“How will that be possible without you?”

“With a man like you, it is possible.”

I had made him see what I meant. I was going to marry Robert, and more than anything on earth I wanted him to be safely back with me.

Marcus was silent for a moment, staring into his glass. I saw that he accepted what I was telling him, though up to that time it had seemed inconceivable that I could have chosen Robert in preference to him.

I saw the look of resignation steal across his face and I felt relieved.

People were dancing all around us. They were singing “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” and “There’s a Long, Long Trail A-winding.”

It was late when we left and walked home through the crowded streets, where people went on celebrating far into the night.

I saw Marcus a few days later. He called at the house and Mrs. Cherry told me he was in the drawing room waiting to see me.

When I went down, he came toward me and took both my hands.

“I have news for you,” he announced. “I thought you should hear it at the earliest possible moment. Captain Robert Denver will be arriving in London tomorrow.”

Great floods of joy swept over me. I could not help betraying my emotion. All the pent-up fears, the anxieties, the horrible possibilities…the tortured doubts which had filled my mind, were dispersed. He was coming home.

Marcus had put his arms around me; he held me against him for a few seconds, then he drew back and kissed me, first on one cheek and then on the other.

He smiled and said, “I thought you would be pleased to hear that.”

I heard myself say, “Captain Denver,” as though his new rank were important.

“Well, naturally, promoted in the field. He has been a good soldier.”

“Oh, Marcus, it was good of you to come and tell me.”

“I am not sure at what time he will be arriving, but as soon as I am, I will either come myself or send a messenger to tell you.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“All that remains now,” he said rather whimsically, “is for you to live happily ever after.”

“Oh, Marcus,” I said. “I do wish the same for you.”

The next day a messenger came from him. He brought a note which just said: 4:30 Victoria.

I was in a state of great happiness. I wanted to shout to everyone, “Robert is coming home! After all this time he will be here. Safe! All the time I have been worrying, he has been safe.”

I thought the day would never pass. I would go immediately after lunch.

In the late morning Jean Pascal Bourdon called.

“I’ve come to say good-bye,” he said. “I shall be going back to France very soon now. There are just one or two things to clear up.”

I told him that Robert was coming home.

“I thought there was something different about you. I can see it shining through. My dear, I wish you all the happiness in the world. There is great rejoicing here. It is in the atmosphere. It will be the same in my country. The war is over. Let us hope that it never happens again. Now all that is left for us is to enjoy the good things which life provides. Lucinda, my dear, you look radiant.”

“He is coming this afternoon. Four-thirty at Victoria.”

“And you will be waiting for him. Good luck. He is a fortunate man.”

“It is I who am the fortunate one.”

“Then there are two fortunate ones. There is one thing I should like before I go, Lucinda.”

“Yes?”

“To see my great-grandson.”

“But of course. We have a new nursemaid for him now. He is just getting used to her. He still misses Andrée. It never ceases to amaze me that someone involved in such work could at the same time be such a loving nurse to a little boy.”

“It is just another instance of the complexities of human nature. We can be all things at times. We are not simple…good and bad…black and white. Perhaps there is no such thing as a wholly bad person. That is a theory which appeals to me when I look back over a life which has not been entirely free from sin.”

“I know that there is a good deal of good in you.”

“I am not sure of that. But a modicum perhaps. Well, may I see my great-grandson?”

I took him to the schoolroom, where Edward was occupied at his favorite pastime of the moment: coloring pictures.

“It’s a dinosaur,” he explained to Jean Pascal, who sat down beside him.

“A red dinosaur?” said Jean Pascal. “Are there red dinosaurs?”

“I like red ones,” said Edward, as though that settled the matter.

“Shall we give him some whiskers?”

“Dinosaurs don’t have whiskers.”

“Well, if you can have red ones, why not whiskered ones?”

Edward considered. “I suppose you could,” he said.

I watched Jean Pascal studying the child with interest. There was a gleam in his eyes. Jean Pascal had always had a strong family feeling.

When Jean Pascal rose to go, I could see that Edward was loath to part with his company. Jean Pascal was aware of this and there was no doubt that it pleased him.

Back in the drawing room, he said, “What a delightful child!”

“I think so, too.”

“I can’t help marveling that he is my great-grandchild.”

“Life is very odd, isn’t it?”

“You must bring him to visit me. He would be interested in the vineyards.”

I could see there were plans in his eyes.

As I considered his suggestion I said, “It all seems so incongruous. Edward is your great-grandchild…his father is a spy involved in the murder of his mother. Will he ever know it?”

Jean Pascal was silent and I went on. “Should he know the truth? Is it right to keep it back? Hasn’t everyone the right to know who he or she is?”

Jean Pascal said slowly, “That is a point which can be argued from several angles. Is the truth sacrosanct? Someone once said, ‘Speech is silvern, Silence is golden,’ and someone else said, ‘Where ignorance is bliss, ’Tis folly to be wise.’ ”

“I know. But what will happen when he is a man and he might want to know? It is certain that he will.”

Jean Pascal was thoughtful. Then he said, “Edward believes he belongs to you now. Soon he will be asking questions which will have to be answered. What does the world think? Here is a boy whose parents were killed during the bombardment of Mons. You, a young English schoolgirl, who had struck up a friendship with his parents, found him in the garden of the wrecked cottage. You were getting out of France before the German advance and you brought him with you. That is best. His father responsible for the murder of his mother? His mother putting him out with foster-parents, ashamed of his birth? No, no. Let us keep to the more pleasant account. There is often a time for talking, Lucinda, and there is a time for silence. As regards this matter of Edward, it should always be a time for silence.”

I smiled at him. This man who had experienced most things life had to offer was knowledgeable in the ways of the world, and I believed he was right. This was a time for silence.

It seemed a long time before the train came in. The platform was crowded with people, for it was a troop train bringing back heroes from the Front.

A great cheer went up when the train steamed into the station. We surged forth…everyone there, men, women and children, seeking the one person whose return meant so much to them…the end of fear, the new hope in a future no longer tormented by thoughts of war and the fearful desolation of bereavement.

It was some time before we found each other.

And there he was. I saw him a second or so before he saw me. He looked older…a little worn…but there was a wonderful light in his eyes.

Like others on that crowded platform, we flung ourselves into each other’s arms…unashamed of our emotion.

“Robert!” I cried. I could think of nothing to say but his name.

“Lucinda, Lucinda,” he said. “I’ve come home….”