The mantel above the huge living-room fireplace, as well as the walls on all sides, were lined with fascinating objects of art which she realized must have been brought by her hostess from France.
“Yes, they came from France, all of them—except these.” Lieutenant Warren indicated a small group of photographs. “These,” there was a change in her voice, “these are my people—my mother, my sister, my grandfather. They are from home.”
“Yes, I know how you feel about them.” Norma smiled. “You might be interested to know what I did on my first weekend here.”
“That is always interesting,” replied the hostess. “Girls are so different.”
Norma told how she had rented a hotel room and had put up all her pictures. In her eagerness and excitement she came very nearly going right on, telling of her mysterious and startling experience following Lena and being trapped in a repair shop at night. Just in time she caught herself.
“These things are important,” the Lieutenant replied in a quiet tone. “Don’t let those feelings escape you. When you realize to the full what home and loved ones mean to you and when you contrast America and France as it is today, it makes you want to fight!”
“I am sure of that!” Norma’s father agreed heartily.
“But all these beautiful pictures, these tiny statues, all carved in marble, those silver candlesticks, these etchings!” Norma exclaimed. “How could you afford them?”
“These, my dear,” the Lieutenant beamed—“these all were gifts from those kindly and grateful French people. When I protested they said: ‘But yes! You must take them! You really must! All France will be overrun. The Boche will get them. A thousand times better that you have them.’
“There are names on all of them,” she added. “See? Pierre. Jeanne. Margot. When this terrible war is over many of them shall go back.”