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diff --git a/25623-tei/25623-tei.tei b/25623-tei/25623-tei.tei new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e9f2443 --- /dev/null +++ b/25623-tei/25623-tei.tei @@ -0,0 +1,11427 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1" ?> +<!DOCTYPE TEI.2 SYSTEM "http://www.gutenberg.org/tei/marcello/0.4/dtd/pgtei.dtd"> +<TEI.2 lang="en"> + <teiHeader> + <fileDesc> + <titleStmt> + <title>Barbarians</title> + <author><name reg='Chambers, Robert W.'>Robert W. Chambers</name></author> + <editor role="illustrator"><name reg="Keller, A. I.">A. I. Keller</name></editor> + </titleStmt> + <publicationStmt> + <publisher>Project Gutenberg</publisher> + <date value='2008-05-27'>May 27, 2008</date> + <idno type='etext-no'>25623</idno> + <availability> + <p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere + at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. + You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under + the terms of the Project Gutenberg License online at + www.gutenberg.org/license</p> + </availability> + </publicationStmt> + <sourceDesc> + <bibl /> + </sourceDesc> + </fileDesc> + <encodingDesc /> + <profileDesc> + <langUsage> + <language id="en" /> + <language id="fr" /> + <language id="de" /> + </langUsage> + </profileDesc> + <revisionDesc> + <change> + <date value="2008-05-27">May 27, 2008</date> + <respStmt> + <resp>Produced by <name>Suzanne Shell</name>, + and the <name>Online Distributed Proofreading Team</name> at + <http://www.pgdp.net/c>. + </resp> + </respStmt> + <item>Project Gutenberg TEI edition 1</item> +</change> +</revisionDesc> +</teiHeader> + +<pgExtensions> + <pgStyleSheet> + .antiqua { font-style: italic } + .bold { font-weight: bold } + .boxed { x-class: boxed } + .gesperrt { font-style: italic } + .indent { margin-left: 2 } + .i2 { margin-left: 2 } + .i20 { margin-left: 10 } + + .italic { font-style: italic } + .right { margin-left: 16 } + .rules { x-class: rules; rules: all } + .shaded { x-class: shaded } + .small { margin-left: 2 } + .smallcaps { font-variant: small-caps } + .allcaps { text-transform: uppercase } + + .chapter { } + .advertisement { } + .dustjacket { } + .poem { } + .stanza { margin-left: 2 } + .title { font-size: large; } + .title-x { font-size: x-large; } + .title-xx { font-size: xx-large; } + + + item { margin-left: 2 } + figure { text-align: center; } + speaker { font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: normal } + .w100 { } + .w75 { } + .w66 { } + .w50 { } + .w25 { } + + @media pdf { + .w100 { width: 100% } + .w75 { width: 75% } + .w66 { width: 66% } + .w50 { width: 50% } + .w25 { width: 25% } + .title { font-size: large; font-weight: bold; text-align: center; } + .title-x { font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold; text-align: center; } + .title-xx { font-size: xx-large; font-weight: bold; text-align: center; } + } + + @media html { + .title { font-size: large; font-weight: bold; text-align: center; } + .title-x { font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold; text-align: center; } + .title-xx { font-size: xx-large; font-weight: bold; text-align: center; } + } + </pgStyleSheet> + <pgCharMap formats="txt"> + <char id="U0x2014"> + <charName>mdash</charName> + <desc>EM DASH</desc> + <mapping>--</mapping> + </char> + <char id="U0x2003"> + <charName>emsp</charName> + <desc>EM SPACE</desc> + <mapping> </mapping> + </char> + <char id="U0x2026"> + <charName>hellip</charName> + <desc>HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS</desc> + <mapping>...</mapping> + </char> + <char id='U0x00A0'> + <charName>nbsp</charName> + <desc>NO-BREAK SPACE</desc> + <mapping> </mapping> + </char> + </pgCharMap> +</pgExtensions> + +<text> +<front> +<div> + <divGen type='pgheader'/> +</div> +<div> + <divGen type='encodingDesc'/> +</div> + +<div> +<pb n='ii'/><anchor id='Pgii'/> +<pgIf output="txt"> + <then> + <p>[Illustration: Stent lost the fight, fell outward, wider, dropping back into +mid-air.]</p> + </then> + <else> + <p><figure url="images/frontis.jpg"> + <head>Stent lost the fight, fell outward, wider, dropping back into mid-air. [<ref target='Pg62'>Page 62</ref>]</head> + <figDesc>Stent lost the fight, fell outward, wider, dropping back into mid-air.</figDesc> + </figure></p> + </else> +</pgIf> + +<pb n='iii'/><anchor id='Pgiii'/> +<p rend='title-xx'>BARBARIANS</p> +<p rend='title-x'>By <hi rend='smallcaps'>Robert W. Chambers</hi></p> +<p rend='title'><hi rend='allcaps'>Author of</hi></p> +<p rend='title'>"The Dark Star," "The Girl Philippa," "Who Goes There," Etc.</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> + +<pgIf output="txt"> + <then> + <!-- nothing --> + </then> + <else> + <p><figure url="images/i001_1.jpg"> + <figDesc>Ornament</figDesc> + </figure></p> + </else> +</pgIf> + +<p rend='title'>With Frontispiece</p> +<p rend='title'>By <hi rend='allcaps'>A. I. Keller</hi></p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> + +<p rend='title; allcaps'>A. L. Burt Company</p> +<p rend='title'>Publishers New York</p> +<p rend='title'>Published by arrangement with <hi rend='smallcaps'>D. Appleton & Company</hi></p> +</div> + +<pb n='v'/><anchor id='Pgv'/> + +<div type='dedication'> +<lg> +<l>TO</l> +<l>LYLE and MADELEINE MAHAN</l> +</lg> +</div> + +<pb n='vii'/><anchor id='Pgvii'/> + +<div> + +<lg> +<l>I</l> +</lg> + +<lg rend='stanza'> +<l>"Daughter of Light, the bestial wrath</l> +<l>Of Barbary besets thy path!</l> +<l>The Hun is beating his painted drum;</l> +<l>His war horns blare! The Hun is come!"</l> +</lg> + +<lg rend='stanza'> +<l>"Father, I feel his fœtid breath:</l> +<l>The thick air reeks with the stench of death;</l> +<l>My will is Thine. Thy will be done</l> +<l>On Turk and Bulgar, Czech and Hun!"</l> +</lg> + +<lg> +<l>II</l> +</lg> + +<lg rend='stanza'> +<l rend='italic'>She understands.</l> +<l rend='italic'>Where the dead headland flare</l> +<l rend='italic'>Mocks sea and sand;</l> +<l rend='italic'>Where death-lights shed their glare</l> +<l rend='italic'>On No-Man's-Land.</l> +<l rend='italic'>France takes her stand.</l> +<l rend='italic'>Magnificently fair,</l> +<l rend='italic'>The Flaming Brand</l> +<l rend='italic'>Within her slender hand;</l> +<l rend='italic'>Christ's lilies in her hair.</l> +</lg> + +<lg> +<l>III</l> +</lg> + +<lg rend='stanza'> +<l>"Daughter of Grief, thy House is sand!</l> +<l>Thy towers are falling athwart the land.</l> +<l>They've flayed the earth to its ribs of chalk</l> +<l>And over its bones the spectres stalk!"</l> +</lg> + +<lg rend='stanza'> +<l>"Father, I see my high spires reel;</l> +<l>My breast is scarred by the Hun's hoofed heel.</l> +<l>What was, shall be! I read Thy sign:</l> +<l>Thy ocean yawns for the smitten swine!"</l> +</lg> + +<pb n='viii'/><anchor id='Pgviii'/> + +<lg> +<l>IV</l> +</lg> + +<lg rend='stanza'> +<l rend='italic'>Then, from Verdun</l> +<l rend='italic'>Pealed westward to the Somme</l> +<l rend='italic'>From every gun</l> +<l rend='italic'>God's summons: "Daughter! Come!"</l> +<l rend='italic'>Then the red sun</l> +<l rend='italic'>Stood still. Grew dumb</l> +<l rend='italic'>The universal hum</l> +<l rend='italic'>Of life, and numb</l> +<l rend='italic'>The lips of Life, undone</l> +<l rend='italic'>By Death.... And so—France won!</l> +</lg> + +<lg> +<l>V</l> +</lg> + +<lg rend='stanza'> +<l>"Daughter of God, the End is here!</l> +<l>The swine rush on: the sea is near!</l> +<l>My wild flowers bloom on the trenches' edge;</l> +<l>My little birds sing by shore and sedge."</l> +</lg> + +<lg rend='stanza'> +<l>"Father, raise up my martyred land!</l> +<l>Clothe her bones with Thy magic hand;</l> +<l>Receive the Brand Thy angel lent,</l> +<l>And stanch my blood with Thy sacrament."</l> +</lg> +</div> + +<div> + <head>Contents</head> + <divGen type="toc" /> +</div> + +</front> + +<body> + + +<pb n='1'/><anchor id='Pg1'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='I. FED UP'/> +<index index='toc' level1='I. FED UP'/> + +<head>CHAPTER I<lb/><lb/> +FED UP</head> + +<p>So this is what happened to the dozen-odd +malcontents who could no longer stand the +dirty business in Europe and the dirtier politicians +at home.</p> + +<p>There was treachery in the Senate, treason +in the House. A plague of liars infested the +Republic; the land was rotting with plots.</p> + +<p>But if the authorities at Washington remained +incredulous, stunned into impotency, +while the din of murder filled the world, a few +mere men, fed up on the mess, sickened while +awaiting executive galvanization, and started +east to purge their souls.</p> + +<p>They came from the four quarters of the continent, +drawn to the decks of the mule transport +by a common sickness and a common necessity. +Only two among them had ever before<pb n='2'/><anchor id='Pg2'/> +met. They represented all sorts, classes, degrees +of education and of ignorance, drawn to +a common rendezvous by coincidental nausea +incident to the temporary stupidity and poltroonery +of those supposed to represent them +in the Congress of the Great Republic.</p> + +<p>The rendezvous was a mule transport reeking +with its cargo, still tied up to the sun-scorched +wharf where scores of loungers loafed +and gazed up at the rail and exchanged badinage +with the supercargo.</p> + +<p>The supercargo consisted of this dozen-odd +fed-up ones—eight Americans, three Frenchmen +and one Belgian.</p> + +<p>There was a young soldier of fortune named +Carfax, recently discharged from the Pennsylvania +State Constabulary, who seemed to feel +rather sure of a commission in the British +service.</p> + +<p>Beside him, leaning on the blistering rail, +stood a self-possessed young man named Harry +Stent. He had been educated abroad; his +means were ample; his time his own. He had +shot all kinds of big game except a Hun, he told +another young fellow—a civil engineer—who<pb n='3'/><anchor id='Pg3'/> +stood at his left and whose name was Jim +Brown.</p> + +<p>A youth on crutches, passing along the deck +behind them, lingered, listening to the conversation, +slightly amused at Stent's game list and +his further ambition to bag a Boche.</p> + +<p>The young man's lameness resulted from a +trench acquaintance with the game which Stent +desired to hunt. His regiment had been, and +still was, the 2nd Foreign Legion. He was on +his way back, now, to finish his convalescence +in his old home in Finistère. He had been a +writer of stories for children. His name was +Jacques Wayland.</p> + +<p>As he turned away from the group at the +rail, still amused, a man advancing aft spoke to +him by name, and he recognized an American +painter whom he had met in Brittany.</p> + +<p>"You, Neeland?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. I'm fed up with watchful waiting."</p> + +<p>"Where are you bound, ultimately?"</p> + +<p>"I've a hint that an Overseas unit can use +me. And you, Wayland?"</p> + +<pb n='4'/><anchor id='Pg4'/> +<p>"Going to my old home in Finistère where +I'll get well, I hope."</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"Second Foreign."</p> + +<p>"Oh. Get that leg in the trenches?" inquired +Neeland.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Came over to recuperate. But Finistère +calls me. I've <hi rend='italic'>got</hi> to smell the sea off +Eryx before I can get well."</p> + +<p>A pleasant-faced, middle-aged man, who +stood near, turned his head and cast a professionally +appraising glance at the young +fellow on crutches.</p> + +<p>His name was Vail; he was a physician. +It did not seem to him that there was much +chance for the lame man's very rapid recovery.</p> + +<p>Three muleteers came on deck from below—all +young men, all talking in loud, careless +voices. They wore uniforms of khaki resembling +the regular service uniform. They +had no right to these uniforms.</p> + +<p>One of these young men had invented the +costume. His name was Jack Burley. His +two comrades were, respectively, "Sticky"<pb n='5'/><anchor id='Pg5'/> +Smith and "Kid" Glenn. Both had figured +in the squared circle. All three were fed +up. They desired to wallop something, even +if it were only a leather-rumped mule.</p> + +<p>Four other men completed the supercargo—three +French youths who were returning +for military duty and one Belgian. They +had been waiters in New York. They also +were fed up with the administration. They +kept by themselves during the voyage. Nobody +ever learned their names. They left +the transport at Calais, reported, and were +lost to sight in the flood of young men flowing +toward the trenches.</p> + +<p>They completed the odd dozen of fed-up +ones who sailed that day on the suffocating +mule transport in quest of something they +needed but could not find in America—something +that lay somewhere amid flaming obscurity +in that hell of murder beyond the +Somme—their souls' salvation perhaps.</p> + +<p>Twelve fed-up men went. And what happened +to all except the four French youths +is known. Fate laid a guiding hand on the +shoulder of Carfax and gave him a gentle<pb n='6'/><anchor id='Pg6'/> +shove toward the Vosges. Destiny linked +arms with Stent and Brown and led them +toward Italy. Wayland's rendezvous with Old +Man Death was in Finistère. Neeland sailed +with an army corps, but Chance met him at Lorient +and led him into the strangest paths a +young man ever travelled.</p> + +<p>As for Sticky Smith, Kid Glenn and Jack +Burley, they were muleteers. Or thought +they were. A muleteer has to do with mules. +Nothing else is supposed to concern him.</p> + +<p>But into the lives of these three muleteers +came things never dreamed of in their +philosophy—never imagined by them even in +their cups.</p> + +<p>As for the others, Carfax, Brown, Stent, +Wayland, Neeland, this is what happened to +each one of them. But the episode of Carfax +comes first. It happened somewhere +north of the neutral Alpine region where the +Vosges shoulder their way between France +and Germany.</p> + +<p>After he had exchanged a dozen words +with a staff officer, he began to realize, +vaguely, that he was done in.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='7'/><anchor id='Pg7'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='II. MAROONED'/> +<index index='toc' level1='II. MAROONED'/> +<head>CHAPTER II<lb/><lb/> +MAROONED</head> + +<p>"Will they do anything for us?" repeated +Carfax.</p> + +<p>The staff officer thought it very doubtful. +He stood in the snow switching his wet puttees +and looking out across a world of tumbled +mountains. Over on his right lay Germany; +on his left, France; Switzerland towered +in ice behind him against an arctic +blue sky.</p> + +<p>It grew warm on the Falcon Peak, almost +hot in the sun. Snow was melting on black +heaps of rocks; a black salamander, swollen, +horrible, stirred from its stiff lethargy and +crawled away blindly across the snow.</p> + +<p>"Our case is this," continued Carfax; "somebody's +made a mistake. We've been forgotten. +And if they don't relieve us rather soon<pb n='8'/><anchor id='Pg8'/> +some of us will go off our bally nuts. Do +you get me, Major?"</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon——"</p> + +<p>"Do you understand what I've been saying?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; quite so."</p> + +<p>"Then ask yourself, Major, how long can +four men stand it, cooped up here on this +peak? A month, two months, three, five? +But it's going on ten months—ten months of +solitude—silence—not a sound, except when +the snowslides go bellowing off into Alsace +down there below our feet." His bronzed +lip quivered. "I'll get aboard one if this keeps +on."</p> + +<p>He kicked a lump of ice off into space; +the staff officer glanced at him and looked +away hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"Listen," said Carfax with an effort; "we're +not regulars—not like the others. The Canadian +division is different. Its discipline +is different—in spite of Salisbury Plain and +K. of K. In my regiment there are half-breeds, +pelt-hunters, Nome miners, Yankees +of all degrees, British, Canadians, gentlemen<pb n='9'/><anchor id='Pg9'/> +adventurers from Cosmopolis. They're good +soldiers, but do you think they'd stay here? +It is so in the Athabasca Battalion; it is the +same in every battalion. They wouldn't stay +here ten months. They couldn't. We are +free people; we can't stand indefinite caging; +we've got to have walking room once every +few months."</p> + +<p>The staff officer murmured something.</p> + +<p>"I know; but good God, man! Four of +us have been on this peak for nearly ten +months. We've never seen a Boche, never +heard a shot. Seasons come and go, rain +falls, snow falls, the winds blow from the +Alps, but nothing else comes to us except a +half-frozen bird or two."</p> + +<p>The staff officer looked about him with an +involuntary shiver. There was nothing to +see except the sun on the wet, black rocks +and the whitewashed observation station of +solid stone from which wires sagged into the +valley on the French side.</p> + +<p>"Well—good luck," he said hastily, looking +as embarrassed as he felt. "I'll be toddling +along."</p> + +<pb n='10'/><anchor id='Pg10'/> +<p>"Will you say a word to the General, like +a good chap? Tell him how it is with us—four +of us all alone up here since the beginning. +There's Gary, Captain in the Athabasca +Battalion, a Yankee if the truth were +known; there's Flint, a cockney lieutenant in +a Calgary battery; there's young Gray, a +lieutenant and a Prince Edward Islander; +and here's me, a major in the Yukon Battalion—four +of us on the top of a cursed +French mountain—ten months of each other, +of solitude, silence—and the whole world +rocking with battles—and not a sound up +here—not a whisper! I tell you we're four +sick men! We've got a grip on ourselves +yet, but it's slipping. We're still fairly civil +to each other, but the strain is killing. Sullen +silences smother irritability, but—" he +added in a peculiarly pleasant voice, "I expect +we are likely to start killing each other +if somebody doesn't get us out of here very +damn quick."</p> + +<p>The staff captain's lips formed the words, +"Awfully sorry! Good luck!" but his articu<pb n='11'/><anchor id='Pg11'/>lation +was indistinct, and he went off hurriedly, +still murmuring.</p> + +<p>Carfax stood in the snow, watching him +clamber down among the rocks, where an +alpinist orderly joined them.</p> + +<p>Gary presently appeared at the door of +the observation station. "Has he gone?" he +inquired, without interest.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Carfax.</p> + +<p>"Is he going to do anything for us?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know.... <hi rend='italic'>No!</hi>"</p> + +<p>Gary lingered, kicked at a salamander, +then turned and went indoors. Carfax sat +down on a rock and sucked at his empty +pipe.</p> + +<p>Later the three officers in the observation +station came out to the door again and +looked at him, but turned back into the doorway +without saying anything. And after a +while Carfax, feeling slightly feverish, went +indoors, too.