Deep red flushed her from brow to chin, and then slowly ebbed
away.
"John," she said, putting her hand in his, "no woman has ever owed more
gratitude to a man."
"And I am finding repayment now for what I was happy to do," he said,
kissing her hand again in that far-off knightly fashion.
Again the red tide in her cheeks and then she swiftly left the room, but
John threw himself in a chair before the great fire and gazed into the
coals. Wide awake, he was dreaming. He knew they would be days in the
lodge. The storm was so great that no one could come from Zillenstein in
a week. Providence or fortune had been so kind that he began to fear
enough had been done for them. Such good luck could not go on forever,
and there, too, was the man Muller who might make trouble when he came.
Nevertheless his feeling was but momentary. The extraordinary lightness
of heart returned. The storm roared without and at times it volleyed
down the chimney, making the flames leap and dance, but the sense of
security and safety was strong within him. The war passed by, forgotten
for the time. History, it was true, repeated itself, and this was the
abandoned hotel at Chastel over again, but they were in a far better
position now. No one could come against them, unless the man Muller
should prove to be a foe. And he resolved, too, gazing into the flames,
that they should not steal Julie from him here, as they had taken her at
Chastel.
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