“I am quartered here,” he began. “I wonder if you can tell me anything of the people who are living here and of those who did live here before the town was evacuated.” “I think perhaps I can tell you something,” replied Miss Lowndes, smiling up into the frank blue eyes. “Was it some particular family you wanted to inquire about?” “Well, yes--” he began, but was interrupted by the arrival of his captain who had a dozen things to ask about. Taking the first opportunity to say he would come in again, the young man saluted, and strode off down the street. Midway to the church he came face to face with a slender, brown-eyed girl behind whom trotted a small dog who once in a while favored one of his hind legs. “By Jove, that girl’s face looks familiar,” said the man aloud. “I know I have seen her before, but where?” Lucie looked up and smiled. It might not be the thing to do, but he was an American and she felt kindly toward every one of them. The smile was encouragement enough for the young man to take off his cap and say: “I beg your pardon, but haven’t we met before?” Then he gave an impatient gesture. “Bother,” he exclaimed, “of course she doesn’t speak English. Pardon, mademoiselle, _mais-mais_.” He paused helplessly. Lucie smiled again. “Pardon me, monsieur, but I do speak English.” “Good! I was sure we must have met, but I cannot remember where.” “Nor I, monsieur.” She studied his face carefully, “and yet, and yet I seem to have seen you.” “My name is Philip Randolph, from Virginia.” “And I am Lucie Du Bois, a native of this place.” “Not Lucie Du Bois, the daughter of Louise and Marcel Du Bois?” “Those are the names of my parents.” “Lucie, little Lucie! My blessed child, I am your uncle Phil!” And without further ceremony he put his arms around her and hugged her tight up to him, to the horror and dismay of an old woman nearing the church. Blushing and laughing Lucie disengaged herself. “I am so glad, so very glad to see you,” she murmured. “Let’s go somewhere and talk,” suggested Philip. “I haven’t heard a word from my sister since the first year of the war. We knew this town was occupied by the Germans for a time, that your father was at the front, but what had become of you all there seemed to be no way to find out.” “There is much to tell,” replied Lucie, a look of sadness passing over her face. “Our home was nearly destroyed, but we are living in a part of it, at least--But here is Paulette. Perhaps you know who Paulette is.” Paulette with an expression of outraged dignity approached. That Lucie should so far forget herself as to permit an ardent embrace in the eyes of the public, and, so far as she could see, from a perfectly unknown young man, was scandalous. The child must have gone mad. Lucie, however, seemed not in the least ashamed. She ran to meet Paulette, seized her by the hands and urged her forward. “Such a surprise, Paulette,” she cried. “Who do you think this is?”