</p> + +<p>In the square, whitewashed room Gray and +Flint were playing cut-throat poker; Gary +was at the telephone, but the messages received +or transmitted appeared to be of no<pb n='12'/><anchor id='Pg12'/> +importance. There had never been any message +of importance from the Falcon Peak or +to it. There was likely to be none.</p> + +<p>Ennui, inertia, dry rot—and four men, +sometimes silently, sometimes violently cursing +their isolation, but always cursing it—afraid +in their souls lest they fall to cursing +one another aloud as they had begun to curse +in their hearts.</p> + +<p>Months ago rain had fallen; now snow +fell, and vast winds roared around them from +the Alps. But nothing else ever came to the +Falcon Peak, except a fierce, red-eyed <hi rend='italic'>Lämmergeyer</hi> +sheering above the peak on enormous +pinions, or a few little migrating birds +fluttering down, half frozen, from the high +air lanes. Now and then, also, came to +them a staff officer from below, British sometimes, +sometimes French, who lingered no +longer than necessary and then went back +again, down into friendly deeps where were +trees and fields and familiar things and human +companionship, leaving them to their +hell of silence, of solitude, and of each other.</p> + +<p>The tide of war had never washed the base<pb n='13'/><anchor id='Pg13'/> +of their granite cliffs; the highest battle wave +had thundered against the Vosges beyond +earshot; not even a deadened echo of war +penetrated those silent heights; not a Taube +floated in the zenith.</p> + +<p>In the squatty, whitewashed ruin which once +had been the eyrie of some petty predatory +despot, and which now served as an observatory +for two idle divisions below in the valley, +stood three telescopes. Otherwise the +furniture consisted of valises, trunks, a table +and chairs, a few books, several newspapers, +and some tennis balls lying on the floor.</p> + +<p>Carfax seated himself at one of the telescopes, +not looking through it, his heavy eyes +partly closed, his burnt-out pipe between his +teeth.</p> + +<p>Gary rose from the telephone and joined +the card players. They shuffled and dealt +listlessly, seldom speaking save in monosyllables.</p> + +<p>After a while Carfax went over to the +card table and the young lieutenant cashed in +and took his place at the telescope.</p> + +<p>Below in the Alsatian valley spring had<pb n='14'/><anchor id='Pg14'/> +already started the fruit buds, and a delicate +green edged the lower snow line.</p> + +<p>The lieutenant spoke of it wistfully; nobody +paid any attention; he rose presently +and went outdoors to the edge of the precipice—not +too near, for fear he might be +tempted to jump out through the sunshine, +down into that inviting world of promise +below.</p> + +<p>Far underneath him—very far down in the +valley—a cuckoo called. Out of the depths +floated the elfin halloo, the gaily malicious +challenge of spring herself, shouted up melodiously +from the plains of Alsace—<hi rend='italic'>Cuckoo!</hi> +<hi rend='italic'>Cuckoo!</hi> <hi rend='italic'>Cuckoo!</hi>—You poor, sullen, frozen +foreigner up there on the snowy rocks!—<hi rend='italic'>Cuckoo!</hi> +<hi rend='italic'>Cuckoo!</hi> <hi rend='italic'>Cuckoo!</hi></p> + +<p>The lieutenant of Yukon infantry, whose +name was Gray, came back into the room.</p> + +<p>"There's a bird of sorts yelling like hell +below," he said to the card players.</p> + +<p>Carfax ran over his cards, rejected three, +and nodded. "Well, let him yell," he said.</p> + +<p>"What is it, a Boche dicky-bird insulting +you?" asked Gary, in his Yankee drawl.</p> + +<pb n='15'/><anchor id='Pg15'/> +<p>Flint, declining to draw cards, got up and +went out into the sunshine. When he returned +to the table, he said: "It's a cuckoo.... +I wish to God I were out of this," he +added.</p> + +<p>They continued to play for a while without +apparent interest. Each man had won +his comrades' money too many times to care +when Carfax added up debit and credit and +wrote down each man's score. In nine +months, alternately beggaring one another, +they had now, it appeared, broken about even.</p> + +<p>Gary, an American in British uniform, +twitched a newspaper toward himself, +slouched in his chair, and continued to read +for a while. The paper was French and two +weeks old; he jerked it about irritably.</p> + +<p>Gray, resting his elbows on his knees, sat +gazing vacantly out of the narrow window. +For a smart officer he had grown slovenly.</p> + +<p>"If there was any trout fishing to be had," +he began; but Flint laughed scornfully.</p> + +<p>"What are you laughing at? There must +be trout in the valley down there where that +bird is," insisted Gray, reddening.</p> + +<pb n='16'/><anchor id='Pg16'/> +<p>"Yes, and there are cows and chickens and +houses and women. What of it?"</p> + +<p>Gary, in his faded service uniform of a +captain, scowled over his newspaper. "It's +bad enough to be here," he said heavily; "so +don't let's talk about it. Quit disputing."</p> + +<p>Flint ignored the order.</p> + +<p>"If there was anything sportin' to do——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, shut up," muttered Carfax. "Do you +expect sport on a hog-back?"</p> + +<p>Gray picked up a tennis ball and began to +play it against the whitewashed stone wall, +using the palm of his hand. Flint joined him +presently; Gary went over to the telephone, set +the receiver to his ear and spoke to some officer +in the distant valley on the French side, continuing +a spiritless conversation while watching +the handball play. After a while he rose, +shambled out and down among the rocks to the +spring where snow lay, trodden and filthy, and +the big, black salamanders crawled half stupefied +in the sun. All his loathing and fear of +them kindled again as it always did at sight +of them. "Dirty beasts," he muttered, stumping +and stumbling among the stunted fir<pb n='17'/><anchor id='Pg17'/> +trees; "some day they'll bite some of these +damn fools who say they can't bite. And +that'll end 'em."</p> + +<p>Flint and Gray continued to play handball +in a perfunctory way while Carfax looked on +from the telephone without interest. Gary +came back, his shoes and puttees all over wet +snow.</p> + +<p>"Unless," he said in a monotonous voice, +"something happens within the next few days +I'll begin to feel queer in my head; and if I +feel it coming on, I'll blow my bally nut off. +Or somebody's." And he touched his service +automatic in its holster and yawned.</p> + +<p>After a dead silence:</p> + +<p>"Buck up," remarked Carfax; "think how +our men must feel in Belfort, never letting +off their guns. Ross rifles, too—not a shot +at a Boche since the damn war began!"</p> + +<p>"God!" said Flint, smiting the ball with +the palm of his hand, "to think of those Ross +rifles rusting down there and to think of the +pink-skinned pigs they could paunch so +cleanly. Did you ever paunch a deer? What +a mess of intestines all over the shop!"</p> + +<pb n='18'/><anchor id='Pg18'/> +<p>Gary, still standing, began to kick the snow +from his shoes. Gray said to him: "For a +dollar of your Yankee money I'd give you a +shot at me with your automatic—you're that +slack at practice."</p> + +<p>"If it goes on much longer like this I'll +not have to pay for a shot at anybody," returned +Gary, with a short laugh.</p> + +<p>Gray laughed too, disagreeably, stretching +his facial muscles, but no sound issued.</p> + +<p>"We're all going crazy together up here; +that's my idea," he said. "I don't know which +I can stand most comfortably, your voices or +your silence. Both make me sick."</p> + +<p>"Some day a salamander will nip you; +then you'll go loco," observed Gary, balancing +another tennis ball in his right hand. +"Give me a shot at you?" he added. "I feel +as though I could throw it clean through you. +You look soft as a pudding to me."</p> + +<p>Far, clear, from infinite depths, the elf-like +hail of the cuckoo came floating up to the +window.</p> + +<p>To Flint, English born, the call meant +more than it did to Canadian or Yankee.</p> + +<pb n='19'/><anchor id='Pg19'/> +<p>"In Devon," he said in an altered voice, +"they'll be calling just now. There's a world +of primroses in Devon.... And the thorn is +as white as the damned snow is up here."</p> + +<p>Gary growled his impatience and his profile +of a Greek fighter showed in clean silhouette +against the window.</p> + +<p>"Aw, hell," he said, "did I come out here +for this?—nine months of it?" He hurled the +tennis ball at the wall. "Can the home talk, +if you don't mind."</p> + +<p>The cuckoo was still calling.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever play cuckoo," asked Carfax, +"at ten shillings a throw? It's not a bad +game—if you're put to it for amusement."</p> + +<p>Nobody replied; Gray's sunken, boyish face +betrayed no interest; he continued to toss a +tennis ball against the wall and catch it on +the rebound.</p> + +<p>Toward sundown the usual Alpine chill set +in; a mist hung over the snow-edged cliffs; +the rocks breathed steam under a foggy and +battered moon.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='20'/><anchor id='Pg20'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='III. CUCKOO!'/> +<index index='toc' level1='III. CUCKOO!'/> +<head>CHAPTER III<lb/><lb/> +CUCKOO!</head> + +<p>Carfax, on duty, sat hunched up over the +telephone, reporting to the fortress.</p> + +<p>Gray came in, closed the wooden shutters, +hung blankets over them, lighted an oil stove +and then a candle. Flint took up the cards, +looked at Gary, then flung them aside, muttering.</p> + +<p>Nobody attempted to read; nobody touched +the cards again. An orderly came in with +soup. The meal was brief and perfectly +silent.</p> + +<p>Flint said casually, after the table had been +cleared: "I haven't slept for a month. If I +don't get some sleep I'll go queer. I warn +you; that's all. I'm sorry to say it, but +it's so."</p> + +<p>"They're dirty beasts to keep us here like<pb n='21'/><anchor id='Pg21'/> +this," muttered Gary—"nine months of it, and +not a shot."</p> + +<p>"There'll be a few shots if things don't +change," remarked Flint in a colourless voice. +"I'm getting wrong in my head. I can feel +it."</p> + +<p>Carfax turned from the switchboard with +a forced laugh: "Thinking of shooting up the +camp?"</p> + +<p>"That or myself," replied Flint in a quiet +voice; "ever since that cuckoo called I've felt +queer."</p> + +<p>Gary, brooding in his soiled tunic collar, +began to mutter presently: "I once knew a +man in a lighthouse down in Florida who +couldn't stand it after a bit and jumped off."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we've heard that twenty times," interrupted +Carfax wearily.</p> + +<p>Gray said: "<hi rend='italic'>What</hi> a jump!—I mean down +into Alsace below——"</p> + +<p>"You're all going dotty!" snapped Carfax. +"Shut up or you'll be doing it—some of you."</p> + +<p>"I can't sleep. That's where I'm getting +queer," insisted Flint. "If I could get a few +hours' sleep now——"</p> + +<pb n='22'/><anchor id='Pg22'/> +<p>"I wish to God the Boches could reach you +with a big gun. That would put you to sleep, +all right!" said Gray.</p> + +<p>"This war is likely to end before any of +us see a Fritz," said Carfax. "I could stand +it, too, except being up here with such"—his +voice dwindled to a mutter, but it sounded +to Gary as though he had used the word +"rotters."</p> + +<p>Flint's face had a white, strained expression; +he began to walk about, saying aloud +to himself: "If I could only sleep. That's +the idea—sleep it off, and wake up somewhere +else. It's the silence, or the voices—I don't +know which. You dollar-crazy Yankees and +ignorant Provincials don't realize what a +cuckoo is. You've no traditions, anyway—no +past, nothing to care for——"</p> + +<p>"Listen to 'Arry!" retorted Gary—"'Arry +and his cuckoo!"</p> + +<p>Carfax stirred heavily. "Shut up!" he +said, with an effort. "The thing is to keep +doing something—something—anything—except +quarrelling."</p> + +<p>He picked up a tennis ball. "Come on, you<pb n='23'/><anchor id='Pg23'/> +funking brutes! I'll teach you how to play +cuckoo. Every man takes three tennis balls +and stands in a corner of the room. I stand +in the middle. Then you blow out the candle. +Then I call 'cuckoo!' in the dark and you +try to hit me, aiming by the sound of my +voice. Every time I'm hit I pay ten shillings +to the pool, take my place in a corner, and +have a shot at the next man, chosen by lot. +And if you throw three balls apiece and nobody +hits me, then you each pay ten shillings +to me and I'm cuckoo for another round."</p> + +<p>"We aim at random?" inquired Gray, +mildly interested.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. It must be played in pitch +darkness. When I call out cuckoo, you take +a shot at where you think I am. If you all +miss, you all pay. If I'm hit, I pay."</p> + +<p>Gary chose three tennis balls and retired +to a corner of the room; Gray and Flint, +urged into action, took three each, unwillingly.</p> + +<p>"Blow out the candle," said Carfax, who +had walked into the middle of the room. +Gary blew it out and the place was in darkness.</p> + +<pb n='24'/><anchor id='Pg24'/> +<p>They thought they heard Carfax moving +cautiously, and presently he called, "Cuckoo!" +A storm of tennis balls rebounded from the +walls; "Cuckoo!" shouted Carfax, and the +tennis balls rained all around him.</p> + +<p>Once more he called; not a ball hit him; +and he struck a match where he was seated +upon the floor.</p> + +<p>There was some perfunctory laughter of a +feverish sort; the candle was relighted, tennis +balls redistributed, and Carfax wrote down +his winnings.</p> + +<p>The next time, however, Gray, throwing +low, caught him. Again the candle was +lighted, scores jotted down, a coin tossed, +and Flint went in as cuckoo.</p> + +<p>It seemed almost impossible to miss a man +so near, even in total darkness, but Flint +lasted three rounds and was hit, finally, a +stinging smack on the ear. And then Gary +went in.</p> + +<p>It was hot work, but they kept at it feverishly, +grimly, as though their very sanity depended +upon the violence of their diversion. +They threw the balls hard, viciously hard. A<pb n='25'/><anchor id='Pg25'/> +sort of silent ferocity seemed to seize them. +A chance hit cut the skin over Flint's cheekbone, +and when the candle was lighted, one +side of his face was bright with blood.</p> + +<p>Early in the proceedings somebody had +disinterred brandy and Schnapps from under +a bunk. The room had become close; they +all were sweating.</p> + +<p>Carfax emptied his iced glass, still breathing +hard, tossed a shilling and sent in Gary +as cuckoo.</p> + +<p>Flint, who never could stand spirits, started +unsteadily for the candle, but could not seem +to blow it out. He stood swaying and balancing +on his heels, puffing out his smooth, boyish +cheeks and blowing at hazard.</p> + +<p>"You're drunk," said Gray, thickly; but he +was as flushed as the boy he addressed, only +steadier of leg.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" retorted Flint, jerking his +shoulders around and gazing at Gray out of +glassy eyes.</p> + +<p>"Blow out that candle," said Gary heavily, +"or I'll shoot it out! Do you get that?"</p> + +<p>"Shoot!" repeated Flint, staring vaguely<pb n='26'/><anchor id='Pg26'/> +into Gary's bloodshot eyes; "<hi rend='italic'>you</hi> shoot, you +old slacker——"</p> + +<p>"Shut up and play the game!" cut in Carfax, +a menacing roar rising in his voice. +"You're all slackers—and rotters, too. Play +the game! Keep playing—hard!—or you'll +go clean off your fool nuts!"</p> + +<p>Gary walked heavily over and knocked the +tennis balls out of Flint's hands.</p> + +<p>"There's a better game than that," he said, +his articulation very thick; "but it takes +nerve—if you've got it, you spindle-legged +little cockney!"</p> + +<p>Flint struck at him aimlessly. "I've got +nerve," he muttered, "plenty of nerve, old +top! What d'you want? I'm your man; I'll +go you—eh, what?"</p> + +<p>"Go on with the game, I tell you!" bawled +Carfax.</p> + +<p>Gary swung around: "Wait till I explain——"</p> + +<p>"No, don't wait! Keep going! Keep +playing! Keep doing something, for God's +sake!"</p> + +<pb n='27'/><anchor id='Pg27'/> +<p>"Will you wait!" shouted Gary. "I want +to tell you——"</p> + +<p>Carfax made a hopeless gesture: "It's talk +that will do the trick for us all——"</p> + +<p>"I want to tell you——"</p> + +<p>Carfax shrugged, emptied his full glass +with a gesture of finality.</p> + +<p>"Then talk, damn you! And we'll all be +at each other's throats before morning."</p> + +<p>Gary got Gray by the elbow: "Reggie, it's +this way. We flip up for cuckoo. Whoever +gets stuck takes a shot apiece from our automatics +in the legs—eh, what?"</p> + +<p>"It's perfectly agreeable to me," assented +Gray, in the mincing, elaborate voice characteristic +of him when drunk.</p> + +<p>Flint wagged his head. "It's a sportin' +game. I'm in," he said.</p> + +<p>Gary looked at Carfax. "A shot in the +dark at a man's legs. And if he gets his—it +will be Blighty in exchange for hell."</p> + +<p>Carfax, sullen with liquor, shoved his big +hand into his pocket, produced a shilling, and +tossed it.</p> + +<p>A brighter flush stained the faces which<pb n='28'/><anchor id='Pg28'/> +ringed him; the risky hazard of the affair +cleared their sick minds to comprehension.</p> + +<p>Tails turned uppermost; Flint and Gary +were eliminated. It lay between Carfax and +Gray, and the older man won.</p> + +<p>"Mind you fire low," said the young fellow, +with an excited laugh, and walked into +the middle of the room.</p> + +<p>Gary blew out the candle. Presently from +somewhere in the intense darkness Gray +called "Cuckoo!" and instantly a slanting red +flash lashed out through the gloom. And, +when the deafening echo had nearly ceased: +"Cuckoo!"</p> + +<p>Another pistol crashed. And after a swimming +interval they heard him moving. +"Cuckoo!" he called; a level flame stabbed +the dark; something fell, thudding through +the staccato uproar of the explosion. At +the same moment the outer door opened on +the crack and Carfax's orderly peeped in.</p> + +<p>Carfax struck a match with shaky fingers; +the candle guttered, sank, flared on +Flint, who was laughing without a sound. +"Got the beggar, by God!" he whispered<pb n='29'/><anchor id='Pg29'/>—"through +the head! Look at him. Look at +Reggie Gray! Tried for his head and got +him——"</p> + +<p>He reeled back, chuckling foolishly, and +levelled at Carfax. "Now I'll get you!" +he simpered, and shot him through the +face.</p> + +<p>As Carfax pitched forward, Gary fired.</p> + +<p>"Missed me, by God!" laughed Flint. +"Shoot? Hell, yes. I'll show you how to +shoot——"</p> + +<p>He struck the lighted candle with his left +hand and laughed again in the thick darkness.</p> + +<p>"Shoot? I'll show you how to shoot, you +old slacker——"</p> + +<p>Gary fired.</p> + +<p>After a silence Flint giggled in the choking +darkness as the door opened cautiously +again, and shot at the terrified orderly.</p> + +<p>"I'm a cockney, am I? And you don't +think much of the Devon cuckoos, do you? +Now I'll show you that I understand all +kinds of cuckoos——"</p> + +<pb n='30'/><anchor id='Pg30'/> +<p>Both flashes split the obscurity at the same +moment. Flint fell back against the wall +and slid down to the floor. The outer door +began to open again cautiously.