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Updated: May 13, 2025
The moment the name of "Paul Herter" was mentioned in that pleasant garden at Nancy, the whole episode of those old days at "Bart's" came back, and I guessed why the tall figure had darted away from Dierdre O'Farrell as we came in sight. Naturally my name sent him flying like a shot from a seventy-five! But I can't help hoping we may meet by accident.
He had noticed a queer expression on my face as I gave the engine a last look over! If I had done some obscure damage to this so new type of machine, the mechanics might not detect its nature. Herter didn't wish to harm me, if his suspicion was unfounded, he explained, but he proposed a drastic proof of my good faith.
Or, when I'd decided not to speak, another Something would say: "Jim is alive. You know he is alive! Herter is helping him to escape. Don't let these dear old people suffer a minute longer than they need." But well so far I have waited. A week has passed since I wrote at Amiens.
I half expected him to pretend ingenuousness, and spring the tale of Dierdre's adventure with Herter on the company. But he preserved a discreet reticence, more for his own sake than mine or his sister's, of course. He's as lazy as he is impish, except when there's some special object to gain, and probably he wished to avoid the bother of explanations.
In the meantime the matter of furnishing the State building had been in the hands of a Furniture Committee, who had made an exhaustive investigation upon the subject. In March a contract was made with Herter Brothers, of New York city, for furnishing the State building, in accordance with specifications prepared by the Commission, for $18,000.
It happens that large holes remain to be filled entirely, the pattern matched, the design caught or imagined from some other part of the fabric. That takes skill indeed. But it is done, and so well, that the repairer is called not that, but a restorer. The two factories in New York, the Baumgarten and Herter ateliers, have certain employés always busy with repairs and restorations.
I shouldn't have guessed he was blind. He has a beautiful face. Do you get no comfort from him?" "Much comfort from his presence and love," I said. "But I try to keep him happy. I don't bother him with my troubles. I won't even let him talk of them. They're taboo." "I wish I could help you!" Herter exclaimed. "Your wish is a help." "Ah, but I'd like to give more than that!
Herter seemed sad and discouraged, uncertain of his future, and just at this time, through German Lorraine ran rumours of war "to begin when the harvests should be over." Paul and his mother took counsel. Both were French at heart. They determined to leave all they had in the world at Metz, rather than Paul should be called up to serve Prussia. The three contrived to cross the frontier.
Herter was called to the scene, because he had pretended to be up in the latest American flying 'stunts. The minute he saw the wreckage an inspiration jumped into his head. "He confessed himself puzzled by the mysterious details, thought them important, and said: 'It seems to me this resembles the engine and wings of the James Beckett invention I heard so much about.
It was not I who cut his words short, though I was on the point of breaking in. Perhaps I should have flung at him the truth about Jim Beckett if something had not happened to snatch my thoughts from O'Farrell and his impudence. We had just passed the quarter of the town saved by Soeur Julie, when out from the gaping doorway of a ruined house stepped Paul Herter.
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