“You’ll find it more cheerful, presently,” he said.  “As for us, we’re used to it, and we love it, although it’s so old and cold and dark.  It goes back at least five centuries.”

“I suppose some king must have slept here once,” said John.  “In England they point out every very old house as a place where a king passed the night, and make reverence accordingly.”

Lannes laughed gayly.

“No king ever slept here so far as I know,” he said, “but the great Marshal Lannes, whose name I am so proud to bear, was in this house more than once, and to me, a staunch republican, that is greater than having had a king for a tenant.  The Marshal, as you may know, although he took a title and served an Emperor, was always a republican and in the early days of the empire often offended Napoleon by his frankness and brusque truths.  But enough of old things; we’ll see my mother.”

He led the way up the steps, of solid stone, between walls thick enough for a fortress, and knocked at a door.  A deep, full voice responded “Enter!” and pushing open the door Lannes went in, followed by John.

It was a large room, with long, low windows, looking out over a sea of roofs toward the dome of the Invalides and Napoleon’s arch of triumph.  A tall woman rose from a chair, and saying “My son!” put her hands upon Lannes shoulders and kissed him on the forehead.  She was fair like her son, and much less than fifty years of age.  There was no stoop in her shoulders and but little gray in her hair.  Her eyes were anxious, but John saw in them the Spartan determination that marked the women of France.

“My friend, John Scott, of whom I have already spoken to you, Madame my mother,” said Lannes.

John bowed.  He knew little of French customs, particularly in the heart of a French family, and he was afraid to extend his hand, but she gave him hers, and let it rest in his palm a moment.

“Philip has told me much of you,” she said in her deep, bell-like voice, “and although I know little of your far America, I can believe the best of it, if its sons are like you.”

John flushed at the compliment, which he knew to be so sincere.

“Thank you, Madame,” he said.  “While my country can take no part in this war, many of my countrymen will fight with you.  France helped us once, and some of us, at least, will help France now.”

She smiled gravely, and John knew that he was welcome in her house.  Lannes would see to that anyhow, but he wished to make a good impression on his own account.

“I know that Philip risks his life daily,” she said.  “He has chosen the most dangerous of all paths, the air, but perhaps in that way he can serve us most.”

She spoke with neither complaint nor reproach, merely as if she were stating a fact, and her son added briefly: 

“You are right, mother.  In the air I can work best for our people.  Ah, John, here is my sister, who is quite curious about the stranger from across the sea.”