</p> + +<p>But the orderly, half dressed, remained +knee-deep in the snow by the doorway.</p> + +<p>After a long interval Gary struck a match, +then went over and lit the candle. And, as he +turned, Flint fired from where he lay on the +floor and Gary swung heavily on one heel, took +two uncertain steps. Then his pistol fell clattering; +he sank to his knees and collapsed face +downward on the stones.</p> + +<p>Flint, still lying where he had fallen, partly +upright, against the wall, began to laugh, +and died a few moments later, the wind +from the slowly opening door stirring his +fair hair and extinguishing the candle.</p> + +<p>And at last, through the opened door crept +Carfax's orderly; peered into the darkness +within, shivering in his unbuttoned tunic, his +boots wet with snow.</p> + +<p>Dawn already whitened the east; and up +out of the ghastly fog edging the German +Empire, silhouetted, monstrous, against<pb n='31'/><anchor id='Pg31'/> +the daybreak, soared a <hi rend='italic'>Lämmergeyer</hi>, beating +the livid void with enormous, unclean +wings.</p> + +<p>The orderly heard its scream, shrank, cowering, +against the door frame as the huge +bird's ferocious red and yellow eyes blazed +level with his.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, above the clamor of the <hi rend='italic'>Lämmergeyer</hi>, +the shrill bell of the telephone +began to ring.</p> + +<p>The terrible racket of the <hi rend='italic'>Lämmergeyer</hi> +filled the sky; the orderly stumbled into the +room, slipped in a puddle of something wet, +sent an empty bottle rolling and clinking +away into the darkness; stumbled twice over +prostrate bodies; reached the telephone, half +fainting; whispered for help.</p> + +<p>After a long, long while, the horror still +thickly clogging vein and brain, he scratched +a match, hesitated, then holding it high, +reeled toward the door with face averted.</p> + +<p>Outside the sun was already above the +horizon, flashing over Haut Alsace at his +feet.</p> + +<pb n='32'/><anchor id='Pg32'/> +<p>The <hi rend='italic'>Lämmergeyer</hi> was a speck in the sky, +poised over France.</p> + +<p>Up out of the infinite and sunlit chasm +came a mocking, joyous hail—up through the +sheer, misty gulf out of vernal depths: +<hi rend='italic'>Cuck</hi>-oo! <hi rend='italic'>Cuck</hi>-oo! <hi rend='italic'>Cuck</hi>-oo!</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='33'/><anchor id='Pg33'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='IV. RECONNAISSANCE'/> +<index index='toc' level1='IV. RECONNAISSANCE'/> +<head>CHAPTER IV<lb/><lb/> +RECONNAISSANCE</head> + +<p>And that was the way Carfax ended—a +tiny tragedy of incompetence compared to the +mountainous official fiasco at Gallipoli. Here, +a few perished among the filthy salamanders +in the snow; there, thousands died in the +burning Turkish gorse——</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>But that's history; and its makers are +already officially damned.</p> + +<p>But now concerning two others of the fed-up +dozen on board the mule transport—Harry +Stent and Jim Brown. Destiny linked +arms with them; Fate jerked a mysterious +thumb over her shoulder toward Italy. +Chance detailed them for special duty as +soon as they landed.</p> + +<p>It was a magnificent sight, the disembark<pb n='34'/><anchor id='Pg34'/>ing +of the British overseas military force +sent secretly into Italy.</p> + +<p>They continued to disembark and entrain +at night. Nobody knew that British troops +were in Italy.</p> + +<p>The infernal uproar along the Isonzo never +ceased; the din of the guns resounded through +the Trentino, but British and Canadian noses +were sniffing at something beyond the Carnic +Alps, along the slopes of which they continued +to concentrate, Rifles, Kilties, and +Gunners.</p> + +<p>There seemed to be no particular hurry. +Details from the Canadian contingent were +constantly sent out to familiarize themselves +with the vast waste of tunneled mountains +denting the Austrian sky-line to the northward; +and all day long Dominion reconnoitering +parties wandered among valleys, alms, +forest, and peaks in company sometimes with +Italian alpinists, sometimes by themselves, +prying, poking, snooping about with all the +emotionless pertinacity of Teuton tourists +preoccupied with <hi rend='italic'>wanderlust</hi>, <hi rend='italic'>kultur</hi>, and +<hi rend='italic'>ewigkeit</hi>.</p> + +<pb n='35'/><anchor id='Pg35'/> +<p>And one lovely September morning the +British Military Observer with the Italian +army, and his very British aid, sat on a +sunny rock on the Col de la Reine and +watched a Canadian northward reconnaissance—nothing +much to see, except a solitary +moving figure here and there on the mountains, +crawling like a deerstalker across +ledges and stretches of bracken—a few dots +on the higher slopes, visible for a moment, +then again invisible, then glimpsed against +some lower snow patch, and gone again beyond +the range of powerful glasses.</p> + +<p>"The Athabasca regiment, 13th Battalion," +remarked the British Military Observer; +"lively and rather noisy."</p> + +<p>"Really," observed his A. D. C.</p> + +<p>"Sturdy, half-disciplined beggars," continued +the B. M. O., watching the mountain +plank through his glasses; "every variety of +adventurer in their ranks—cattlemen, ranchmen, +Hudson Bay trappers, North West police, +lumbermen, mail carriers, bear hunters, +Indians, renegade frontiersmen, soldiers of +fortune—a sweet lot, Algy."</p> + +<pb n='36'/><anchor id='Pg36'/> +<p>"Ow."</p> + +<p>"—And half of 'em unruly Yankees—the +most objectionable half, you know."</p> + +<p>"A bad lot," remarked the Honorable Algy.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said the B. M. O. complacently; +"I've a relative of sorts with 'em—leftenant, +I believe—a Yankee brother-in-law, +in point of fact."</p> + +<p>"Ow."</p> + +<p>"Married a step-sister in the States. Must +look him up some day," concluded the B. M. O., +adjusting his field glasses and focussing +them on two dark dots moving across a distant +waste of alpine roses along the edge +of a chasm.</p> + +<p>One of the dots happened to be the "relative +of sorts" just mentioned; but the +B. M. O. could not know that. And a moment +afterward the dots became invisible +against the vast mass of the mountain, and +did not again reappear within the field of +the English officer's limited vision. So he +never knew he had seen his relative of sorts.</p> + +<p>Up there on the alp, one of the dots, which +at near view appeared to be a good-looking,<pb n='37'/><anchor id='Pg37'/> +bronzed young man in khaki, puttees, and +mountain shoes, said to the other officer who +was scrambling over the rocks beside him:</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see a better country for +sheep?"</p> + +<p>"Bear, elk, goats—it's sure a great layout," +returned the younger officer, a Canadian +whose name was Stent.</p> + +<p>"Goats," nodded Brown—"sheep and goats. +This country was made for them. I fancy +they <hi rend='italic'>have</hi> chamois here. Did you ever see +one, Harry?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. They have a thing out here, too, +called an ibex. You never saw an ibex, did +you, Jim?"</p> + +<p>Brown, who had halted, shook his head. +Stent stepped forward and stood silently beside +him, looking out across the vast cleft in +the mountains, but not using his field glasses.</p> + +<p>At their feet the cliffs fell away sheer +into tremendous and dizzying depths; fir +forests far below carpeted the abyss like +wastes of velvet moss, amid which glistened +a twisted silvery thread—a river. A world +of mountains bounded the horizon.</p> + +<pb n='38'/><anchor id='Pg38'/> +<p>"Better make a note or two," said Stent +briefly.</p> + +<p>They unslung their rifles, seated themselves +in the warm sun amid a deep thicket of +alpine roses, and remained silent and busy +with pencil and paper for a while—two inconspicuous, +brownish-grey figures, cuddled +close among the greyish rocks, with nothing +of military insignia about their dress or their +round grey wool caps to differentiate them +from sportsmen—wary stalkers of chamois +or red deer—except that under their unbelted +tunics automatics and cartridge belts made +perceptible bunches.</p> + +<p>Just above them a line of stunted firs +edged limits of perpetual snow, and rocks +and glistening fields of crag-broken white +carried the eye on upward to the dazzling +pinnacle of the Col de la Reine, splitting the +vast, calm blue above.</p> + +<p>Nothing except peaks disturbed the tranquil +sky to the northward; not a cloud hung +there. But westward mist clung to a few +mountain flanks, and to the east it was snowing +on distant crests.</p> + +<pb n='39'/><anchor id='Pg39'/> +<p>Brown, sketching rapidly but accurately, +laughed a little under his breath.</p> + +<p>"To think," he said, "not a Boche dreams +we are in the Carnic Alps. It's very funny, +isn't it? Our surveyors are likely to be here +in a day or two, I fancy."</p> + +<p>Stent, working more slowly and methodically +on his squared map paper, the smoke +drifting fragrantly from his brier pipe, +nodded in silence, glancing down now and +then at the barometer and compass between +them.</p> + +<p>"Mentioning big game," he remarked presently, +"I started to tell you about the ibex, +Jim. I've hunted a little in the Eastern +Alps."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know it," said Brown, interested.</p> + +<p>"Yes. A classmate of mine at the Munich +Polytechnic invited me—Siurd von Glahn—a +splendid fellow—educated at Oxford—just +like one of us—nothing of the Boche about +him at all——"</p> + +<p>Brown laughed: "A Boche is always +a Boche, Harry. The black Prussian +blood——"</p> + +<pb n='40'/><anchor id='Pg40'/> +<p>"No; Siurd was all white. Really. A +charming, lovable fellow. Anyway, his dad +had a shooting where there were chamois, +reh, hirsch, and the king of all Alpine big +game—ibex. And Siurd asked me."</p> + +<p>"Did you get an ibex?" inquired Brown, +sharpening his pencil and glancing out across +the valley at a cloud which had suddenly +formed there.</p> + +<p>"I did."</p> + +<p>"What manner of beast is it?"</p> + +<p>"It has mountain sheep and goats stung +to death. Take it from me, Jim, it's the last +word in mountain sport. The chamois isn't +in it. Pooh, I've seen chamois within a hundred +yards of a mountain macadam highway. +But the ibex? Not much! The man +who stalks and kills an ibex has nothing +more to learn about stalking. Chamois, red +deer, Scotch stag make you laugh after you've +done your bit in the ibex line."</p> + +<p>"How about our sheep and goat?" inquired +Brown, staring at his comrade.</p> + +<p>"It's harder to get ibex."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!"</p> + +<pb n='41'/><anchor id='Pg41'/> +<p>"It really is, Jim."</p> + +<p>"What does your ibex resemble?"</p> + +<p>"It's a handsome beast, ashy grey in summer, +furred a brownish yellow in winter, and +with little chin whiskers and a pair of big, +curved, heavily ridged horns, thick and flat +and looking as though they ought to belong +to something African, and twice as big."</p> + +<p>"Some trophy, what?" commented Brown, +working away at his sketches.</p> + +<p>"Rather. The devilish thing lives along the +perpetual snow line; and, for incredible stunts +in jumping and climbing, it can give points +to any Rocky Mountain goat. You try to get +above it, spend the night there, and stalk it +when it returns from nocturnal grazing in the +stunted growth below. That's how."</p> + +<p>"And you got one?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It took six days. We followed it for +that length of time across the icy mountains, +Siurd and I. I thought I'd die."</p> + +<p>"Cold work, eh?"</p> + +<p>Stent nodded, pocketed his sketch, fished out +a packet of bread and chocolate from his pocket +and, rolling over luxuriously in the sun among<pb n='42'/><anchor id='Pg42'/> +the alpine roses, lunched leisurely, flat on his +back.</p> + +<p>Brown presently stretched out and reclined +on his elbow; and while he ate he lazily watched +a kestrel circling deep in the gulf below him.</p> + +<p>"I think," he said, half to himself, "that this +is the most beautiful region on earth."</p> + +<p>Stent lifted himself on both elbows and gazed +across the chasm at the lower slopes of the alm +opposite, all ablaze with dewy wild flowers. +Down it, between fern and crag and bracken, +flashed a brook, broken into in silvery sections +amid depths of velvet green below, where evidently +it tumbled headlong into that thin, shining +thread which was a broad river.</p> + +<p>"Yes," mused Stent, "Siurd von Glahn and +I were comrades on many a foot tour through +such mountains as these. He was a delightful +fellow, my classmate Siurd——"</p> + +<p>Brown's swift rigid grip on his arm checked +him to silence; there came the clink of an +iron-shod foot on the ledge; they snatched their +rifles from the fern patch; two figures stepped +around the shelf of rock, looming up dark +against the dazzling sky.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='43'/><anchor id='Pg43'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='V. PARNASSUS'/> +<index index='toc' level1='V. PARNASSUS'/> +<head>CHAPTER V<lb/><lb/> +PARNASSUS</head> + +<p>Brown, squatting cross-legged among the +alpine roses, squinted along his level rifle.</p> + +<p>"Halt!" he said with a pleasant, rising inflection +in his quiet voice. "Stand very still, +gentlemen," he added in German.</p> + +<p>"Drop your rifles. Drop 'em quick!" he +repeated more sharply. "Up with your hands—hold +them up high! Higher, if you please!—quickly. +Now, then, what are you doing on this +alp?"</p> + +<p>What they were doing seemed apparent +enough—two gentlemen of Teutonic persuasion, +out stalking game—deer, rehbok or chamois—one +a tall, dark, nice-looking young fellow +wearing the usual rough gray jacket with +stag-horn buttons, green felt hat with feather, +and leather breeches of the alpine hunter. His<pb n='44'/><anchor id='Pg44'/> +knees and aristocratic ankles were bare and +bronzed. He laughed a little as he held up his +arms.</p> + +<p>The other man was stout and stocky rather +than fat. He had the square red face and +bushy beard of a beer-nourished Teuton and +the spectacles of a Herr Professor. He held +up his blunt hands with all ten stubby fingers +spread out wide. They seemed rather soiled.</p> + +<p>From his <hi rend='italic'>rücksack</hi> stuck out a butterfly +net in two sections and the deeply scalloped, +silver-trimmed butt of a sporting rifle. Edelweiss +adorned his green felt hat; a green tin +box punched full of holes was slung from his +broad shoulders.</p> + +<p>Brown, lowering his rifle cautiously, was already +getting to his feet from the trampled +bracken, when, behind him, he heard Stent's +astonished voice break forth in pedantic German:</p> + +<p>"Siurd! Is it <hi rend='italic'>thou</hi> then?"</p> + +<p>"Harry Stent!" returned the dark, nice-looking +young fellow amiably. And, in a delightful +voice and charming English:</p> + +<p>"Pray, am I to offer you a shake hands," he<pb n='45'/><anchor id='Pg45'/> +inquired smilingly; "or shall I continue to invoke +the Olympian gods with classically uplifted +and imploring arms?"</p> + +<p>Brown let Stent pass forward. Then, stepping +back, he watched the greeting between +these two old classmates. His rifle, grasped +between stock and barrel, hung loosely between +both hands. His expression became vacantly +good humoured; but his brain was working like +lightning.</p> + +<p>Stent's firm hand encountered Von Glahn's +and held it in questioning astonishment. Looking +him in the eyes he said slowly: "Siurd, it +is good to see you again. It is amazing to +meet you this way. I am glad. I have never +forgotten you.... Only a moment ago I was +speaking to Brown about you—of our wonderful +ibex hunt! I was telling Brown—my +comrade—" he turned his head slightly and +presented the two young men—"Mr. Brown, +an American——"</p> + +<p>"American?" repeated Von Glahn in his gentle, +well-bred voice, offering his hand. And, in +turn, becoming sponsor, he presented his stocky +companion as Dr. von Dresslin; and the cere<pb n='46'/><anchor id='Pg46'/>mony +instantly stiffened to a more rigid etiquette.</p> + +<p>Then, in his always gentle, graceful way, +Von Glahn rested his hand lightly on Stent's +shoulder:</p> + +<p>"You made us jump—you two Americans—as +though you had been British. Of what could +two Americans be afraid in the Carnic Alps +to challenge a pair of wandering ibex stalkers?"</p> + +<p>"You forget that I am Canadian," replied +Stent, forcing a laugh.</p> + +<p>"At that, you are practically American and +civilian—" He glanced smilingly over their +equipment, carelessly it seemed to Stent, as +though verifying all absence of military insignia. +"Besides," he added with his gentle +humour, "there are no British in Italy. And +no Italians in these mountains, I fancy; they +have their own affairs to occupy them on the +Isonzo I understand. Also, there is no war between +Italy and Germany."</p> + +<p>Stent smiled, perfectly conscious of Brown's +telepathic support in whatever was now to +pass between them and these two Germans. He<pb n='47'/><anchor id='Pg47'/> +knew, and Brown knew, that these Germans +must be taken back as prisoners; that, suspicious +or not, they could not be permitted +to depart again with a story of having met +an American and a Canadian after ibex among +the Carnic Alps.</p> + +<p>These two Germans were already their prisoners; +but there was no hurry about telling +them so.</p> + +<p>"How do you happen to be here, Siurd?" +asked Stent, frankly curious.</p> + +<p>Von Glahn lifted his delicately formed eyebrows, +then, amused:</p> + +<p>"Count von Plessis invites me; and"—he +laughed outright—"he must have invited you, +Harry, unless you are poaching!"</p> + +<p>"Good Lord!" exclaimed Stent, for a brief +second believing in the part he was playing; +"I supposed this to be a free alp."</p> + +<p>He and Von Glahn laughed; and the latter +said, still frankly amused: "<hi rend='italic'>Soyez tranquille</hi>, +Messieurs; Count von Plessis permits my +friends—in my company—to shoot the Queen's +alm."</p> + +<p>With a lithe movement, wholly graceful, he<pb n='48'/><anchor id='Pg48'/> +slipped the <hi rend='italic'>rücksack</hi> from his shoulders, let +it fall among the <hi rend='italic'>alpenrosen</hi> beside his sporting +rifle.</p> + +<p>"We have a long day and a longer night +ahead of us," he said pleasantly, looking from +Stent to Brown. "The snow limit lies just +above us; the ibex should pass here at dawn +on their way back to the peak. Shall we consolidate +our front, gentlemen—and make it +a Quadruple Entente?"</p> + +<p>Stent replied instantly: "We join you with +thanks, Siurd. My one ibex hunt is no experience +at all compared to your record of a +veteran—" He looked full and significantly +at Brown; continuing: "As you say, we have +all day and—a long night before us. Let us +make ourselves comfortable here in the sun +before we take—our final stations."