“Toward Metz.  We know no more.  The prince did not look like a man who would tell his intentions to everybody.”

“The story has in it the elements of romance,” said John.  “I think with you, Annette, that the young lady who must certainly have been of high birth, was being carried away from some young man who loved her well.”

A lively discussion followed.  John’s voice had decided the opinion of the kitchen.  It had been divided hitherto, but it was not now.  The beautiful young lady with the starry eyes and the golden hair had certainly been torn away, and the sympathy of cooks and maids was strongly for her.  While they talked John tried to collect his thoughts.  After the first shock, he was convinced that Julie’s life was in no danger, but her liberty certainly was.  Auersperg would use the charge that she was a spy to hold her, and he was a powerful man.  The pressure upon her would grow heavier and heavier all the time.  Could she resist it?  He might make her think that the fate of a spy would be hers, unless she chose to marry him.

In all the world, since Philip would lie long in the hospital with a wound, there was but one man who could help her.  And it was he, John Scott.  Out of the depths of his misery and despair a star of hope shot up.  His own strong heart and arm, and his only, would rescue her.  Some minds gather most courage when things are at the worst, like steel hardening in the fire, and John’s was markedly of this type.  Since chance had brought him on this road, and to the very house in which Julie had slept, the same kindly chance would continue to guide him on the right way.  It was a good omen.

The twilight outside, cold and gray, was deepening into night.  His appetite was satisfied and he felt buoyant and strong.  Had he obeyed his impulse he would have started on the road to Metz in pursuit.  But he knew that it was folly to exhaust himself in such a manner for nothing.  Instead he told Johanna that he would go to the stable now and sleep.  Jacques, a stalwart hostler, was called to show him his quarters, and he departed with all their good wishes.

Jacques was a large brown peasant, and as he led the way to the stable he said: 

“They told me your name was Jean Castel from Lorraine?”

“Yes, back of Metz.”

“And the house is full of German officers.”

He pointed to the windows of the dining-room, which were ruddy with light.  Young men in tight-fitting uniforms, their blond hair pompadoured, were outlined vividly against the glow.

“Will they go forward or will they come back?” asked Jacques in a hoarse whisper.  “Is the work of Bismarck to stand or is it to undo itself?”

John believed Jacques to be a French sympathizer, anxious for an opinion that would agree with his hopes, but one could not be sure in such times, and it behooved him above all, with Julie at the end of his journey, to be careful.  So he merely shrugged his shoulders and replied: