"And the fortunes of the house of Lannes are moderate now, as you and I
know quite well, Suzanne," continued the wise Antoine. "Surely it must
have occurred to Madame her mother, when our little Mademoiselle Julie
was yet but a beautiful young child, that she might make a great
marriage some day. In this world of ours, Suzanne, many millions of good
francs should not be allowed to escape from France."

"It is so, my father," said Suzanne. "France will need numberless
millions when this war is over. Here is the vinegar for the salad. Not
too much. Mademoiselle Julie likes only a little of it. What fortune it
was to find a hotel furnished with everything! The faint sighing sound
that still comes on the wind, is it not that of the guns, my father?"

"Aye, Suzanne, it's that of the cannon thundering far away, but
Mademoiselle Julie and Mr. Scott have forgotten all about it, and it
would be a pity to recall them to it."

Suzanne nodded. For a little space she, too, was compelled to relax. The
salad now being complete she served it herself, and as she did so she
relaxed still further, murmuring that they were just 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