</p> + +<p>And they seated themselves in the lee of the +crag, foregathering fraternally in the warm +alpine sunshine.</p> + +<p>The Herr Professor von Dresslin grunted +as he sat down. After he had lighted his pipe +he grunted again, screwed together his butter<pb n='49'/><anchor id='Pg49'/>fly +net and gazed hard through thick-lensed +spectacles at Brown.</p> + +<p>"Does it interest you, sir, the pursuit of the +diurnal Lepidoptera?" he inquired, still staring +intently at the American.</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything about them," explained +Brown. "What are Lepidoptera?"</p> + +<p>"The <hi rend='italic'>schmetterling</hi>—the butterfly. In Amerika, +sir, you have many fine species, notably +Parnassus clodius and the Parnassus smintheus +of the four varietal forms." His prominent +eyes shifted from one detail of Brown's costume +to another—not apparently an intelligent +examination, but a sort of protruding and +indifferent stare.</p> + +<p>His gaze, however, was arrested for a moment +where the lump under Brown's tunic indicated +something concealed—a hunting knife, +for example. Brown's automatic was strapped +there. But the bulging eyes, expressionless +still, remained fixed for a second only, then +travelled on toward the Ross rifle—the Athabasca +Regiment having been permitted to exchange +this beloved weapon for the British +regulation piece recently issued to the Can<pb n='50'/><anchor id='Pg50'/>adians. +From behind the thick lenses of his +spectacles the Herr Professor examined the +rifle while his monotonously dreary voice continued +an entomological monologue for Brown's +edification. And all the while Von Glahn and +Stent, reclining nearby among the ferns, were +exchanging what appeared to be the frankest +of confidences and the happiest of youthful +reminiscences.</p> + +<p>"Of the Parnassians," rumbled on Professor +von Dresslin, "here in the Alps we possess +one notable example—namely, the Parnassus +Apollo. It is for the capture of this never-to-be-sufficiently +studied butterfly that I have, +upon this ibex-hunting expedition, myself +equipped with net and suitable paraphernalia."</p> + +<p>"I see," nodded Brown, eyeing the green tin +box and the net. The Herr Professor's pop-eyed +attention was now occupied with the service +puttees worn by Brown. A sportsman also +might have worn them, of course.</p> + +<p>"The Apollo butterfly," droned on Professor +Dresslin, "iss a butterfly of the larger magnitude +among European Lepidoptera, yet not of +the largest. The Parnassians, allied to the<pb n='51'/><anchor id='Pg51'/> +Papilionidæ, all live only in high altitudes, +and are, by the thinly scaled and always-to-be-remembered +red and plack ge-spotted wings, +to be readily recognized. I haf already two +specimens captured this morning. I haff the +honour, sir, to exhibit them for your inspection——"</p> + +<p>He fished out a flat green box from his pocket, +opened it under Brown's nose, leaning close +enough to touch Brown with an exploring and +furtive elbow—and felt the contour of the +automatic.</p> + +<p>Amid a smell of carbolic and camphor cones +Brown beheld, pinned side by side upon the +cork-lined interior of the box, two curiously +pretty butterflies.</p> + +<p>Their drooping and still pliable wings +seemed as thin as white tissue paper; their +bodies were covered with furry hairs. Brick-red +and black spots decorated the frail membrane +of the wings in a curiously pleasing +harmony of pattern and of colour.</p> + +<p>"Very unusual," he said, with a vague idea +he was saying the wrong thing.</p> + +<p>Monotonously, paying no attention, Professor<pb n='52'/><anchor id='Pg52'/> +von Dresslin continued: "I, the life history of +the Parnassus Apollo, haff from my early +youth investigated with minuteness, diligence, +and patience."—His protuberant eyes were now +fixed on Brown's rifle again.—"For many years +I haff bred this Apollo butterfly from the egg, +from the caterpillar, from the chrysalis. I have +the negroid forms, the albino forms, the dwarf +forms, the hybrid forms investigated under +effery climatic condition. Notes sufficient for +three volumes of quarto already exist as a +residuum of my investigations——"</p> + +<p>He looked up suddenly into the American's +face—which was the first sudden movement the +Herr Professor had made——</p> + +<p>"Ach wass! Three volumes! It is nothing. +Here iss material for thirty!—A lifetime iss +too short to know all the secrets of a single +species.... If I may inquire, sir, of what +pattern is your most interesting and admirable +rifle?"</p> + +<p>"A—Ross," said Brown, startled into a second's +hesitation.</p> + +<p>"So? And, if I may inquire, of what nationality +iss it, a R-r-ross?"</p> + +<pb n='53'/><anchor id='Pg53'/> +<p>"It's a Canadian weapon. We Americans use +it a great deal for big game."</p> + +<p>"So?... And it iss also by the Canadian +military employed perhaps, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I believe," said Brown, carelessly, "that the +British Government has taken away the Ross +rifle from the Canadians and given them the +regulation weapon."</p> + +<p>"So? Permit—that I examine, sir?"</p> + +<p>Brown did not seem to hear him or notice +the extended hand—blunt-fingered, hairy, persistent.</p> + +<p>The Professor, not discouraged, repeated: +"Sir, <hi rend='italic'>bitte darf ich</hi>, may I be permitted?" +And Brown's eyes flashed back a lightning +shaft of inquiry. Then, carelessly smiling, he +passed the Ross rifle over to the Herr Professor; +and, at the same time, drew toward him +that gentleman's silver-mounted weapon, and +carelessly cocked it.</p> + +<p>"Permit me," he murmured, balancing it innocently +in the hollow of his left arm, apparently +preoccupied with admiration at the florid +workmanship of stock and guard. No movement +that the Herr Professor made escaped<pb n='54'/><anchor id='Pg54'/> +him; but presently he thought to himself—"The +old dodo is absolutely unsuspicious. My +nerves are out of order.... What odd eyes +that Fritz has!"</p> + +<p>When Herr Professor von Dresslin passed +back the weapon Brown laid the German sporting +piece beside it with murmured complimentary +comment.</p> + +<p>"Yess," said the German, "such rifles kill +when properly handled. We Germans may +cordially recommend them for our American—friends—" +Here was the slightest hesitation—"Pardon! +I mean that we may safely +guarantee this rifle <hi rend='italic'>to</hi> our friends."</p> + +<p>Brown looked thoughtfully at the thick lenses +of the spectacles. The popeyes remained expressionless, +utterly, Teutonically inscrutable. +A big heather bee came buzzing among the +<hi rend='italic'>alpenrosen</hi>. Its droning hum resembled the +monotone of the Herr Professor.</p> + +<p>Behind them Brown heard Stent saying: "Do +you remember our ambition to wear the laurels +of Parnassus, Siurd? Do you remember our +notes at the lectures on the poets? And our<pb n='55'/><anchor id='Pg55'/> +ambition to write at least one deathless poem +apiece before we died?"</p> + +<p>Von Glahn's dark eyes narrowed with merriment +and his gentle laugh and attractive voice +sounded pleasantly in Brown's ears.</p> + +<p>"You wrote at least <hi rend='italic'>one</hi> famous poem to +Rosa," he said, still laughing.</p> + +<p>"To Rosa? Oh! Rosa of the Café Luitpold! +By Jove I did, didn't I, Siurd? How on earth +did you ever remember that?"</p> + +<p>"I thought it very pretty." He began to repeat +aloud:</p> + +<lg rend='stanza'> +<l>"Rosa with the winsome eyes,</l> +<l>When my beer you bring to me;</l> +<l>I can see through your disguise!</l> +<l>I my goddess recognize—</l> +<l>Hebe, young immortally,</l> +<l>Sweet nepenthe pouring me!"</l> +</lg> + +<p>Stent laughed outright:</p> + +<p>"How funny to think of it now—and to think +of Rosa!... And you, Siurd, do you forget +that you also composed a most wonderful +war-poem—to the metre of 'Fly, Eagle, Fly!' +Do you remember how it began?</p> + +<pb n='56'/><anchor id='Pg56'/> +<lg rend='stanza'> +<l>"Slay, Eagle, Slay!</l> +<l rend='i2'>They die who dare decry us!</l> +<l>Red dawns 'The Day.'</l> +<l rend='i2'>The western cliffs defy us!</l> +<l>Turn their grey flood</l> +<l>To seas of blood!</l> +<l>And, as they flee, Slay, Eagle! Slay!</l> +<l>For God has willed this German 'Day'!"</l> +</lg> + +<p>"Enough," said Siurd Von Glahn, still laughing, +but turning very red. "What a terrible +memory you have, Harry! For heaven's sake +spare my modesty such accurate reminiscences."</p> + +<p>"I thought it fine poetry—then," insisted +Stent with a forced smile. But his voice had +subtly altered.</p> + +<p>They looked at each other in silence, the +reminiscent smile still stamped upon their stiffening +lips.</p> + +<p>For a brief moment the years had seemed +to fade—time was not—the sunshine of that +careless golden age had seemed to warm them +once again there where they sat amid the +<hi rend='italic'>alpenrosen</hi> below the snow line on the Col de +la Reine.</p> + +<pb n='57'/><anchor id='Pg57'/> +<p>But it did not endure; everything concerning +earth and heaven and life and death had +so far remained unsaid between these two. +And never would be said. Both understood +that, perhaps.</p> + +<p>Then Von Glahn's sidelong and preoccupied +glance fell on Stent's field glasses slung short +around his neck. His rigid smile died out. +Soldiers wore field glasses that way; hunters, +when they carried them instead of spyglasses, +wore them <hi rend='italic'>en bandoulière</hi>.</p> + +<p>He spoke, however, of other matters in his +gentle, thoughtful voice—avoiding always any +mention of politics and war—chatted on pleasantly +with the familiarity and insouciance of +old acquaintance. Once he turned slowly and +looked at Brown—addressed him politely—while +his dark eyes wandered over the American, +noting every detail of dress and equipment, and +the slight bulge at his belt line beneath the +tunic.</p> + +<p>Twice he found pretext to pick up his rifle, +but discarded it carelessly, apparently not noticing +that Stent and Brown always resumed +their own weapons when he touched his.</p> + +<pb n='58'/><anchor id='Pg58'/> +<p>Brown said to Von Glahn:</p> + +<p>"Ibex stalking is a new game to me. My +friend Stent tells me that you are old at it."</p> + +<p>"I have followed some few ibex, Mr. Brown," +replied the young man modestly. "And—other +game," he added with a shrug.</p> + +<p>"I know how it's done in theory," continued +the American; "and I am wondering whether +we are to lie in this spot until dawn tomorrow +or whether we climb higher and lie in the +snow up there."</p> + +<p>"In the snow, perhaps. God knows exactly +where we shall lie tonight—Mr. Brown."</p> + +<p>There was an odd look in Siurd's soft brown +eyes; he turned and spoke to Herr Professor +von Dresslin, using dialect—and instantly appearing +to recollect himself he asked pardon +of Stent and Brown in his very perfect English.</p> + +<p>"I said to the Herr Professor in the Traun +dialect: 'Ibex may be stirring, as it is already +late afternoon. We ought now to use our +glasses.' My family," he added apologetically, +"come from the Traunwald; I forget and employ +the vernacular at times."</p> + +<pb n='59'/><anchor id='Pg59'/> +<p>The Herr Professor unslung his telescope, +set his rifle upright on the moss, and, kneeling, +balanced the long spyglass alongside of +the blued-steel barrel, resting it on his hand +as an archer fits the arrow he is drawing on +the bowstring.</p> + +<p>Instantly both Brown and Stent thought of +the same thing: the chance that these Germans +might spy others of the Athabasca regiment +prowling among the ferns and rocks of +neighbouring slopes. The game was nearly +at an end, anyway.</p> + +<p>They exchanged a glance; both picked up +their rifles; Brown nodded almost imperceptibly. +The tragic comedy was approaching its +close.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Hirsch</hi>" grunted the Herr Professor—"<hi rend='italic'>und +stück</hi>—on the north alm"—staring through his +telescope intently.</p> + +<p>"Accorded," said Siurd Von Glahn, balancing +his spyglass and sweeping the distant crags. +"<hi rend='italic'>Stück</hi> on the western shoulder," he added—"and +a stag royal among them."</p> + +<p>"Of ten?"</p> + +<p>"Of twelve."</p> + +<pb n='60'/><anchor id='Pg60'/> +<p>After a silence: "Why are they galloping—I +wonder—the herd-stag and <hi rend='italic'>stück</hi>?"</p> + +<p>Brown very quietly laid one hand on Stent's +arm.</p> + +<p>"A <hi rend='italic'>geier</hi>, perhaps," suggested Siurd, his eye +glued to his spyglass.</p> + +<p>"No ibex?" asked Stent in a voice a little +forced.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Noch nicht, mon ami. Tiens! A gemsbok</hi>—high +on the third peak—feeding."</p> + +<p>"Accorded," grunted the Herr Professor +after an interval of search; and he closed his +spyglass and placed his rifle on the moss.</p> + +<p>His staring, protuberant eyes fell casually +upon Brown, who was laying aside his own +rifle again—and the German's expression did +not alter.</p> + +<p>"Ibex!" exclaimed Von Glahn softly.</p> + +<p>Stent, rising impulsively to his feet, bracketted +his field glasses on the third peak, and +stood there, poised, slim and upright against +the sky on the chasm's mossy edge.</p> + +<p>"I don't see your ibex, Siurd," he said, still +searching.</p> + +<p>"On the third peak, <hi rend='italic'>mon ami</hi>"—drawing<pb n='61'/><anchor id='Pg61'/> +Stent familiarly to his side—the lightest caressing +contact—merely enough to verify the +existence of the automatic under his old classmate's +tunic.</p> + +<p>If Stent did not notice the impalpable touch, +neither did Brown notice it, watching them. +Perhaps the Herr Professor did, but it is not +at all certain, because at that moment there +came flopping along over the bracken and <hi rend='italic'>alpenrosen</hi> +a loppy winged butterfly—a large, whitish +creature, seeming uncertain in its irresolute +flight whether to alight at Brown's feet or +go flapping aimlessly on over Brown's head.</p> + +<p>The Herr Professor snatched up his net—struck +heavily toward the winged thing—a silent, +terrible, sweeping blow with net and rifle +clutched together. Brown went down with a +crash.</p> + +<p>At the shocking sound of the impact Stent +wheeled from the abyss, then staggered back +under the powerful shove from Von Glahn's +nervous arm. Swaying, fighting frantically for +foothold, there on the chasm's awful edge, he +balanced for an instant; fought for equilibrium. +Von Glahn, rigid, watched him. Then, deathly<pb n='62'/><anchor id='Pg62'/> +white, his young eyes looking straight into the +eyes of his old classmate—Stent lost the fight, +fell outward, wider, dropping back into mid-air, +down through sheer, tremendous depths—down +there where the broad river seemed only +a silver thread and the forests looked like beds +of tender, velvet moss.</p> + +<p>After him, fluttering irresolutely, flitted Parnassus +Apollo, still winging its erratic way +where God willed it—a frail, dainty, translucent, +wind-blown fleck of white above the gulf—symbol, +perhaps of the soul already soaring +up out of the terrific deeps below.</p> + +<p>The Herr Professor sweated and panted as +he tugged at the silk handkerchief with which +he was busily knotting the arms of the unconscious +American behind his back.</p> + +<p>"Pouf! Ugh! Pig-dog!" he grunted—"mit +his pockets full of automatic clips. A Yankee, +eh? What I tell you, Siurd?—English and +Yankee they are one in blood and one at +heart—pig-dogs effery one. Hey, Siurd, what +I told you already <hi rend='italic'>gesternabend</hi>? The British +<hi rend='italic'>schwein</hi> are in Italy already. Hola! Siurd! +Take his feet and we turn him over <hi rend='italic'>mal</hi>!"</p> + +<pb n='63'/><anchor id='Pg63'/> +<p>But Von Glahn remained motionless, leaning +heavily against the crag, his back to the abyss, +his blond head buried in both arms.</p> + +<p>So the Herr Professor, who was a major, too, +began, with his powerful, stubby hands, to pull +the unconscious man over on his back. And, +as he worked, he hummed monotonously but +contentedly in his bushy beard something about +<hi rend='italic'>something</hi> being "<hi rend='italic'>über alles</hi>"—God, perhaps, +perhaps the blue sky overhead which covered +him and his sickened friend alike, and the hurt +enemy whose closed lids shut out the sky above—and +the dead man lying very, very far below +them—where river and forest and moss and +Parnassus were now alike to him.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='64'/><anchor id='Pg64'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='VI. IN FINISTÈRE'/> +<index index='toc' level1='VI. IN FINISTÈRE'/> +<head>CHAPTER VI<lb/><lb/> +IN FINISTÈRE</head> + +<p>It was a dirty trick that they played Stent +and Brown—the three Mysterious Sisters, Fate, +Chance, and Destiny. But they're always billed +for any performance, be it vaudeville or tragedy; +and there's no use hissing them off: +they'll dog you from the stage entrance if they +take a fancy to you.</p> + +<p>They dogged Wayland from the dock at +Calais, where the mule transport landed, all +the way to Paris, then on a slow train to Quimperlé, +and then, by stagecoach, to that little +lost house on the moors, where ties held him +most closely—where all he cared for in this +world was gathered under a humble roof.</p> + +<p>In spite of his lameness he went duck-shooting +the week after his arrival. It was rather +forcing his convalescence, but he believed it<pb n='65'/><anchor id='Pg65'/> +would accelerate it to go about in the open air, +as though there were nothing the matter with +his shattered leg.</p> + +<p>So he hobbled down to the point he knew so +well. He had longed for the sea off Eryx. +It thundered at his feet.</p> + +<p>And, now, all around him through clamorous +obscurity a watery light glimmered; it +edged the low-driven clouds hurrying in from +the sea; it outlined the long point of rocks +thrust southward into the smoking smother.</p> + +<p>The din of the surf filled his ears; through +flying patches of mist he caught glimpses of +rollers bursting white against the reef; heard +duller detonations along unseen sands, and +shattering reports where heavy waves exploded +among basalt rocks.</p> + +<p>His lean face of an invalid glistened with +spray; salt water dripped from cap and coat, +spangled the brown barrels of his fowling-piece, +and ran down the varnished supports of +both crutches where he leaned on them, braced +forward against an ever-rising wind.</p> + +<p>At moments he seemed to catch glimpses of +darker specks dotting the heaving flank of some<pb n='66'/><anchor id='Pg66'/> +huge wave. But it was not until the wild ducks +rose through the phantom light and came whirring +in from the sea that his gun, poked stiffly +skyward, flashed in the pallid void. And then, +sometimes, he hobbled back after the dead +quarry while it still drove headlong inland, +slanting earthward before the gale.