ith a dog's head in her lap, and another girl, who
had a Red Cross on her sleeve, at the table with a book. She had been
reading aloud in a rich veiled voice, and broke off her last phrase
to say: "Dinner...." Then she looked up and saw Jean. Her dark face
remained perfectly calm, but she lifted her hand in a just perceptible
gesture of warning, and instantly understanding he drew back and pushed
the servant forward in his place.

"Madame la Comtesse--it is some one outside asking for Mademoiselle."

The dark girl jumped up and ran out into the hall. I remember wondering:
"Is it because she wants to have him to herself first--or because she's
afraid of their being startled?" I wished myself out of the way, but she
took no notice of me, and going straight to Jean flung her arms about
him. I was behind him and could see her hands about his neck, and
her brown fingers tightly locked. There wasn't much doubt about those
two....

The next minute she caught sight of me, and I was being rapidly tested
by a pair of the finest eyes I ever saw--I don't apply the term to their
setting, though that was fine too, but to the look itself, a look at
once warm and resolute, all-promising and all-penetrating. I really
can't do with fewer adjectives....

Rechamp explained me, and she was full of thanks and welcome; not
excessive, but--well, I don't know--eloquent! She gave every intonation
all it could carry, and without the least emphasis: that's the wonder.

She went back to "prepare" the parents, as they say in melodrama; and
in a minute or two we followed. What struck me first was that these
insignificant and inadequate people had the command of the grand
gesture--had _la ligne_. The mother had laid aside her knitting--_not_
dropped it--and stood waiting with open arms. But even in clasping
her son she seemed to include me in her welcome. I don't know how to
describe it; but they never let me feel I was in the way. I suppose
that's part of what you call distinction; knowing instinctively how to
deal with unusual moments.

All the while, I was looking about me at the fine secure old room, in
which nothing seemed altered or disturbed, the portraits smiling from
the walls, the servants beaming in the doorway--and wondering how such
things could have survived in the trail of death and havoc we had been
following.

The same thought had evidently struck Jean, for he dropped his sister's
hand and turned to gaze about him too.

"The