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.
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