“Bon jour,” he said; “do you come from far?”
“Oh, no,” I answered, “only from ——.”
“Tiens!“ he repeated; then, “Ah, you are from the school.” L’ecole, he called it.
From l’ecole, I admitted, and, taking me by the arm, he led me to a door at the rear. Through this he propelled me, and then in his huge voice he called “Suzanne, un [v]pilote!“ and I was introduced.
As he shut the door, I could just see the corner table with the three old men staring open-mouthed, the wine before them forgotten, the bread and cheese in their hands untasted; then, down the stairs came light steps and a rustle of skirts, and Suzanne was before me with smiling face and outstretched hand.
Her instant welcome, the genuine smile! Almost immediately, I understood the fame of this little station, so far from everything but the air route.
Her charm is indescribable. She is pretty, she is well dressed, but it isn’t that. It is a sincerity of manner, complete hospitality; at once you are accepted as a bosom friend of the family—that is the charm of Suzanne’s.
After a few questions as to where I came from, how long I had been there, and where I was going, Suzanne led me upstairs to be presented to [v]“Ma belle mere,” a white-haired old lady sitting in a big, straight-backed chair. Then, after more courtesies had been extended to me, Suzanne preceded me down to the garden and left me alone while she went in to see that the supper was exceptionally good.
A soft footstep on the gravel walk sounded behind me, and I turned to see one of the most beautiful women I ever beheld. She was tall and slender, and as she came gracefully across the lawn she swung a little work bag from one arm. All in black she was, with a lace shawl over her bare head. Like every one in that most charming and hospitable house, there was no formality or show about her. She came, smiling, and sat on the bench beside me, drawing open her work bag. I could not help noticing, particularly, her beautiful eyes, for they told the story, a story too common here, except that her eyes had changed now to an expression of resigned peace. Then she told me about Suzanne.
Long before, ages and ages ago it seemed, but really only four years, a huge, ungainly bird fell crashing to earth and from the wreck a man was taken, unconscious. He was carried to “Suzanne’s,” and she nursed him and cared for him until he was well again. “Suzanne was very happy then,” madame told me. And no wonder, for the daring aviator and Suzanne were in love. She nursed him back to health, but when he went away he left his heart forever with her.