“And I am finding repayment now for what I was happy to do,” he said, kissing her hand again in that far-off knightly fashion.

Again the red tide in her cheeks and then she swiftly left the room, but John threw himself in a chair before the great fire and gazed into the coals.  Wide awake, he was dreaming.  He knew they would be days in the lodge.  The storm was so great that no one could come from Zillenstein in a week.  Providence or fortune had been so kind that he began to fear enough had been done for them.  Such good luck could not go on forever, and there, too, was the man Muller who might make trouble when he came.

Nevertheless his feeling was but momentary.  The extraordinary lightness of heart returned.  The storm roared without and at times it volleyed down the chimney, making the flames leap and dance, but the sense of security and safety was strong within him.  The war passed by, forgotten for the time.  History, it was true, repeated itself, and this was the abandoned hotel at Chastel over again, but they were in a far better position now.  No one could come against them, unless the man Muller should prove to be a foe.  And he resolved, too, gazing into the flames, that they should not steal Julie from him here, as they had taken her at Chastel.

Darkness, save for the gleam of the snow, came over the mountain, but the flakes were driving so thick and fast that they formed a white blanket before the window, as impervious as black night itself.  It reminded him of a great storm he had seen once on his uncle’s ranch on the high table land of Montana, but to him it came that night as a friend and not as an enemy, cutting them off from Zillenstein and all the dangers it held.

He lighted candles and lamps in the great room and all the smaller rooms clustering about it.  He would have everything cheerful for Julie when she returned.

He had seen Suzanne take several heavy packages from the automobile and he had no doubt that they had come amply provided with clothing, that for Julie, belonging doubtless to a young cousin or niece of the prince who stayed sometimes at Zillenstein.

As for himself, if they remained long he must depend upon the spare raiment of the forester, and, remembering suddenly that he might effect his own improvement, he hunted for Muller’s room and discovered it on the second floor.  Here he found shaving materials, and rapidly cleared his face of the young beard that he despised.  Muller’s clothing was scattered about, and he judged from it that the forester was a man of about his own size.  After some hesitation, he took off his own coat and put on a brilliant Tyrolean jacket which he surmised the owner reserved for occasions of state.

“If you come, Mr. Muller, I’ll try to explain to you why I do this,” said John aloud.  “I know you’ll forgive me when I tell you it’s in honor of a lady.”

Then he laughed at himself in a glass.  It was a gorgeous jacket, but one could wear more brilliant clothes in Europe than in America, and his appearance was certainly improved.  He returned to the great room and someone sitting in the chair before the fire rose to receive him.