It was Julie all in white, a semi-evening dress that heightened in a wonderful fashion her glorious, blond beauty.  He had often thought how this slender maid would bloom into a woman and now he beheld her here in the lodge, his prisoner and not Auersperg’s.  A swift smile passed over her face as she saw him, and bowing low before him she said: 

“I see, Mr. John, that you have not wasted your time.  You come arrayed in purple and gold.”

“But it’s borrowed plumage, Miss Julie.”

“And so is mine.”

“It can’t be.  I’m sure it was made for you.”

“The real owner wouldn’t say so.”

“You will forgive me if I tell you something, won’t you?”

“It depends upon what it is.”

The red in her checks deepened a little.  The gray eyes of John were speaking in very plain language to Julie.

“I must say it, stern necessity compels, if I don’t I’ll be very unhappy.”

“I wouldn’t have you miserable.”

“I want to tell you, Julie, that you are overwhelmingly beautiful tonight.”

“I’ve always heard that Americans were very bold, it’s true.”

“But remember the provocation, Julie.”

“Ah, sir, I have no protection and you take advantage of it.”

“There’s Suzanne.”

“But she’s in the kitchen.”

“Where I hope she’ll stay until she’s wanted.”

She was silent and the red in her cheeks deepened again.  But the blue eyes and the gray yet talked together.

“I worship you, your beauty and your great soul, but your great soul most of all,” said the gray.

“Any woman would be proud to have a lover who has followed her through so many and such great dangers, and who has rescued her at last.  She could not keep from loving him,” said the blue.

Suzanne appeared that moment in the doorway and stood there unnoticed.  She looked at them grimly and then came the rare smile that gave her face that wonderful softness.

“Come, Mademoiselle Julie and Mr. John,” she said.  “Dinner is ready and I tell you now that I’ve never prepared a better one.  This prince has a taste in food and wine that I did not think to find in any German.”

“And all that was his is ours now,” said John.  “Fortune of war.”

Suzanne’s promise was true to the last detail.  The dinner was superb and they had an Austrian white wine that never finds its way into the channels of commerce.

“To you, Julie, and our happy return to Paris,” said John, looking over the edge of his glass.  Suzanne was in the kitchen then and he dared to drop the “Mademoiselle.”

“To you, John,” she said, as she touched the wine to her lips—­she too dared to drop the “Mr.”

And then gray depths looked into blue depths and blue into gray, speaking a language that each understood.

“We’re the chosen of fortune,” said John, “The hotel at Chastel presented itself to us when we needed it most, and again when we need it most this lodge gives us all hospitality.”