</p> + +<p>Once, amid the endless thundering, in the +turbulent desolation around him, through the +roar of wind in his ears, he seemed to catch +deadened sounds resembling distant seaward +cannonading—<hi rend='italic'>real</hi> cannonading—as though +individual shots, dully distinct, dominated +for a few moments the unbroken uproar of +surf and gale.</p> + +<p>He listened, straining his ears, alert, intent +upon the sounds he ought to recognize—the +sounds he knew so well.</p> + +<p>Only the ceaseless pounding of the sea +assailed his ears.</p> + +<p>Three wild duck, widgeon, came speeding +through the fog; he breasted the wind, balanced +heavily on both crutches and one leg, +and shoved his gun upward.</p> + +<p>At the same instant the mist in front and<pb n='67'/><anchor id='Pg67'/> +overhead became noisy with wild fowl, rising +in one great, panic-stricken, clamoring +cloud. He hesitated; a muffled, thudding +sound came to him over the unseen sea, growing +louder, nearer, dominating the gale, increasing +to a rattling clatter.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a great cloudy shape loomed up +through the whirling mist ahead—an enormous +shadow in the fog—a gigantic spectre +rushing inland on vast and ghostly pinions.</p> + +<p>As the man shrank on his crutches, looking +up, the aëroplane swept past overhead—a +wounded, wavering, unsteady, unbalanced +thing, its right aileron dangling, half stripped, +and almost mangled to a skeleton.</p> + +<p>Already it was slanting lower toward the +forest like a hard-hit duck, wing-crippled, +fighting desperately for flight-power to the +very end. Then the inland mist engulfed it.</p> + +<p>And after it hobbled Wayland, painfully, +two brace of dead ducks and his slung fowling +piece bobbing on his back, his rubber-shod +crutches groping and probing among +drenched rocks and gullies full of kelp, his +left leg in splints hanging heavily.</p> + +<pb n='68'/><anchor id='Pg68'/> +<p>He could not go fast; he could not go +very far. Further inland, foggy gorse gave +place to broom and blighted bracken, all wet, +sagging with rain. Then he crossed a swale +of brown reeds and tussock set with little +pools of water, opaque and grey in the rain.</p> + +<p>Where the outer moors narrowed he turned +westward; then a strip of low, thorn-clad +cliff confronted him, up which he toiled along +a V-shaped cleft choked with ferns.</p> + +<p>The spectral forest of Läis lay just beyond, +its wind-tortured branches tossing under +a leaden sky.</p> + +<p>East and west lonely moors stretched away +into the depths of the mist; southward spread +the sea; to the north lay the wide woods of +Läis, equally deserted now in this sad and +empty land.</p> + +<p>He hobbled to the edge of the forest and +stood knee deep in discoloured ferns, listening. +The sombre beech-woods spread thick +on either hand, a wilderness of crossed limbs +and meshed branches to which still clung +great clots of dull brown leaves.</p> + +<p>He listened, peering into sinister, grey<pb n='69'/><anchor id='Pg69'/> +depths. In the uncertain light nothing stirred +except the clashing branches overhead; there +was no sound except the wind's flowing roar +and the ghostly noise of his own voice, hallooing +through the solitude—a voice in the misty +void that seemed to carry less sound than +the straining cry of a sleeper in his dreams.</p> + +<p>If the aëroplane had landed, there was no +sign here. How far had it struggled on, +sheering the tree-tops, before it fell?—if indeed +it had fallen somewhere in the wood's +grey depths?</p> + +<p>As long as he had sufficient strength he +prowled along the forest, entering it here +and there, calling, listening, searching the +foggy corridors of trees. The rotting brake +crackled underfoot; the tree tops clashed and +creaked above him.</p> + +<p>At last, having only enough strength left +to take him home, he turned away, limping +through the blotched and broken ferns, his +crippled leg hanging stiffly in its splints, his +gun and the dead ducks bobbing on his back.</p> + +<p>The trodden way was soggy with little +pools full of drenched grasses and dead<pb n='70'/><anchor id='Pg70'/> +leaves; but at length came rising ground, +and the blue-green, glimmering wastes of +gorse stretching away before him through the +curtained fog.</p> + +<p>A sheep path ran through; and after a little +while a few trees loomed shadowy in the +mist, and a low stone house took shape, +whitewashed, flanked by barn, pigpen, and a +stack of rotting seaweed.</p> + +<p>A few wet hens wandered aimlessly by the +doorstep; a tiny bed of white clove-pinks +and tall white phlox exhaled a homely welcome +as the lame man hobbled up the steps, +pulled the leather latchstring, and entered.</p> + +<p>In the kitchen an old Breton woman, chopping +herbs, looked up at him out of aged +eyes, shaking her head under its white coiffe.</p> + +<p>"It is nearly noon," she said. "You have +been out since dawn. Was it wise, for a convalescent, +Monsieur Jacques?"</p> + +<p>"Very wise, Marie-Josephine. Because the +more exercise I take the sooner I shall be +able to go back."</p> + +<p>"It is too soon to go out in such weather."</p> + +<p>"Ducks fly inland only in such weather,"<pb n='71'/><anchor id='Pg71'/> +he retorted, smiling. "And we like roast +widgeon, you and I, Marie-Josephine."</p> + +<p>And all the while her aged blue eyes were +fixed on him, and over her withered cheeks +the soft bloom came and faded—that pretty +colour which Breton women usually retain +until the end.</p> + +<p>"Thou knowest, Monsieur Jacques," she +said, with a curiously quaint mingling of +familiarity and respect, "that I do not counsel +caution because I love thee and dread +for thee again the trenches. But with thy +leg hanging there like the broken wing of a +<hi rend='italic'>vanneau</hi>——"</p> + +<p>He replied good humouredly:</p> + +<p>"Thou dost not know the Legion, Marie-Josephine. +Every day in our trenches we +break a comrade into pieces and glue him +together again, just to make him tougher. +Broken bones, once mended, are stronger +than before."</p> + +<p>He was looking down at her where she sat +by the hearth, slicing vegetables and herbs, +but watching him all the while out of her +lovely, faded eyes.</p> + +<pb n='72'/><anchor id='Pg72'/> +<p>"I understand, Monsieur Jacques, that you +are like your father—God knows he was +hardy and without fear—to the last"—she +dropped her head—"Mary, glorious—intercede—" +she muttered over her bowl of herbs.</p> + +<p>Wayland, resting on his crutches, unslung +his ducks, laid them on the table, smoothed +their beautiful heads and breasts, then +slipped the soaking <hi rend='italic'>bandoulière</hi> of his gun +from his shoulder and placed the dripping +piece against the chimney corner.</p> + +<p>"After I have scrubbed myself," he said, +"and have put on dry clothes, I shall come to +luncheon; and I shall have something very +strange to tell you, Marie-Josephine."</p> + +<p>He limped away into one of the two remaining +rooms—the other was hers—and +closed his door.</p> + +<p>Marie-Josephine continued to prepare the +soup. There was an egg for him, too; and +a slice of cold pork and a <hi rend='italic'>brioche</hi> and a jug +of cider.</p> + +<p>In his room Wayland was whistling "Tipperary."</p> + +<p>Now and again, pausing in her work, she<pb n='73'/><anchor id='Pg73'/> +turned her eyes to his closed door—wonderful +eyes that became miracles of tenderness +as she listened.</p> + +<p>He came out, presently, dressed in his odd, +ill-fitting uniform of the Legion, tunic unbuttoned, +collarless of shirt, his bright, thick +hair, now of decent length, in boyish disorder.</p> + +<p>Delicious odours of soup and of Breton +cider greeted him; he seated himself; Marie-Josephine +waited on him, hovered over him, +tucked a sack of feathers under his maimed +leg, placed his crutches in the corner beside +the gun.</p> + +<p>Still eating, leisurely, he began:</p> + +<p>"Marie-Josephine—a strange thing has +happened on Quesnel Moors which troubles +me.... Listen attentively. It was while +waiting for ducks on the Eryx Rocks, that +once I thought I heard through the roar of +wind and sea the sound of a far cannonading. +But I said to myself that it was only +the imagination of a haunted mind; that in +my ears still thundered the cannonade of +Lens."</p> + +<pb n='74'/><anchor id='Pg74'/> +<p>"Was it nevertheless true?" She had +turned around from the fire where her own +soup simmered in the kettle. As she spoke +again she rose and came to the table.</p> + +<p>He said: "It must have been cannon that +I heard. Because, not long afterward, out +of the fog came a great aëroplane rushing +inland from the sea—flying swiftly above me—right +over me!—and staggering like a +wounded duck—it had one aileron broken—and +sheered away into the fog, northward, +Marie-Josephine."</p> + +<p>Her work-worn hands, tightly clenched, +rested now on the table and she leaned there, +looking down at him.</p> + +<p>"Was it an enemy—this airship, Jacques?"</p> + +<p>"In the mist flying and the ragged clouds +I could not tell. It might have been English. +It must have been, I think—coming as +it came from the sea. But I am troubled, +Marie-Josephine. Were the guns at sea an +enemy's guns? Did the aëroplane come to +earth in safety? Where? In the Forest of +Laïs? I found no trace of it."</p> + +<pb n='75'/><anchor id='Pg75'/> +<p>She said, tremulous perhaps from standing +too long motionless and intent:</p> + +<p>"Is it possible that the Boches would come +into these solitary moors, where there are +no people any more, only the creatures of the +Laïs woods, and the curlew and the lapwings +which pass at evening?"</p> + +<p>He ate thoughtfully and in silence for a +while; then:</p> + +<p>"They go, usually—the Boches—where +there is plunder—murder to be done.... +Spying to be done.... God knows what purpose +animates the Huns.... After all, Lorient +is not so far away.... Yet it surely +must have been an English aëroplane, beaten +off by some enemy ship—a submarine perhaps. +God send that the rocks of the Isle +des Chouans take care of her—with their +teeth!"</p> + +<p>He drank his cider—a sip or two only—then, +setting aside the glass:</p> + +<p>"I went from the Rocks of Eryx to Laïs +Woods. I called as loudly as I could; the +wind whirled my voice back into my throat.... +I am not yet very strong....</p> + +<pb n='76'/><anchor id='Pg76'/> +<p>"Then I went into the wood as far as my +strength permitted. I heard and saw nothing, +Marie-Josephine."</p> + +<p>"Would they be dead?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"They were planing to earth. I don't know +how much control they had, whether they +could steer—choose a landing place. There +are plenty of safe places on these moors."</p> + +<p>"If their airship is crippled, what can they +do, these English flying men, out there on +the moors in the rain and wind? When the +coast guard passes we must tell him."</p> + +<p>"After lunch I shall go out again as far +as my strength allows.... If the rain would +cease and the mist lift, one might see something—be +of some use, perhaps——"</p> + +<p>"Ought you to go, Monsieur Jacques?"</p> + +<p>"Could I fail to try to find them—Englishmen—and +perhaps injured? Surely I should +go, Marie-Josephine."</p> + +<p>"The coast guard——"</p> + +<p>"He passed the Eryx Rocks at daylight. +He is at Sainte-Ylva now. Tonight, when +I see his comrade's lantern, I shall stop him<pb n='77'/><anchor id='Pg77'/> +and report. But in the meanwhile I must go +out and search."</p> + +<p>"Spare thyself—for the trenches, Jacques. +Remain indoors today." She began to unpin +the coiffe which she always wore ceremoniously +at meals when he was present.</p> + +<p>He smiled: "Thou knowest I must go, +Marie-Josephine."</p> + +<p>"And if thou come upon them in the forest +and they are Huns?"</p> + +<p>He laughed: "They are English, I tell thee, +Marie-Josephine!"</p> + +<p>She nodded; under her breath, staring at +the rain-lashed window: "Like thy father, +thou must go forth," she muttered; "go always +where thy spirit calls. And once <hi rend='italic'>he</hi> +went. And came no more. And God help +us all in Finistère, where all are born to +grief."</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='78'/><anchor id='Pg78'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='VII. THE AIRMAN'/> +<index index='toc' level1='VII. THE AIRMAN'/> +<head>CHAPTER VII<lb/><lb/> +THE AIRMAN</head> + +<p>She had seated herself on a stool by the +hearth. Presently she spread her apron with +trembling fingers, took the glazed bowl of +soup upon her lap and began to eat, slowly, +casting long, unquiet glances at him from +time to time where he still at table leaned +heavily, looking out into the rain.</p> + +<p>When he caught her eye he smiled, summoning +her with a nod of his boyish head. +She set aside her bowl obediently, and, rising, +brought him his crutches. And at the same +moment somebody knocked lightly on the +outer door.</p> + +<p>Marie-Josephine had unpinned her coiffe. +Now she pinned it on over her <hi rend='italic'>bonnet</hi> before +going to the door, glancing uneasily around +at him while she tied her tresses and settled<pb n='79'/><anchor id='Pg79'/> +the delicate starched wings of her bonnet.</p> + +<p>"That's odd," he said, "that knocking," +staring at the door. "Perhaps it is the lost +Englishman."</p> + +<p>"God send them," she whispered, going to +the door and opening it.</p> + +<p>It certainly seemed to be one of the lost +Englishmen—a big, square-shouldered, blond +young fellow, tall and powerful, in the leather +dress of an aëronaut. His glass mask was +lifted like the visor of a tilting helmet, +disclosing a red, weather-beaten face, wet +with rain. Strength, youth, rugged health +was their first impression of this leather-clad +man from the clouds.</p> + +<p>He stepped inside the house immediately, +halted when he caught sight of Wayland in +his undress uniform, glanced involuntarily at +his crutches and bandaged leg, cast a quick, +penetrating glance right and left; then he +spoke pleasantly in his hesitating, imperfect +French—so oddly imperfect that Wayland +could not understand him at all.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" he demanded in English.</p> + +<p>The airman seemed astonished for an in<pb n='80'/><anchor id='Pg80'/>stant, +then a quick smile broke out on his +ruddy features:</p> + +<p>"I say, this <hi rend='italic'>is</hi> lucky! Fancy finding an +Englishman here!—wherever this place may +be." He laughed. "Of course I know I'm +'somewhere in France,' as the censor has it, +but I'm hanged if I know where!"</p> + +<p>"Come in and shut the door," said Wayland, +reassured. Marie-Josephine closed the +door. The aëronaut came forward, stood +dripping a moment, then took the chair to +which Wayland pointed, seating himself as +though a trifle tired.</p> + +<p>"Shot down," he explained, gaily. "An +enemy submarine winged us out yonder somewhere. +I tramped over these bally moors +for hours before I found a sign of any path. +A sheepwalk brought me here."</p> + +<p>"You are lucky. There is only one house +on these moors—this! Who are you?" asked +Wayland.</p> + +<p>"West—flight-lieutenant, 10th division, Cinque-Ports +patrolling squadron."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, man! What are you doing +in Finistère?"</p> + +<pb n='81'/><anchor id='Pg81'/> +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>What!</hi>"</p> + +<p>"You are in Brittany, province of Finistère. +Didn't you know it?"</p> + +<p>The air-officer seemed astounded. Presently +he said: "The dirty weather foxed us. +Then that fellow out yonder winged us. I +was glad enough to see a coast line."</p> + +<p>"Did you fall?"</p> + +<p>"No; we controlled our landing pretty +well."</p> + +<p>"Where did you land?"</p> + +<p>There was a second's hesitation; the airman +looked at Wayland, glanced at his crippled +leg.</p> + +<p>"Out there near some woods," he said. +"My pilot's there now trying to patch up.... +You are not French, are you?"</p> + +<p>"American."</p> + +<p>"Oh! A—volunteer, I presume."</p> + +<p>"Foreign Legion—2d."</p> + +<p>"I see. Back from the trenches with a +leg."</p> + +<p>"It's nearly well. I'll be back soon."</p> + +<p>"Can you walk?" asked the airman so<pb n='82'/><anchor id='Pg82'/> +abruptly that Wayland, looking at him, hesitated, +he did not quite know why.</p> + +<p>"Not very far," he replied, cautiously. "I +can get to the window with my crutches +pretty well."</p> + +<p>And the next moment he felt ashamed of +his caution when the airman laughed frankly.</p> + +<p>"I need a guide to some petrol," he said. +"Evidently you can't go with me."</p> + +<p>"Haven't you enough petrol to take you to +Lorient?"</p> + +<p>"How far is Lorient?"</p> + +<p>Wayland told him.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said the flight-lieutenant; +"I'll have to try to get somewhere. I suppose +it is useless for me to ask," he added, +"but have you, by any chance, a bit of canvas—an +old sail or hammock?—I don't need +much. That's what I came for—and some +shellac and wire, and a screwdriver of sorts? +We need patching as well as petrol; and +we're a little short of supplies."</p> + +<p>Wayland's steady gaze never left him, but +his smile was friendly.</p> + +<p>"We're in a tearing hurry, too," added the<pb n='83'/><anchor id='Pg83'/> +flight-lieutenant, looking out of the window.</p> + +<p>Wayland smiled. "Of course there's no +petrol here. There's nothing here. I don't +suppose you could have landed in a more +deserted region if you had tried. There's a +château in the Laïs woods, but it's closed; +owner and servants are at the war and the +family in Paris."</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders. "Everybody +has cleared out; the war has stripped the +country; and there never were any people +on these moors, excepting shooting parties +and, in the summer, a stray artist or two +from Quimperlé."</p> + +<p>The lieutenant looked at him. "You say +there is nobody here—between here and +Lorient? No—troops?"</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to guard. The coast is +one vast shoal. Ships pass hull down. Once a +day a coast guard patrols along the cliffs——"</p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"He has passed, unfortunately. Otherwise +he might signal by relay to Lorient and have +them send you out some petrol. By the way—are +you hungry?"</p> + +<pb n='84'/><anchor id='Pg84'/> +<p>The flight-lieutenant showed all his firm, +white teeth under a yellow mustache, which +curled somewhat upward. He laughed in a +carefree way, as though something had suddenly +eased his mind of perplexity—perhaps +the certainty that there was no possible +chance for petrol. Certainty is said to be +more endurable than suspense.</p> + +<p>"I'll stop for a bite—if you don't mind—while +my pilot tinkers out yonder," he said. +"We're not in such a bad way. It might +easily have been worse. Do you think you +could find us a bit of sail, or something, to +use for patching?"</p> + +<p>Wayland indicated an old high-backed chair +of oak, quaintly embellished with ancient +leather in faded blue and gold. It had been +a royal chair in its day, or the Fleur-de-Lys +lied.