It seemed to him
for a moment as if there had suddenly appeared before him the face
of the picture that was turned against the wall, only more
beautiful now, radiant with the glow of living flesh and blood.
But there was something even more startling than this resemblance.
In this moment Jeanne was the fulfilment of his dream; she had
come to him from out of another world. She was dressed in an old-
fashioned gown of pure white, a fabric so delicate that it seemed
to float about her slender form, responsive to every breath she
drew. Her white shoulders revealed themselves above masses of
filmy lace that fell upon her bosom; her slender arms, girlish
rather than womanly in their beauty, were bare. Her hair was bound
up in shining coils about her head, with a single flower nestling
amid a little cluster of curls that fell upon her neck. After his
first movement, Philip recovered himself by a strong effort. He
bowed low to conceal the flush in his face. Jeanne swept him a
little courtesy, and then ran past him, with the eagerness of any
modern child, into the outstretched arms of her father.
Laughter and joy rumbled in the beard of the master of Fort o' God
as he looked over Jeanne's head at Philip.
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