Here when he was alone with his candle he looked around
curiously.
The room was quite simple, not containing much furniture, in truth,
nothing of any note save on the wall a fine picture of the great Marshal
Lannes, Napoleon's dauntless fighter, and stern republican, despite the
ducal title that he took. It was a good portrait, painted perhaps by
some great artist, and John holding up the candle, looked at it a long
time.
He thought he could trace some likeness to Philip. Lannes' face was
always stern, in repose, far beyond his years, although when he became
animated it had all the sunniness of youth. But he noticed now that he
had the same tight lips of the Marshal, and the same unfaltering eyes.
"Duke of Montebello!" said John to himself. "Well, you won that title
grandly, and while the younger Lannes may do as well, if the chance
comes to him, the new heroes of France will be neither dukes nor
princes."
Then, after removing all the stiff pillows, inclines, foot pieces and
head pieces that make European beds so uncomfortable, he slipped between
the covers, and slid quickly into a long and soothing sleep, from which
he was awakened apparently about a minute later by Lannes himself, who
stood over him, dressed fully, tall and serious.
"Why, I just got into bed!" exclaimed John.
"You came in here a full seven hours ago. Open your window and you'll
see the dawn creeping over Paris."
"Thank you, but you can open it yourself.
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