“Are these the ones?” she asked.
“Yes, yes,” he breathed hoarsely. “Those are the very most precious ones. I die—I die happy.”
For a second the glassy eyes stared, then lighted up with a smile that was beautiful to behold.
“Ah!” he breathed, “I am happy now, happy as when a child I played beneath the grapevines in my own beloved France.”
Those were his last words. A moment later, Lucile turned to lead the silently weeping child into another room. As she did so, she encountered a figure standing with bowed head.
It was the studious looking boy who had donned the fireman’s coat and followed them.
“Harry Brock!” she whispered. “How did you come here?”
“I came in very much the same manner that you came,” he said quietly. “I have been where you have been many times of late. I did not understand, but I thought you needed protection and since I thought of myself as the best friend you had among the men at the university, I took that task upon myself. I have been in this room, unnoticed, for some time. I heard what he said and now I think I understand. Please allow me to congratulate you and—and to thank you. You have strengthened my faith in—in all that is good and beautiful.”
He stepped awkwardly aside and allowed her to pass.