When Amedee saw this stately lady in mourning, with a Roman profile, and clear, white complexion, who threw such an earnest glance at her son, then at her husband's portrait, Amedee comprehended that Maurice was his mother's idol, and, moved by the sight of the widow, who would have been beautiful but for her gray hair and eyelids, red from so much weeping, he stammered a few words of thanks for the invitation to dinner.
"My son has told me," said she, "that you are the one among all his comrades that he cares for most.

I know what affection you have shown him.

I am the one who should thank you, Monsieur Amedee." They seated themselves and talked; every few moments these words were spoken by Madame Roger with an accent of pride and tenderness, "My son ....

my son Maurice." Amedee realized how pleasant his friend's life must be with such a good mother, and he could not help comparing his own sad childhood, recalling above all things the lugubrious evening repasts, when, for several years now, he had buried his nose in his plate so as not to see his father's drunken eyes always fastened upon him as if to ask for his pardon.
Maurice let his mother praise him for a few moments, looking at her with a pleasant smile which became a trifle saddened.

Finally he interrupted her: "It is granted, mamma, that I am a perfect phoenix," and he gayly embraced her.
At this moment the pretty maid announced, "Monsieur and Mesdemoiselles Lantz," and Madame Roger arose hastily to receive the newcomers.
Lieutenant-Colonel Lantz, of the Engineer Corps, was with Captain Roger when he died in the trench before Mamelon Vert; and might have been at that time pleasant to look upon, in his uniform with its black velvet breastplate; but, having been promoted some time ago to the office, he had grown aged, leaning over the plans and draughts on long tables covered with rules and compasses.