</p> + +<p>The flight-lieutenant seated himself with a +rather stiff bow.</p> + +<p>"If you need canvas"—Wayland hesitated—then, +gravely: "There are, in my room, a +number of artists' <hi rend='italic'>toiles</hi>—old chassis with +the blank canvas still untouched."</p> + +<pb n='85'/><anchor id='Pg85'/> +<p>"Exactly what we need!" exclaimed the +other. "What luck, now, to meet a painter +in such a place as this!"</p> + +<p>"They belonged to my father," explained +Wayland. "We—Marie-Josephine and I—have +always kept my father's old canvases +and colours—everything of his.... I'll be +glad to give them to a British soldier.... +They're about all I have that was his—except +that oak chair you sit on."</p> + +<p>He rose on his crutches, spoke briefly in +Breton to Marie-Josephine, then limped +slowly away to his room.</p> + +<p>When he returned with half a dozen blank +canvases the flight-lieutenant, at table, was +eating pork and black bread and drinking +Breton cider.</p> + +<p>Wayland seated himself, laid both crutches +across his knees, picked up one of the chassis, +and began to rip from it the dusty canvas. +It was like tearing muscles from his own +bones. But he smiled and chatted on, casually, +with the air-officer, who ate as though +half starved.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," said Wayland, "you'll start<pb n='86'/><anchor id='Pg86'/> +back across the Channel as soon as you secure +petrol enough?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course."</p> + +<p>"You could go by way of Quimper or by +Lorient. There's petrol to be had at both +places for military purposes"—leisurely continuing +to rip the big squares of canvas from +the frames.</p> + +<p>The airman, still eating, watched him +askance at intervals.</p> + +<p>"I've brought what's left of the shellac; +it isn't much use, I fear. But here is his +hammer and canvas stretcher, and the remainder +of the nails he used for stretching +his canvases," said Wayland, with an effort +to speak carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Many thanks. You also are a painter, I +take it."</p> + +<p>Wayland laid one hand on the sleeve of +his uniform and laughed.</p> + +<p>"I <hi rend='italic'>was</hi> a writer. But there are only soldiers +in the world now."</p> + +<p>"Quite so ... This is an odd place for an +American to live in."</p> + +<p>"My father bought it years ago. He was<pb n='87'/><anchor id='Pg87'/> +a painter of peasant life." He added, lowering +his voice, although Marie-Josephine understood +no English: "This old peasant +woman was his model many years ago. She +also kept house for him. He lived here; I +was born here."</p> + +<p>"Really?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but my father desired that I grow +up a good Yankee. I was at school in America +when he—died."</p> + +<p>The airman continued to eat very busily.</p> + +<p>"He died—out there"—Wayland looked +through the window, musingly. "There was +an Iceland schooner wrecked off the Isle des +Chouans. And no life-saving crew short of +Ylva Light. So my father went out in his +little American catboat, all alone.... Marie-Josephine +saw his sail off Eryx Rocks ... for +a few moments ... and saw it no more."</p> + +<p>The airman, still devouring his bread and +meat, nodded in silence.</p> + +<p>"That is how it happened," said Wayland. +"The French authorities notified me. There +was a little money and this hut, and—Marie-Josephine. +So I came here; and I write<pb n='88'/><anchor id='Pg88'/> +children's stories—that sort of thing.... +It goes well enough. I sell a few to American +publishers. Otherwise I shoot and fish +and read ... when war does not preoccupy +me...."</p> + +<p>He smiled, experiencing the vague relief of +talking to somebody in his native tongue. +Quesnel Moors were sometimes very lonely.</p> + +<p>"It's been a long convalescence," he continued, +smilingly. "One of their 'coal-boxes' +did this"—touching his leg. "When I was +able to move I went to America. But the sea +off the Eryx called me back; and the authorities +permitted me to come down here. I'm +getting well very fast now."</p> + +<p>He had stripped every chassis of its canvas, +and had made a roll of the material.</p> + +<p>"I'm very glad to be of any use to you," +he said pleasantly, laying the roll on the +table.</p> + +<p>Marie-Josephine, on her low chair by the +hearth, sat listening to every word as though +she had understood. The expression in her +faded eyes varied constantly; solicitude, perplexity, +vague uneasiness, a recurrent glim<pb n='89'/><anchor id='Pg89'/>mer +of suspicion were succeeded always by +wistful tenderness when her gaze returned to +Wayland and rested on his youthful face and +figure with a pride forever new.</p> + +<p>Once she spoke in mixed French and +Breton:</p> + +<!-- FIXME: italics around corrections for TXT --> +<pgIf output='txt'> + <then> +<p>"Is the stranger English, Monsieur Jacques, +<hi rend='italic'>mon chéri</hi>?"</p> + </then> + <else> +<p>"Is the stranger English, Monsieur Jacques, +<hi rend='italic'>mon <corr sic='cheri'>chéri</corr></hi>?"</p> + </else> +</pgIf> + + +<p>"I do not doubt it, Marie-Josephine. Do +you?"</p> + +<p>"Why dost thou believe him to be English?"</p> + +<p>"He has the tricks of speech. Also his +accent is of an English university. There +is no mistaking it."</p> + +<p>"Are not young Huns sometimes instructed +in the universities of England?"</p> + +<p>"Yes.... But——"</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Gar à nous, mon p'tit</hi>, Jacques. In Finistère +a stranger is a suspect. Since earliest +times they have done us harm in Finistère. +The strangers—God knows what centuries of +evil they have wrought."</p> + +<p>"No fear," he said, reassuringly, and turned +again to the airman, who had now satisfied<pb n='90'/><anchor id='Pg90'/> +his hunger and had already risen to gather +up the roll of canvas, the hammer, nails, and +shellac.</p> + +<p>"Thanks awfully, old chap!" he said cordially. +"I'll take these articles, if I may. +It's very good of you ... I'm in a tearing +hurry——"</p> + +<p>"Won't your pilot come over and eat a +bit?"</p> + +<p>"I'll take him this bread and meat, if I +may. Many thanks." He held out his heavily +gloved hand with a friendly smile, nodded +to Marie-Josephine. And as he hurriedly +turned to go, the ancient carving on the high-backed +chair caught him between the buttons +of his leather coat, tearing it wide open over +the breast. And Wayland saw the ribbon +of the Iron Cross there fastened to a sea-grey +tunic.</p> + +<p>There was a second's frightful silence.</p> + +<p>"What's that you wear?" said Wayland +hoarsely. "Stop! Stand where you——"</p> + +<p>"Halt! Don't touch that shotgun!" cried +the airman sharply. But Wayland already +had it in his hands, and the airman fired twice<pb n='91'/><anchor id='Pg91'/> +at him where he stood—steadied the automatic +to shoot again, but held his fire, seeing +it would not be necessary. Besides, he did +not care to shoot the old woman unless military +precaution made it advisable; and she +was on her knees, her withered arms upflung, +shielding the prostrate body with her own.</p> + +<p>"You Yankee fool," he snapped out +harshly—"it is your own fault, not mine!... +Like the rest of your imbecile nation +you poke your nose where it has no business! +And I—" He ceased speaking, realizing that +his words remained unheard.</p> + +<p>After a moment he backed toward the +door, carrying the canvas roll under his left +arm and keeping his eye carefully on the +prostrate man. Also, one can never trust +the French!—he was quite ready for that +old woman there on the floor who was holding +the dead boy's head to her breast, muttering: +"My darling! My child!—Oh, little +son of Marie-Josephine!—I told thee—I +warned thee of the stranger in Finistère!... +Marie—holy—intercede!... All—all are +born to grief in Finistère!..."</p> +</div> + +<pb n='92'/><anchor id='Pg92'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='VIII. EN OBSERVATION'/> +<index index='toc' level1='VIII. EN OBSERVATION'/> +<head>CHAPTER VIII<lb/><lb/> +EN OBSERVATION</head> + +<p>The incredible rumour that German airmen +were in Brittany first came from Plouharnel +in Morbihan; then from Bannalec, +where an old Icelander had notified the +Brigadier of the local Gendarmerie. But the +Icelander was very drunk. A thimble of +cognac did it.</p> + +<p>Again came an unconfirmed report that a +shepherd lad while alternately playing on his +Biniou and fishing for eels at the confluence +of the Elle and Isole, had seen a werewolf +in Laïs Woods. The Loup Garou walked on +two legs and had assumed the shape of a +man with no features except two enormous +eyes.</p> + +<p>The following week a coast guard near +Flouranges telephoned to the Aulnes Light<pb n='93'/><anchor id='Pg93'/>house; +the keeper of the light telephoned to +Lorient the story of Wayland, and was instructed +to extinguish the great flash again +and to keep watch from the lantern until an +investigation could be made.</p> + +<p>That an enemy airman had done murder +in Finistère was now certain; but that a +Boche submarine had come into the Bay of +Biscay seemed very improbable, considering +the measures which had been taken in the +Channel, at Trieste, and at Gibraltar.</p> + +<p>That a fleet of many sea-planes was soaring +somewhere between the Isle des Chouettes +and Finistère, and landing men, seemed +to be practically an impossibility. Yet, there +were the rumours. And murder had been +done.</p> + +<p>But an enemy undersea boat required a +base. Had such a base been established +somewhere along those lonely and desolate +wastes of bog and rock and moor and gorse-set +cliff haunted only by curlew and wild +duck, and bounded inland by a silent barrier +of forest through which the wild boar roamed +and rooted unmolested?</p> + +<pb n='94'/><anchor id='Pg94'/> +<p>And where in Finistère was an enemy seaplane +to come from, when, save for the few +remaining submarines still skulking near +British waters, the enemy's flag had vanished +from the seas?</p> + +<p>Nevertheless the coast lights at Aulnes and +on the Isle des Chouettes went out; the Commandant +at Lorient and the General in command +of the British expeditionary troops in +the harbour consulted; and the fleet of troop-laden +transports did not sail as scheduled, +but a swarm of French and British cruisers, +trawlers, mine-sweepers, destroyers, and submarines +put out from the great warport to +comb the boisterous seas of Biscay for any +possible aërial or amphibious Hun who might +venture to haunt the coasts.</p> + +<p>Inland, too, officers were sent hither and +thither to investigate various rumours and +doubtful reports at their several sources.</p> + +<p>And it happened in that way that Captain +Neeland of the 6th Battalion, Athabasca +Regiment, Canadian Overseas Contingent, +found himself in the Forest of Aulnes, with +instructions to stay there long enough to<pb n='95'/><anchor id='Pg95'/> +verify or discredit a disturbing report which +had just arrived by mail.</p> + +<p>The report was so strange and the investigation +required so much secrecy and caution +that Captain Neeland changed his uniform +for knickerbockers and shooting coat, borrowed +a fowling piece and a sack of cartridges +loaded with No. 4 shot, tucked his gun +under his arm, and sauntered out of Lorient +town before dawn, like any other duck-hunting +enthusiast.</p> + +<p>Several reasons influenced his superiors in +sending Neeland to investigate this latest and +oddest report: for one thing, although he had +become temporarily a Canadian for military +purposes only, in reality he was an American +artist who, like scores and scores of his +artistic fellow Yankees, had spent many +years industriously painting those sentimental +Breton scenes which obsess our painters, if +not their critics. He was a very bad painter, +but he did not know it; he had already become +a promising soldier, but he did not +realize that either. As a sportsman, however, +Neeland was rather pleased with himself.</p> + +<pb n='96'/><anchor id='Pg96'/> +<p>He was sent because he knew the sombre +and lovely land of Finistère pretty well, because +he was more or less of a naturalist and +a sportsman, and because the plan which he +had immediately proposed appeared to be +reasonable as well as original.</p> + +<p>It had been a stiff walk across country—fifteen +miles, as against thirty odd around +by road—but neither cart nor motor was to +enter into the affair. If anybody should +watch him, he was only a duckhunter afield, +crossing the marshes, skirting <hi rend='italic'>étangs</hi>, a solitary +figure in the waste, easily reconcilable +with his wide and melancholy surroundings.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='97'/><anchor id='Pg97'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='IX. L'OMBRE'/> +<index index='toc' level1='IX. L'OMBRE'/> +<head>CHAPTER IX<lb/><lb/> +L'OMBRE</head> + +<p>Aulnes Woods were brown and still under +their unshed canopy of October leaves. +Against a grey, transparent sky the oaks +and beeches towered, unstirred by any wind; +in the subdued light among the trees, ferns, +startlingly green, spread delicate plumed +fronds; there was no sound except the soft +crash of his own footsteps through shriveling +patches of brake; no movement save +when a yellow leaf fluttered down from above +or one of those little silvery grey moths took +wing and fluttered aimlessly along the forest +aisle, only to alight upon some lichen-spotted +tree and cling there, slowly waving its delicate, +translucent wings.</p> + +<p>It was a very ancient wood, the Forest of +Aulnes, and the old trees were long past<pb n='98'/><anchor id='Pg98'/> +timber value. Even those gleaners of dead +wood and fallen branches seemed to have +passed a different way, for the forest floor +was littered with material that seldom goes +to waste in Europe, and which broke under +foot with a dull, thick sound, filling the nostrils +with the acrid odour of decay.</p> + +<p>Narrow paths full of dead leaves ran here +and there through the woods, but he took +none of these, keeping straight on toward the +northwest until a high, moss-grown wall +checked his progress.</p> + +<p>It ran west through the silent forest; damp +green mould and lichens stained it; patches +of grey stucco had peeled from it, revealing +underneath the roughly dressed stones. He +followed the wall.</p> + +<p>Now and then, far in the forest, and indistinctly, +he heard faint sounds—perhaps the +cautious tread of roebuck, or rabbits in the +bracken, or the patter of a stoat over dry +leaves; perhaps the sullen retirement of some +wild boar, winding man in the depths of his +own domain, and sulkily conceding him right +of way.</p> + +<pb n='99'/><anchor id='Pg99'/> +<p>After a while there came a break in the +wall where four great posts of stone stood, +and where there should have been gates.</p> + +<p>But only the ancient and rusting hinges +remained of either gate or wicket.</p> + +<p>He looked up at the carved escutcheons; +the moss of many centuries had softened and +smothered the sculptured device, so that its +form had become indistinguishable.</p> + +<p>Inside stood a stone lodge. Tiles had +fallen from the ancient roof; leaded panes +were broken; nobody came to the closed and +discoloured door of massive oak.</p> + +<p>The avenue, which was merely an unkempt, +overgrown ride, curved away between the +great gateposts into the woods; and, as he +entered it, three deer left stealthily, making +no sound in the forest.</p> + +<p>Nobody was to be seen, neither gatekeeper +nor woodchopper nor charcoal burner. Nothing +moved amid the trees except a tiny, silent +bird belated in his autumn migration.</p> + +<p>The ride curved to the east; and abruptly +he came into view of the house—a low,<pb n='100'/><anchor id='Pg100'/> +weather-ravaged structure in the grassy +glade, ringed by a square, wet moat.</p> + +<p>There was no terrace; the ride crossed a +permanent bridge of stone, passed the carved +and massive entrance, crossed a second +crumbling causeway, and continued on into +the forest.</p> + +<p>An old Breton woman, who was drawing +a jug of water from the moat, turned and +looked at Neeland, and then went silently +into the house.</p> + +<p>A moment later a younger woman appeared +on the doorstep and stood watching his approach.</p> + +<p>As he crossed the bridge he took off his +cap.</p> + +<p>"Madame, the Countess of Aulnes?" he inquired. +"Would you be kind enough to say +to her that I arrive from Lorient at her +request?"</p> + +<p>"I am the Countess of Aulnes," she said +in flawless English.</p> + +<p>He bowed again. "I am Captain Neeland +of the British Expeditionary force."</p> + +<p>"May I see your credentials, Captain Nee<pb n='101'/><anchor id='Pg101'/>land?" +She had descended the single step of +crumbling stone.</p> + +<p>"Pardon, Countess; may I first be certain +concerning <hi rend='italic'>your</hi> identity?"</p> + +<p>There was a silence. To Neeland she +seemed very young in her black gown. Perhaps +it was that sombre setting and her dark +eyes and hair which made her skin seem so +white.</p> + +<p>"What proof of my identity do you expect?" +she asked in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Only one word, Madame."</p> + +<p>She moved a step nearer, bent a trifle +toward him. "L'Ombre," she whispered.</p> + +<p>From his pocket he drew his credentials +and offered them. Among them was her own +letter to the authorities at Lorient.</p> + +<p>After she had examined them she handed +them back to him.</p> + +<p>"Will you come in, Captain Neeland—or, +perhaps we had better seat ourselves on the +bridge—in order to lose no time—because I +wish you to see for yourself——"</p> + +<p>She lifted her dark eyes; a tint of embarrassment +came into her cheeks: "It may seem<pb n='102'/><anchor id='Pg102'/> +absurd to you; it seems so to me, at times—what +I am going to say to you—concerning +L'Ombre——"</p> + +<p>She had turned; he followed; and at her +grave gesture of invitation, he seated himself +beside her on the coping of mossy stone +which ran like a bench under the parapet of +the little bridge.</p> + +<p>"Captain Neeland," she said, "I am a Bretonne, +but, until recently, I did not suppose +myself to be superstitious.... I really am +not—unless—except for this one matter of +L'Ombre.... My English governess drove +superstition out of my head.... Still, living +in Finistère—here in this house"—she flushed +again—"I shall have to leave it to you.... +I dread ridicule; but I am sure you are too +courteous—... It required some courage +for me to write to Lorient. But, if it might +possibly help my country—to risk ridicule—of +course I do not hesitate."</p> + +<p>She looked uncertainly at the young man's +pleasant, serious face, and, as though reassured:</p> + +<p>"I shall have to tell you a little about<pb n='103'/><anchor id='Pg103'/> +myself first—so that you may understand +better."</p> + +<p>"Please," he said gravely.