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.
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