He jested and laughed with them but there was a certain
reserve on his part that they could not break down but which drew them
on. He would not flirt with them. None was readier than he for light
words and airy compliments, but nothing that he said permitted either of
the trim young Austrian girls to think that he might become a lover.
"I think, Herr Johann," said Ilse, "that you have left behind in
Lorraine a maid whom you love."
"It may be so," said John vaguely. "I saw one in Metz whom anybody could
love."
"What was she like?" asked Ilse, eagerly.
"A skin the tint of the young rose, eyes like the dawn on a summer
morning, hair a shower of the finest spun silk, and a walk like that of
a young goddess."
"It's beautiful, but it doesn't describe; what was the color of her hair
and eyes?"
"I don't know. They dazzled me so much that I merely remember their
loveliness and glory."
"It can't be!" exclaimed Ilse, who did not walk in Elysian paths. "You
jest with us. You recall her hair and eyes."
John shook his head impressively.
"The French prisoner, the one they call a spy, Mademoiselle Lannes, is
the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," said blond Olga, "but no one
could look at her without remembering the color of her hair and eyes,
such a marvelous gold and such a deep, dark blue.
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