spoke to Julie.

"It's too fine a morning for battle," he said in English. "Let's pretend
that we're a company of troubadours, minnesingers, jongleurs, acrobats
and what not, going from one great castle to another."

"I suppose Antoine there is the chief acrobat?"

"He might do a flip-flap, but if he did the earth would shake."

"Then you are the chief troubadour. Where is your harp or viol, Sir
Knight of the Tuneful Road?"

"I'm merely imagining character, not action. I haven't a harp or a viol,
and if I had them I couldn't play on either."

"Do you think it right to talk In English to the strange young American,
Mademoiselle? Would Madame your mother approve?" said Suzanne in a
fierce whisper.

"It is sometimes necessary in war, Suzanne, to talk where one would not
do so in peace," replied Julie gravely, and then she said to John again
in English:

"We cannot carry out the pretense, Mr. Scott. The tuneful or merry folk
of the Middle Ages did not travel with arms. They had no enemies, and
they were welcome everywhere. Nor did they travel as we do to the
accompaniment of war. The sound of the guns grows louder."

"So it does," said John, bending an ear--he had forgotten that a battle
was raging somewhere, "but we're behind the French lines and it cannot
touch us."

"It was a wonderful victory. Our soldiers are the bravest in the world
are they not, Mr. Scott?"

John smiled. They were still talking English. He liked to hear her
piquant pronunciation of it, and he surmised too that the bravest of
hearts beat in the bosom of this young girl whom war had suddenly made a
woman. How could the sister of such a man as Lannes be otherwise than
brave? The sober brown dress, and the hood equally sober, failed to hide
her youthful beauty. The strands of hair escaping from the hood showed
pure gold in the sunshine, and in the same sunshine the blue of her eyes
seemed deeper than ever.

John was often impressed by the weakness of generalities, and one of
them was the fact that so many of the French were so fair, and so many
of the English so dark. He did not remember the origin of the Lannes
family, but he was sure that through her mother's line, at least, she
must be largely of Norman blood.

"What are you thinking of so gravely, Mr. Scott?" she asked, still in
English, to the deep dissatisfaction of Suzanne, who never relaxed her
grim glare.

"I don't know. Perhaps it was the contrast of our peaceful journey to
w