When he sank down upon the bench he realized that he was tired through and through.  It was no light task even for a hardened soldier to walk all day in bad weather.  One of the cooks, a stout middle-aged woman whom the others called Johanna, gave him a glance of sympathy.  She saw a young man pale from great exertion, but with a singularly fine face, a face that was exceedingly strong, without being coarse or rough.  Johanna thought him handsome, and so did the other cook, also stout and middle-aged, who bore the French name of Nanine.

“Poor young man!” said one and, “Poor young man!” repeated the other.  Then they filled a plate with warm food and handed it to him.  While he ate he talked with them and the passing maids, who were full of interest in the handsome young stranger.  He told them that he was a horse-trader, and that he had been in no battle, nor would he be in any, but he saw that he was not believed, and secretly he was glad of it.  These were trim young maids and a young soldier likes admiration, even if it comes from those who in the world’s opinion are of a lower rank than he.

They asked him innumerable questions, and he answered as well as he could.  He told of the troops that he had seen, and they informed him that German forces had been passing there at times all through the winter.  Princes and great generals had stopped at the farmhouse of Herr Gratz or Monsieur Gratz, as he was indifferently called.  The war had ruined many others, but it brought profit to him, because all the guests paid and paid well.

John in a pleased and restful state listened, and he was soothed by the sound of their voices.  He had often heard old men at home, veterans of the Civil War, tell how grateful to them was the sight of a woman after months of marching and fighting.  Now he understood.  These were only cooks and housemaids, but their faces were not roughened like those of soldiers, and their voices and footsteps were light and soft.  Moreover, they gave him food and drink—­for which he would pay farmer Gratz, however—­and made much over him.

“We had royal guests last night,” said the youngest of the maids, whom they called Annette, a slender blond girl.

“Going to the battle front?”

“Oh, no.  They were going the other way, toward Metz, and perhaps only one was a real prince.”

“Maybe this prince had seen enough of battles?”

“I cannot say.  I saw him only once.  He was a large man, middle-aged, and he had a great brown beard.”

John’s whole body stiffened.  Questions leaped to his lips, but he compelled his muscles to relax and by a great effort he assumed a tone of indifference.

“What was the prince’s name?” he asked with apparent carelessness.

“I don’t know, but the people around him were as respectful to him as if he were a king.  There were two women with him, but the master himself served these two alone in their room.”