"
"But, sir, that was not sleep. It was the stupor of unconsciousness.
Now your sleep will be easy and natural."
"Very well," said John, who had really begun to feel a little weary,
"I'll go to sleep, since, in a way, you order it, but if Mademoiselle
Julie Lannes should happen to pass my cot again, will you kindly wake me
up?"
"If possible, sir," said Picard, the faintest smile passing over his
iron features, and forced to be content with that reply, John soon slept
again. Julie passed by him twice, but Picard did not awaken him, nor
try. The first time she was alone. Trained and educated like most young
French girls, she had seen little of the world until she was projected
into the very heart of it by an immense and appalling war. But its
effect upon her had been like that upon John. Old manners and customs
crumbled away, an era vanished, and a new one with new ideas came to
take its place. She shuddered often at what she had seen in this great
hospital in the woods, but she was glad that she had come. French
courage was as strong in the hearts of women as in the hearts of men,
and the brusque but good Dr. Delorme had said that she learned fast. She
had more courage, yes, and more skill, than many nurses older and
stronger than she, and there was the stalwart Suzanne, who worked with
her.
She was alone the first time and she stopped by John's cot, where he
slept so peacefully. He was undeniably handsome, this young American who
had come to their house in Paris with Philip.
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