ust boy and girl
together, but that they were very handsome. She had lifted two of the
candles and put them upon the table, their light touching Julie's hair
of deep gold with a ruddy tint and heightening the brilliant color of
her cheeks. The heavy curtains before the window near them had been
looped back a little, and the glass revealed the snow pouring down like
a cataract, but they did not see it.

"It's the best dinner I ever ate," said John.

"Now you are finding what capable people Antoine and Suzanne are," said
Julie.

"I give them all the credit due them," said John, as he made mental
reservations.

"They're wonderfully capable, but it will always be Antoine's bitter
regret that he does not serve in this war. If he could, he would be glad
to represent himself fifteen years younger than he really is."

"His chance will come. Again I say to myself, Miss Julie, what luck I
had in arriving at Chastel!"

"And it was lucky for us, too. We need your courage and resource, Mr.
John. I know that Philip cannot come today or tonight and perhaps not
tomorrow."

"In that event, what plans have you, Miss Julie?"

"To remain in Chastel. We have an excellent hotel here at our service,
and as we're behind the French army we're in perfect safety."

John opened his lips to speak, but changed his intention and did not say
what was in his thought. He said instead:

"Antoine is looking unusually important. He is going to serve us wine.
He has mineral water, too. Will you take a little of it with your wine?
It's a white wine, and the water improves it for me."

"Yes, Mr. John, I'll take mine the same way."

Any dinner, although it may have a flavor which the food and drink
themselves, no matter how good, cannot give, must draw to an end, and
when the dessert had been served and eaten John looped back the heavy
curtain still further and looked out at the white cataract.

"The snowfall will certainly continue the rest of the day," he said,
"and perhaps all through the night. Suppose we go to the smoking-room.
Antoine and Suzanne must eat also. It's their hour now."

"That is true, Mr. John. The smoking-room is a good place, but I'm
afraid that you have no cigarette."

"I don't smoke, but we can talk there, of your brother Philip, of your
mother, safe now, of Paris, delivered as if by a miracle from the German
menace, and of other good events that have happened."

He held open the door of the dining-room and when she