. There was neither gas nor electricity.

"Mr. Scott will be our guest tonight, mother," said Lannes, "and
tomorrow he and I go together to the army."

John raised his hand in protest. It had not been his intention when he
came to remain until morning, but Lannes would listen to no objection;
nor would his mother.

"Since you fight for our country," she said, "you must let us give you
shelter for at least one night."

He acquiesced, and they sat a little while, talking of the things
furthest from their hearts. Julie Lannes withdrew presently, and before
long her mother followed. Lannes went to the window, and looked out over
Paris, where the diminished lights twinkled. John stood at the other
window and saw the great blur of the capital. All sounds were fused into
one steady murmur, rather soothing, like the flowing of a river.

He seemed to hear presently the distant thunder of German guns, but
reason told him it was only a trick of the imagination. Nerves keyed
high often created the illusion of reality.

"What are you thinking about, Lannes?" he asked.

"Of my mother and sister. Only the French know the French. The family
tie is powerful with us."