</p> + +<p>"Then—my father and my only brother +died a year ago, in battle.... It happened +in the Argonne.... I am alone. We had +maintained only two men servants here. +They went with their classes. One old +woman remains." She looked up with a +forced smile. "I need not explain to you +that our circumstances are much straitened. +You have only to look about you to see that ... our +poverty is not recent; it always has +been so within my memory—only growing a +little worse every year. I believe our misfortunes +began during the Vendée.... But +that is of no interest ... except that—through +coincidence, of course—every time a +new misfortune comes upon our family, misfortune +also falls on France." He nodded, +still mystified, but interested.</p> + +<p>"Did you happen to notice the device +carved on the gatepost?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I thought it resembled a fish——"</p> + +<pb n='104'/><anchor id='Pg104'/> +<p>"Do you understand French, Captain Neeland?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then you know that L'Ombre means 'the +shadow'."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Did you know, also, that there is a fish +called 'L'Ombre'?"</p> + +<p>"No; I did not know that."</p> + +<p>"There is. It looks like a shadow in the +water. L'Ombre does not belong here in Brittany. +It is a northern fish of high altitudes +where waters are icy and rapid and always +tinctured with melted snow ... would you accord +me a little more patience, Monsieur, if +I seem to be garrulous concerning my own +family? It is merely because I want you to +understand everything ... <hi rend='italic'>everything</hi>...."</p> + +<p>"I am interested," he assured her pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Then—it is a legend—perhaps a superstition +in our family—that any misfortune to +us—<hi rend='italic'>and to France</hi>—is always preceded by two +invariable omens. One of these dreaded signs +is the abrupt appearance of L'Ombre in the<pb n='105'/><anchor id='Pg105'/> +waters of our moat—" She turned her head +slowly and looked down over the parapet of +the bridge.—"The other omen," she continued +quietly, "is that the clocks in our house +suddenly go wrong—all striking the same +hour, no matter where the hands point, no +matter what time it really is.... These +things have always happened in our family, +they say. I, myself, have never before witnessed +them. But during the Vendée the +clocks persisted in striking four times every +hour. The Comte d'Aulnes mounted the scaffold +at that hour; the Vicomte died under +Charette at Fontenay at that hour.... L'Ombre +appeared in the waters of the moat at +four o'clock one afternoon. And then the +clocks went wrong.</p> + +<p>"And all this happened again, they say, in +1870. L'Ombre appeared in the moat. Every +clock continued to strike six, day after day +for a whole week, until the battle of Sedan +ended.... My grandfather died there with +the light cavalry.... I am so afraid I am +taxing your courtesy, Captain Neeland——"</p> + +<p>"I am intensely interested," he repeated,<pb n='106'/><anchor id='Pg106'/> +watching the lovely, sensitive face which pride +and dread of misinterpretation had slightly +flushed again.</p> + +<p>"It is only to explain—perhaps to justify +myself for writing—for asking that an officer +be sent here from Lorient for a few days——"</p> + +<p>"I understand, Countess."</p> + +<p>"Thank you.... Had it been merely for +myself—for my own fears—my personal safety, +I should not have written. But our misfortunes +seem to be coincident with my country's +mishaps.... So I thought—if they +sent an officer who would be kind enough to +understand——"</p> + +<p>"I understand ... L'Ombre has appeared in +the moat again, has it not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it came a week ago, suddenly, at +five o'clock in the afternoon."</p> + +<p>"And—the clocks?"</p> + +<p>"For a week they have been all wrong."</p> + +<p>"What hour do they strike?" he asked curiously.</p> + +<p>"Five."</p> + +<p>"No matter where the hands point?"</p> + +<p>"No matter. I have tried to regulate them.<pb n='107'/><anchor id='Pg107'/> +I have done everything I could do. But they +continue to strike five every hour of the day +and night.... I have"—a pale smile touched +her lips—"I have been a little wakeful—perhaps +a trifle uneasy—on my country's account. +You understand...." Pride and courage had +permitted her no more than uneasiness, it +seemed. Or if fear had threatened her there +in her lonely bedroom through the still watches +of the night, she desired him to understand +that her solicitude was for France, not for +any daughter of the race whose name she +bore.</p> + +<p>The simplicity and directness of her amazing +narrative had held his respect and attention; +there could be no doubt that she implicitly +believed what she told him.</p> + +<p>But that was one thing; and the wild extravagance +of the story was another. There +must be, of course, an explanation for these +phenomena other than a supernatural one. +Such things do not happen except in medieval +romance and tales of sorcery and doom. And +of all regions on earth Brittany swarms with +such tales and superstitions. He knew it.<pb n='108'/><anchor id='Pg108'/> +And this young girl was Bretonne after all, +however educated, however accomplished, however +honest and modern and sincere. And +he began to comprehend that the germs of +superstition and credulity were in the blood +of every Breton ever born.</p> + +<p>But he merely said with pleasant deference: +"I can very easily understand your uneasiness +and perplexity, Madame. It is a time +of mental stress, of great nervous tension in +France—of heart-racking suspense——"</p> + +<p>She lifted her dark eyes. "You do not believe +me, Monsieur."</p> + +<p>"I believe what you have told me. But I +believe, also, that there is a natural explanation +concerning these matters."</p> + +<p>"I tell myself so, too.... But I brood over +them in vain; I can find no explanation."</p> + +<p>"Of course there must be one," he insisted +carelessly. "Is there anything in the world +more likely to go queer than a clock?"</p> + +<p>"There are five clocks in the house. Why +should they all go wrong at the same time and +in the same manner?"</p> + +<p>He smiled. "I don't know," he said frankly.<pb n='109'/><anchor id='Pg109'/> +"I'll investigate, if you will permit me."</p> + +<p>"Of course.... And, about L'Ombre. What +could explain its presence in the moat? It is +a creature of icy waters; it is extremely limited +in its range. My father has often said +that, except L'Ombre which has appeared at +long intervals in our moat, L'Ombre never has +been seen in Brittany."</p> + +<p>"From where does this clear water come +which fills the moat?" he asked, smiling.</p> + +<p>"From living springs in the bottom."</p> + +<p>"No doubt," he said cheerfully, "a long +subterranean vein of water connects these +springs with some distant Alpine river, somewhere—in +the Pyrenees, perhaps—" He hesitated, +for the explanation seemed as far-fetched +as the water.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it so appeared to her, for she remained +politely silent.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, in the house, a clock struck five +times. They both sat listening intently. From +the depths of the ancient mansion, the other +clocks repeated the strokes, first one, then +another, then two sounding their clear little +bells almost in unison. All struck five. He<pb n='110'/><anchor id='Pg110'/> +drew out his watch and looked at it. The +hour was three in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>After a moment her attitude, a trifle rigid, +relaxed. He muttered something about making +an examination of the clocks, adding that +to adjust and regulate them would be a simple +matter.</p> + +<p>She sat very still beside him on the stone +coping—her dark eyes wandered toward the +forest—wonderful eyes, dreamily preoccupied—the +visionary eyes of a Bretonne, full of the +mystery and beauty of magic things unseen.</p> + +<p>Venturing, at last, to disturb the delicate sequence +of her thoughts: "Madame," he said, +"have you heard any rumours concerning enemy +airships—or, undersea boats?"</p> + +<p>The tranquil gaze returned, rested on him: +"No, but something has been happening in +the Aulnes <corr sic='Etang'>Étang</corr>."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. But every day the wild +ducks rise from it in fright—clouds of them—and +the curlew and lapwings fill the sky with +their clamour."</p> + +<p>"A poacher?"</p> + +<pb n='111'/><anchor id='Pg111'/> +<p>"I know of none remaining here in Finistère."</p> + +<p>"Have you seen anything in the sky? An +eagle?"</p> + +<p>"Only the wild fowl whirling above the +<hi rend='italic'>étang</hi>."</p> + +<p>"You have heard nothing—from the +clouds?"</p> + +<p>"Only the <hi rend='italic'>vanneaux</hi> complaining and the +wild curlew answering."</p> + +<p>"Where is L'Ombre?" he asked, vaguely +troubled.</p> + +<p>She rose; he followed her across the bridge +and along the mossy border of the moat. +Presently she stood still and pointed down in +silence.</p> + +<p>For a while he saw nothing in the moat; +then, suspended midway between surface and +bottom, motionless in the transparent water, a +shadow, hanging there, colourless, translucent—a +phantom vaguely detached from the limpid +element through which it loomed.</p> + +<p>L'Ombre lay very still in the silvery-grey +depths where the glass of the stream reflected +the façade of that ancient house.</p> + +<pb n='112'/><anchor id='Pg112'/> +<p>Around the angle of the moat crept a ripple; +a rat appeared, swimming, and, seeing +them, dived. L'Ombre never stirred.</p> + +<p>An involuntary shudder passed over Neeland, +and he looked up abruptly with the instinct +of a creature suddenly trapped—but not +yet quite realizing it.</p> + +<p>In the grey forest walling that silent place, +in the monotonous sky overhead, there seemed +something indefinitely menacing; a menace, too, +in the intense stillness; and, in the twisted, +uplifted limbs of every giant tree, a subtle +and suspended threat.</p> + +<p>He said tritely and with an effort: "For +everything there are natural causes. These +may always be discovered with ingenuity and +persistence.... Shall we examine your clocks, +Madame?"</p> + +<p>"Yes.... Will your General be annoyed +because I have asked that an officer be sent +here? Tell me truthfully, are <hi rend='italic'>you</hi> annoyed?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed," he insisted, striving to smile +away the inexplicable sense of depression +which was creeping over him.</p> + +<p>He looked down again at the grey wraith<pb n='113'/><anchor id='Pg113'/> +in the water, then, as they turned and walked +slowly back across the bridge together, he +said, suddenly:</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Something</hi> is wrong somewhere in Finistère. +That is evident to me. There have +been too many rumours from too many sources. +By sea and land they come—rumours of things +half seen, half heard—glimpses of enemy aircraft, +sea-craft. Yet their presence would +appear to be an impossibility in the light of +the military intelligence which we possess.</p> + +<p>"But we have investigated every rumour; +although I, personally, know of no report +which has been confirmed. Nevertheless, these +rumours persist; they come thicker and faster +day by day. But this—" He hesitated, then +smiled—"this seems rather different——"</p> + +<p>"I know. I realize that I have invited ridicule——"</p> + +<p>"Countess——"</p> + +<p>"You are too considerate to say so.... And +perhaps I have become nervous—imagining +things. It might easily be so. Perhaps it +is the sadness of the past year—the strangeness +of it, and——"</p> + +<pb n='114'/><anchor id='Pg114'/> +<p>She sighed unconsciously.</p> + +<p>"It is lonely in the Wood of Aulnes," she +said.</p> + +<p>"Indeed it must be very lonely here," he +returned in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes.... Aulnes Wood is—too remote for +them to send our wounded here for their convalescence. +I offered Aulnes. Then I offered +myself, saying that I was ready to go +anywhere if I might be of use. It seems there +are already too many volunteers. They take +only the trained in hospitals. I am untrained, +and they have no leisure to teach ... nobody +wanted me."</p> + +<p>She turned and gazed dreamily at the forest.</p> + +<p>"So there is nothing for me to do," she said, +"except to remain here and sew for the hospitals." ... She +looked out thoughtfully across +the fern-grown <hi rend='italic'>carrefour</hi>: "Therefore I sew +all day by the latticed window there—all day +long, day after day—and when one is young +and when there is nobody—nothing to look +at except the curlew flying—nothing to hear +except the <hi rend='italic'>vanneaux</hi>, and the clocks striking +the hour——"</p> + +<pb n='115'/><anchor id='Pg115'/> +<p>Her voice had altered subtly, but she lifted +her proud little head and smiled, and her tone +grew firm again:</p> + +<p>"You see, Monsieur, I am truly becoming +a trifle morbid. It is entirely physical; my +heart is quite undaunted."</p> + +<p>"You heart, Madame, is but a part of the +great, undaunted heart of France."</p> + +<p>"Yes ... therefore there could be no fear—no +doubt of God.... Affairs go well with +France, Monsieur?—may I ask without military +impropriety?"</p> + +<p>"France, as always, faces her destiny, Madame. +And her destiny is victory and light."</p> + +<p>"Surely ... I knew; only I had heard nothing +for so long.... Thank you, Monsieur."</p> + +<p>He said quietly: "The Light shall break. +We must not doubt it, we English. Nor can +you doubt the ultimate end of this vast and +hellish Darkness which has been let loose upon +the world to assail it. You shall live to see +light, Madame—and I also shall see it—perhaps——"</p> + +<p>She looked up at the young man, met his<pb n='116'/><anchor id='Pg116'/> +eyes, and looked elsewhere, gravely. A slight +flush lingered on her cheeks.</p> + +<p>On the doorstep of the house they paused. +"Is it possible," she asked, "that an enemy +aëroplane could land in the Aulnes Étang?—L'Étang +aux Vanneaux?"</p> + +<p>"In the Étang?" he repeated, a little startled. +"How large is it, this Étang aux Vanneaux?"</p> + +<p>"It is a lake. It is perhaps a mile long and +three-quarters of a mile across. My old servant, +Anne, had seen the werewolf in the +reeds—like a man without a face—and only +two great eyes—" She forced a pale smile. +"Of course, if it were anything she saw, it +was a real man.... And, airmen dress that +way.... I wondered——"</p> + +<p>He stood looking at her absently, worrying +his short mustache.</p> + +<p>"One of the rumours we have heard," he +began, "concerns a supposed invasion by a huge +fleet of German battle-planes of enormous dimensions—a +new biplane type which is steered +from the bridge like an ocean steamer.</p> + +<p>"It is supposed to be three or four times +as large as their usual <hi rend='italic'>Albatross</hi> type, with<pb n='117'/><anchor id='Pg117'/> +a vast cruising radius, immense capacity for +lifting, and powerful enough to carry a great +weight of armour, equipment, munitions, and +a very large crew.</p> + +<p>"And the most disturbing thing about it is +that it is said to be as noiseless as a high-class +automobile."</p> + +<p>"Has such an one been seen in Brittany?"</p> + +<p>"Such a machine has been reported—many, +many times—as though not one but hundreds +were in Finistère. And, what is very disquieting +to us—a report has arrived from a distant +and totally independent source—from Sweden—that +air-crafts of this general type have been +secretly built in Germany by the hundreds."</p> + +<p>After a moment's silence she stepped into +the house; he followed.</p> + +<p>The great, bare, grey rooms were in keeping +with the grey exterior; age had more than +softened and coördinated the ancient furnishings, +it had rendered them colourless, without +accent, making the place empty and monotonous.</p> + +<p>Her chair and workbasket stood by a lat<pb n='118'/><anchor id='Pg118'/>ticed +window; she seated herself and took +up her sewing, watching him where he stood +before the fireplace fussing over a little mantel +clock—a gilt and ebony affair of the consulate, +shaped like a lyre, the pendulum being also the +clock itself and containing the works, bell and +dial.</p> + +<p>When he had adjusted it to his satisfaction +he tested it. It still struck five. He continued +to fuss over it for half an hour, testing it at +intervals, but it always struck five times, and +finally he gave up his attempts with a shrug +of annoyance.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>I</hi> can't do anything with it," he admitted, +smiling cheerfully across the room at her; "is +there another clock on this floor?"</p> + +<p>She directed him; he went into an adjoining +room where, on the mantel, a modern enamelled +clock was ticking busily. But after a +little while he gave up his tinkering; he could +do nothing with it; the bell persistently struck +five. He returned to where she sat sewing, admitting +failure with a perplexed and uneasy +smile; and she rose and accompanied him<pb n='119'/><anchor id='Pg119'/> +through the house, where he tried, in turn, +every one of the other clocks.</p> + +<p>When, at length, he realized that he could +accomplish nothing by altering their striking +mechanism—that every clock in the house persisted +in striking five times no matter where +the hands were pointing, a sudden, odd, and +inward rage possessed him to hurl the clocks +at the wall and stamp the last vestiges of +mechanism out of them.</p> + +<p>As they returned together through the +hushed and dusky house, he caught glimpses +of faded and depressing tapestries; of vast, +tarnished mirrors, through the dim depths of +which their passing figures moved like ghosts; +of rusted stands of arms, and armoured lay +figures where cobwebs clotted the slitted visors +and the frail tatters of ancient faded banners +drooped.</p> + +<p>And he understood why any woman might +believe in strange inexplicable things here in +the haunting stillness of this house where splendour +had turned to mould—where form had become +effaced and colour dimmed; where only<pb n='120'/><anchor id='Pg120'/> +the shadowy film of texture still remained, +and where even that was slowly yielding—under +the attacks of Time's relentless mercenaries, +moth and dust and rust.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='121'/><anchor id='Pg121'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='X. THE GHOULS'/> +<index index='toc' level1='X. THE GHOULS'/> +<head>CHAPTER X<lb/><lb/> +THE GHOULS</head> + +<p>They dined by the latticed window; two +candles lighted them; old Anne served them—old +Anne of Fäouette in her wide white +coiffe and collarette, her velvet bodice and her +<hi rend='italic'>chaussons</hi> broidered with the rose.</p> + +<p>Always she talked as she moved about with +dish and salver—garrulous, deaf, and aged, +and perhaps flushed with the gentle afterglow +of that second infancy which comes before +the night.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Ouidame!