Huge armies had surged back and forth over it, and yet John, who was of a thoughtful mind, knew that in a few more summers it would be as it had been before.

In this warm and watered France Nature would clothe the earth in a green robe which winter itself could not wholly drive away.
A reader of history, he knew that Europe had been torn and ravaged by war, times past counting, and yet geologically it was among the youngest and freshest of lands.

Everything would pass and new youth would take the place of the youth that the shells and bullets were now carrying away.
He shook himself.

Reflections like these were for men of middle years.
The tide of his own youth flowed back upon him and the world, even under snow and with stray guns thundering behind him, was full of splendor.
Moreover, there was the village of Chastel before him! Chastel! Chastel! He had never heard of it until two or three days ago, and yet it now loomed in his mind as large as Paris or New York.

Julie must have arrived already, and he would see her again after so many months of hideous war, but deep down in his mind persisted the belief that she should not have come.