He felt that he had never before sat down to so strange a table. The
world without was shaking beneath the tread of the mightiest of all
wars, but within this room was peace and quiet. Madame was like a Roman
matron, and the young Julie, though shy, had ample dignity. John liked
Lannes' manner toward them both, his fine subordination to his mother
and his protective air toward his sister. He was glad to be there with
them, a welcome guest in the family.
The dinner was served by a tall young woman. Picard's daughter Suzanne,
to whom Lannes had referred, and she served in silence and with
extraordinary dexterity one of the best dinners that he ever ate.
As the dinner proceeded John admired the extraordinary composure of the
Lannes family. Surely a woman and a girl of only seventeen would feel
consternation at the knowledge that an overwhelming enemy was almost
within sight of the city they must love so much. Yet they did not refer
to it, until nearly the close of the dinner, and it was Madame who
introduced the subject.
"I hear, Philip," she said, "that a bomb was thrown today from a German
aeroplane into the Place de l'Opera, killing a woman and injuring
several other people."
"It is true, mother."
John glanced covertly at Julie, and saw her face pale. But she did not
tremble.
"Is it true also that the German army is near?" asked Madame Lannes,
with just the faintest quiver in her voice.
"Yes, mother. John, standing in the lantern of the Basilique du
Sacre-Coeur, saw through his glasses the flash of sunlight on the lances
of their Uhlans.
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