"My friend, who is the great Philip Lannes, the flying man, and I, have looked down upon a battle line fifty, maybe a hundred miles long, and nearly everywhere the Germans are retreating." She bent her head a little as she poured the coffee for them, but not enough to hide the glitter in her eye.

"Perhaps the good God intervened at the last moment, as Father Hansard promised he would," she said calmly.

"At any rate, the Germans are gone.

I gathered as much from chance words of the generals--never before have so many generals gathered under the Poiret roof, and it will never happen again--but I wished to hear it from one who had seen with his own eyes." "We saw them withdrawing, Madame, with these two pairs of eyes of ours," said Lannes.
"And then Poiret can go back to his work with the vines.

Whether it is war or peace, men must eat and drink, Monsieur." "But certainly, Madame, and women too." "It is so.