Victor’s letter did not come the next day, though the person with the money did, giving Lucie a greater surprise than even the shoes. She had eaten her slight midday meal, consisting of a small bowl of soup left from the dinner of the day before, and a piece of not very good bread. She was washing the bowl and picturing to herself the sort of person likely to be her father’s messenger, a meager little old man probably, all the young ones had gone to the war, it seemed; this one would wear spectacles, have thin gray hair and be a trifle deaf; he would hold his hand back of his ear and say “_Plait-il?_” when she answered his questions; and then came the knock at the door. Lucie jumped. The exciting moment had arrived. She went to open, fully prepared to see the sort of person her fancy had created, and was so taken aback that she could hardly reply to the question: “Is this where Mlle. Lucie Du Bois lives?” for instead of a snuffy old man there stood a radiant, well-dressed young woman. “I am Lucie Du Bois”; the answer came stammeringly. “May I come in?” The young lady smiled. “Oh, surely. I beg your pardon, but I--I--was not prepared to see a young lady.” “What then?” Again the lady smiled so delightfully that Lucie smiled in return as she said: “Oh, an old man, quite an old one.” “Then you must be disappointed.” “O, no, quite the contrary.” “I am Mlle. Lowndes, Nora Lowndes.” “Then you are not French.” “No, I am an American.” “Then, won’t you please speak English? It has been so long since I heard it.” “You speak English?” Miss Lowndes looked surprised. “But yes. I speak it, you see, because my mother is American, and would have me speak as well as read her language.” “How perfectly delightful. It is much easier for me, of course. Let us begin right away. Shall I sit here? Of course you want to know about your father first thing and then we will talk business.” “You have seen my father? You know him?” “Oh, yes, for I have been helping the nurses at Madame Hautecœur’s chateau which she has given for a convalescents’ home during the war. I have just come from there.” “Oh, miss, you have just come? You have seen him so recently?” “Only three days ago. He was looking much better, still a little pale as would be expected from one so long a patient in a hospital, but still doing very well, and soon able to go back to his regiment. You cannot believe what that letter from the young soldier, what is his name? did for him. He seems to have taken on new life, and I do not wonder, all these months without a word of his wife and daughter.” “It was this way, you see: at first Paulette would not let me write because we were at such a pass, unhappy refugees. We were expecting every day to meet my grandfather and that everything then would be settled, but you see my grandfather never came. Does my father know about this? That we shall never see dear grandfather again?”