He knew too that it was not the light from the stained windows, but
Julie herself who had filled the church with splendor. She was to John a
young goddess, perfect in her beauty, one who could do no wrong. His
love had all the tenderness and purity of young love, the poetic love
that comes only to youth.

But when he realized that Julie Lannes had become so much to him he felt
a sudden shyness, and he let the gigantic Picard lead the way. They had
made no noise in opening and closing the door, and their boots had been
soundless on the stone floor.

"The American, Lieutenant Scott, Mademoiselle," said Picard
respectfully.

John saw her little start of surprise, but when she stood up she was
quite self-possessed. Her color was a little deeper than usual, but it
might be the luminous glow from the stained-glass windows, or the cloak
of dark red which wrapped her from chin to feet may have given that
added touch.

She had been weary and anxious, and John thought he detected a gleam of
welcome in her glance. At least it pleased him to think so. The stern
Suzanne had given him a startled look, but the glance seemed to John
less hostile than it used to be.

"I was told, Miss Lannes," said John in English, "that you had received
a letter from your brother, Philip, to meet him here in Chastel. One
Weber, an Alsatian, an able and trustworthy man whom I know, gave me the
news."