els that adorned coiffures and necks, played on
glittering uniforms, on a scene magnificent and splendid--and focused,
as her eyes fixed and held, on that one outstanding figure, the figure
that was like to the figure of a demi-god, the only figure, the only
one that she saw now in all that vast assemblage, who stood erect,
strong and massive-shouldered, the black hair, a little longer now,
flung in careless abandon back from the broad, white forehead. It was
Jean! It was Jean!

"Jean!" she whispered--and her hand stole into Father Anton's. "Jean!"

And he was not changed--only that short, pointed beard, that seemed to
add a something, that made him more imposing. It was Jean, the same
Jean--only there was a grace, an ease, a command, a kingship in his
poise as he stood there, and--yes--yes--they came--one after the
other--the men, the women--and bowed before him.

"Do you remember Monsieur and Mademoiselle Bliss?" Father Anton said
gently. "See--they are there beside Jean. And that tall man to whom
they are talking is a very famous statesman for one so young. His name
is Paul Valmain."

They did not interest her. There was only Jean. And she could not
look long enough at him. There was music playing somewhere, softly,
very softly, scarcely audible above the sound of so many voices all
talking at once, voices that ascended in a subdued roar like the sound
of a shell that one held to one's ear. She tried to think, and she
could not. Afterwards she would think. Now she could only look.

Father Anton touched her arm. Was it already time to go? No, no--not
yet! Not yet--for a little while! She had come so far, so long a way
just for this--to see Jean.

"It is the President of the Republic coming, Marie-Louise--see!
Listen!"

There was tumult about her. Those in the gallery around her were
clapping their hands, waving their handkerchiefs; and the music she had
heard playing so softly crashed suddenly into the strains of that song
of glory, immortal, undying, that was cradled in the very soul of
France itself--the Marseillaise. And as it fired the blood, that
melody, martial, stirring, that men had died for, ay, and women, too,
the outburst around her rose to hysterical heat, and thunders of
applause rolled and reverberated through the room that was bigger than
any room she had ever seen or dreamed of. And they were calling Jean's
name again--and the President, the great President was there with Je