"He must go, you
know that, dearest." His touch steadied her.
He leaned down to her and sang:--
"Jeanne D'Arc, Jeanne D'Arc--
Jeanne D'Arc, la victoire est pour vous."
Her head went up. The color came back to her cheeks.
"Of course," she said, and put away childish things that she might
measure up to the stature of her lover's faith in her.
And it was Jean, the Woman, who talked long that night with her father
before he went to France.
CHAPTER XXI
DERRY'S WIFE
It snowed hard the next morning. The General, waking, found the day
nurse in charge. Bronson came in to get him ready for his breakfast.
There was about the old man an air of suppressed excitement. He
hurried a little in his preparations for the General's bath. But
everything was done with exactness, and it was not until the General
was shaved and sitting up in his gorgeous mandarin robe that Bronson
said, "I'd like to go out for an hour or two this morning, if you can
spare me, sir--"
"In this snow? I thought you hated snow. You've always been a perfect
pussy cat about the cold, Bronson."
"Yes, sir, but this is very important, sir.
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