</hi> It is I, Anne Le Bihan, who tell +you this, my pretty gentleman. I have lived +through eighty years and I have seen life +begin and end in the Woods of Aulnes—alas!—in +the Woods and the House of Aulnes——"</p> + +<p>"The red wine, Anne," said her mistress, +gently.</p> + +<pb n='122'/><anchor id='Pg122'/> +<p>"Madame the Countess is served.... These +grapes grew when I was young, Monsieur—and +the world was young, too, <hi rend='italic'>mon Capitaine—hélas!</hi>—but +the Woods of Aulnes were +old, old as the headland yonder. Only the +sea is older, <hi rend='italic'>beau jeune homme</hi>—only the sea +is older—the sea which always was and will +be."</p> + +<p>"Madame," he said, turning toward the +young girl beside him, "—to France!—I have +the honour—" She touched her glass to his +and they saluted France with the ancient +wine of France—a sip, a faint smile, and silence +through which their eyes still lingered +for a moment.</p> + +<p>"This year is yielding a bitter vintage," he +said. "Light is lacking. But—but there will +be sun enough another year."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>B'en oui!</hi> The sun must shine again," +muttered old Anne, "but not in the Woods +of Aulnes. <hi rend='italic'>Non pas.</hi> There is no sunlight +in the Woods of Aulnes where all is dim and +still; where the Blessed walk at dawn with<pb n='123'/><anchor id='Pg123'/> +Our Lady of Aulnes in shining vestments +all——"</p> + +<p>"She has seen thin mists rising there," +whispered the Countess in his ear.</p> + +<p>"In shining robes of grace—<hi rend='italic'>oui-da</hi>!—the +martyrs and the acolytes of God. It is I who +tell you, <hi rend='italic'>beau jeune homme</hi>—I, Anne of Fäouette. +I saw them pass where, on my two +knees, I gathered orange mushrooms by the +brook! I heard them singing prettily and loud, +hymns of our blessed Lady——"</p> + +<p>"She heard a throstle singing by the brook," +whispered the châtelaine of Aulnes. Her +breath was delicately fragrant on his cheek.</p> + +<p>Against the grey dusk at the window she +looked to him like a slim spirit returned to +haunt the halls of Aulnes—some graceful +shade come back out of the hazy and forgotten +years of gallantry and courts and battles—the +exquisite apparation of that golden +time before the Vendée drowned and washed +it out in blood.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad you came," she said. "I +have not felt so calm, so confident, in months."</p> + +<p>Old Anne of Fäouette laid them fresh nap<pb n='124'/><anchor id='Pg124'/>kins +and set two crystal bowls beside them +and filled the bowls with fresh water from the +moat.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Ho fois!</hi>" she said, "love and the heart +may change, but not the Woods of Aulnes; +they never change—they never change.... +The golden people of Ker-Ys come out of the +sea to walk among the trees."</p> + +<p>The Countess whispered: "She has seen +the sunbeams slanting through the trees."</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Vrai, c'est moi, Anne Le Bihan, qui vous +dites cela, mon Capitaine!</hi> And, in the Woods +of Aulnes the werewolf prowls. I have seen +him, gallant gentleman. He walks upright, and, +in his head, he has only eyes; no mouth, no +teeth, no nostrils, and no hair—the Loup-Garou!—O +Lady of Aulnes, adored and blessed, +protect us from the Loup-Barou!"</p> + +<p>The Countess said again to him: "I have not +felt so confident, so content, so full of faith +in months——"</p> + +<p>A far faint clamour came to their ears; +high in the fading sky above the forest +vast clouds of wild fowl rose like smoke, whirling, +circling, swinging wide, drifting against<pb n='125'/><anchor id='Pg125'/> +the dying light of day, southward toward the +sea.</p> + +<p>"There is something wrong there," he said, +under his breath.</p> + +<p>Minute after minute they watched in silence. +The last misty shred of wild fowl floated seaward +and was lost against the clouds.</p> + +<p>"Is there a path to the Étang?" he asked +quietly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I will go with you——"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"No. Show me the path."</p> + +<p>His shotgun stood by the door; he took +it with him as he left the house beside her. +In the moat, close by the bridge, and pointing +toward the house, L'Ombre lay motionless. +They saw it as they passed, but did not speak of +it to each other. At the forest's edge he +halted: "Is this the path?"</p> + +<p>"Yes.... May I not go?"</p> + +<p>"No—please."</p> + +<p>"Is there danger?"</p> + +<p>"No.... I don't know if there is any danger."</p> + +<pb n='126'/><anchor id='Pg126'/> +<p>"Will you be cautious, then?"</p> + +<p>He turned and looked at her in the dim +light. Standing so for a little while they +remained silent. Then he drew a deep, quiet +breath. She held out one hand, slowly; half +way he bent and touched her fingers with +his lips; released them. Her arm fell listlessly +at her side.</p> + +<p>After he had been gone a long while, she +turned away, moving with head lowered. At +the bridge she waited for him.</p> + +<p>A red moon rose low in the east. It became +golden above the trees, paler higher, +and deathly white in mid-heaven.</p> + +<p>It was long after midnight when she went +into the house to light fresh candles. In the +intense darkness before dawn she lighted two +more and set them in an upper window on +the chance that they might guide him back.</p> + +<p>At five in the morning every clock struck +five.</p> + +<p>She was not asleep; she was lying on a +lounge beside the burning candles, listening, +when the door below burst open and there<pb n='127'/><anchor id='Pg127'/> +came the trampling rush of feet, the sound +of blows, a fall——</p> + +<p>A loud voice cried:—"Because you are armed +and not in uniform!—you British swine!"—</p> + +<p>And the pistol shots crashed through the +house.</p> + +<p>On the stairs she swayed for an instant, +grasped blindly at the rail. Through the floating +smoke below the dead man lay there by +the latticed window—where they had sat together—he +and she——</p> + +<p>Spectres were flitting to and fro—grey +shapes without faces—things with eyes. A +loud voice dinned in her ears, beat savagely +upon her shrinking brain:</p> + +<p>"You there on the stairs!—do you hear? +What are those candles? Signals?"</p> + +<p>She looked down at the dead man.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said.</p> + +<p>Through the crackling racket of the fusillade, +down, down into roaring darkness she +fell.</p> + +<p>After a few moments her slim hand moved, +closed over the dead man's. And moved no +more.</p> + +<pb n='128'/><anchor id='Pg128'/> +<p>In the moat L'Ombre still remained, unstirring; +old Anne lay in the kitchen dying; +and the Wood of Aulnes was swarming with +ghastly shapes which had no faces, only +eyes.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='129'/><anchor id='Pg129'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XI. THE SEED OF DEATH'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XI. THE SEED OF DEATH'/> +<head>CHAPTER XI<lb/><lb/> +THE SEED OF DEATH</head> + +<p>It was Dr. Vail whose identification secured +burial for Neeland, not in the American cemetery, +but in Aulnes Wood.</p> + +<p>When the raid into Finistère ended, and +the unclean birds took flight, Vail, at Quimper, +ordered north with his unit, heard of the +tragedy, and went to Aulnes. And so Neeland +was properly buried beside the youthful châtelaine. +Which was, no doubt, what his severed +soul desired. And perhaps hers desired it, too.</p> + +<p>Vail continued on to Paris, to Flanders, +got gassed, and came back to New York.</p> + +<p>He had aged ten years in as many months.</p> + +<p>Gray, the younger surgeon, kept glancing +from time to time at Vail's pallid face, and +the latter understood the professional interest +of the younger man.</p> + +<pb n='130'/><anchor id='Pg130'/> +<p>"You think I look ill?" he asked, finally.</p> + +<p>"You don't look very fit, Doctor."</p> + +<p>"No.... I'm <hi rend='italic'>going West</hi>."</p> + +<p>"You mean it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Why do you think that you are—<hi rend='italic'>going +West</hi>?"</p> + +<p>"There's a thing over there, born of gas. +It's a living thing, animal or vegetable. I don't +know which. It's only recently been recognized. +We call it the 'Seed of Death.'"</p> + +<p>Gray gazed at the haggard face of the older +man in silence.</p> + +<p>Vail went on, slowly: "It's properly named. +It is always fatal. A man may live for a +few months. But, once gassed, even in the +slightest degree, if that germ is inhaled, death +is certain."</p> + +<p>After a silence Gray began: "Do you have +any apprehension—" And did not finish the +sentence.</p> + +<p>Vail shrugged. "It's interesting, isn't it?" +he said with pleasant impersonality.</p> + +<p>After a silence Gray said: "Are you doing +anything about it?"</p> + +<pb n='131'/><anchor id='Pg131'/> +<p>"Oh, yes. It's working in the dark, of course. +I'm feeling rottener every day."</p> + +<p>He rested his handsome head on one thin +hand:</p> + +<p>"I don't want to die, Gray, but I don't know +how to keep alive. It's odd, isn't it? I don't +wish to die. It's an interesting world. I want +to see how the local elections turn out in New +York."</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. That is what worries me more +than anything. We Allies are sure to win. +I'm not worrying about that. But I'd like to +live to see Tammany a dead cock in the pit!"</p> + +<p>Gray forced a laugh; Vail laughed unfeignedly, +and then, solemn again, said:</p> + +<p>"I'd like to live to see this country aspire +to something really noble."</p> + +<p>"After all," said Gray, "there is really nothing +to stifle aspiration."</p> + +<p>It was not only because Vail had been gazing +upon death in every phase, every degree—on +brutal destruction wholesale and in detail; +but also he had been standing on the outer +escarpment of Civilization and had watched<pb n='132'/><anchor id='Pg132'/> +the mounting sea of barbarism battering, thundering, +undermining, gradually engulfing the +world itself and all its ancient liberties.</p> + +<p>He and the young surgeon, Gray, who was to +sail to France next day were alone together +on the loggia of the club; dusk mitigated the +infernal heat of a summer day in town.</p> + +<p>On the avenue below motor cars moved +north and south, hansoms crept slowly along +the curb, and on the hot sidewalks people +passed listlessly under the electric lights—the +nine—and—seventy sweating tribes.</p> + +<p>For, on such summer nights, under the red +moon, an exodus from the East Side peoples +the noble avenue with dingy spectres who shuffle +along the gilded grilles and still façades of +stone, up and down, to and fro, in quest of +God knows what—of air perhaps, perhaps of +happiness, or of something even vaguer. But +whatever it may be that starts them into painful +motion, one thing seems certain: aspiration +is a part of their unrest.</p> + +<p>"There is liberty here," replied Dr. Vail—"also +her inevitable shadow, tyranny."</p> + +<p>"We need more light; that's all," said Gray.</p> + +<pb n='133'/><anchor id='Pg133'/> +<p>"When light streams in from every angle no +shadow is possible."</p> + +<p>"The millennium? I get you.... In this +country the main thing is that there is <hi rend='italic'>some</hi> +light. A single ray, however feeble, and even +coming from one fixed angle only, means aspiration, +life...."</p> + +<p>He lighted a cigar.</p> + +<p>"As you know," he remarked, "there is a +flower called <hi rend='italic'>Aconitum</hi>. It is also known by +the ominous names of Monks-Hood and Helmet-Flower. +Direct sunlight kills it. It flourishes +only in shadow. Like the Kaiser-Flower +it also is blue; and," he added, "it is deadly +poison.... As you say, the necessary thing +in this world is light from every angle."</p> + +<p>His cigar glimmered dully through the silence. +Presently he went on; "Speaking of +tyranny, I think it may be classed as a recognized +and tolerated business carried on successfully +by those born with a genius for it. +It flourishes in the shade—like the Helmet-Flower.... +But the sun in this Western +Hemisphere of ours is devilish hot. It's gradually +killing off our local tyrants—slowly, al<pb n='134'/><anchor id='Pg134'/>most +<corr sic='imperceptiby'>imperceptibly</corr> but inexorably, killing 'em +off.... Of course, there are plenty still alive—tyrants +of every degree born to the business +of tyranny and making a success at it."</p> + +<p>He smoked tranquilly for a while, then:</p> + +<p>"There are our tyrants of industry," he said; +"tyrants of politics, tyrants of religion—great +and small we still harbor plenty of tyrants, +all scheming to keep their roots from shriveling +under this fierce western sun of ours——"</p> + +<p>He laughed without mirth, turning his worn +and saddened eyes on Gray:</p> + +<p>"Tyranny is a business," he repeated; "also +it is a state of mind—a delusion, a ruling +passion—strong even in death.... The odd +part of it is that a tyrant never knows he's +one.... He invariably mistakes himself for +a local Moses. I can tell you a sort of story +if you care to listen.... Or, we can go to +some cheerful show or roof-garden——"</p> + +<p>"Go on with your story," said Gray.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='135'/><anchor id='Pg135'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XII. FIFTY-FIFTY'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XII. FIFTY-FIFTY'/> +<head>CHAPTER XII<lb/><lb/> +FIFTY-FIFTY</head> + +<p>Vail began:</p> + +<p>Tyranny was purely a matter of business +with this little moral shrimp about whom I'm +going to tell you. I was standing between +a communication trench and a crater left by +a mine which was being "consolidated," as they +have it in these days.... All around me soldiers +of the third line swarmed and clambered +over the débris, digging, hammering, shifting +planks and sandbags from south to north, +lugging new timbers, reels of barbed wire, ladders, +cases of ammunition, machine guns, trench +mortars.</p> + +<p>The din of the guns was terrific; overhead +our own shells passed with a deafening, clattering +roar; the Huns continued to shell the +town in front of us where our first and second<pb n='136'/><anchor id='Pg136'/> +lines were still fighting in the streets and +houses while the third line were reconstructing +a few yards of trenches and a few craters +won.</p> + +<p>Stretchers and bearers from my section had +not yet returned from the emergency dressing +station; the crater was now cleared up +except of enemy dead, whose partly buried +arms and legs still stuck out here and there. +A company of the Third Foreign Legion had +just come into the crater and had taken station +at the loopholes under the parapet of +sandbags.</p> + +<p>As soon as the telephone wires were +stretched as far as our crater a message came +for me to remain where I was until further +orders. I had just received this message and +was walking along, slowly, behind the rank of +soldiers, who stood leaning against the parapet +with their rifles thrust through the loops, +when somebody said in English—in East Side +New York English I mean—"Ah, there, Doc!"</p> + +<p>A soldier had turned toward me, both hands +still grasping his resting rifle. In the "horizon +blue" uniform and ugly, iron, shrapnel-proof<pb n='137'/><anchor id='Pg137'/> +helmet strapped to his bullet head I failed +to recognize him.</p> + +<p>"It's me, 'Duck' Werner," he said, as I +stood hesitating.... You know who he is, political +leader in the 50th Ward, here. I was astounded.</p> + +<p>"What do you know about it?" he added. +"Me in a tin derby potting Fritzies! And +there's Heinie, too, and Pick-em-up Joe—the +whole bunch sewed up in this here trench, oh +my God!"</p> + +<p>I went over to him and stood leaning against +the parapet beside him.</p> + +<p>"Duck," I said, amazed, "how did <hi rend='italic'>you</hi> come +to enlist in the Foreign Legion?"</p> + +<p>"Aw," he replied with infinite disgust, "I got +drunk."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"Me and Heinie and Joe was follerin' the +races down to Boolong when this here war +come and put everything on the blink. Aw, +hell, sez I, come on back to Parus an' look +'em over before we skiddoo home—meanin' +the dames an' all like that. Say, we done +what I said; we come back to Parus, an' we<pb n='138'/><anchor id='Pg138'/> +got in wrong! Listen, Doc; them dames had +went crazy over this here war graft. Veeve +France, sez they. An' by God! we veeved.</p> + +<p>"An' one of 'em at Maxeems got me soused, +and others they fixed up Heinie an' Joe, an' +we was all wavin' little American flags and +yellin' 'To hell with the Hun!' Then there +was a interval for which I can't account to +nobody.</p> + +<p>"All I seem to remember is my marchin' +in the boolyvard along with a guy in baggy +red pants, and my chewin' the rag in a big, +hot room full o' soldiers; an' Heinie an' Joe +they was shoutin', 'Wow! Lemme at 'em. +Veeve la France!' Wha' d'ye know about me? +Ain't I the mark from home?"</p> + +<p>"You didn't realize that you were enlisting?"</p> + +<p>"Aw, does it make any difference to these +here guys what you reelize, or what you don't? +I ask you, Doc?"</p> + +<p>He spat disgustedly upon the sand, rolled +his quid into the other cheek, wiped his thin +lips with the back of his right hand, then his +fingers mechanically sought the trigger guard<pb n='139'/><anchor id='Pg139'/> +again and he cast a perfunctory squint up at +the parapet.</p> + +<p>"Believe me," he said, "a guy can veeve himself +into any kind of trouble if he yells loud +enough. I'm getting mine."</p> + +<p>"Well, Duck," I said, "it's a good game——"</p> + +<p>"Aw," he retorted angrily, "it ain't my graft +an' you know it. What do I care who veeves +over here?—An' the 50th Ward goin' to hell +an' all!"</p> + +<p>I strove to readjust my mind to understand +what he had said. I was, you know, that year, +the Citizen's Anti-Graft leader in the 50th +Ward.... I am, still, if I live; and if I +ever can get anything into my head except the +stupendous din of this war and the cataclysmic +problems depending upon its outcome.... +Well, it was odd to remember that petty political +conflict as I stood there in the trenches +under the gigantic shadow of world-wide disaster—to +find myself there, talking with this +sallow, wiry, shifty ward leader—this corrupt +little local tyrant whom I had opposed in the +50th Ward—this ex-lightweight bruiser, ex-gunman—this +dirty little political procurer who<pb n='140'/><anchor id='Pg140'/> +had been and was everything brutal, stealthy, +and corrupt.</p> + +<p>I looked at him curiously; turned and glanced +along the line where, presently, I recognized +his two familiars, Heinie Baum and Pick-em-up +Joe Brady with whom he had started off to +"Parus" on a month's summer junket, and with +whom he had stumbled so ludicrously into the +riff-raff ranks of the 3rd Foreign Legion. +Doubtless the 1st and 2nd Legions couldn't +stand him and his two friends, although in one +company there were many Americans serving.</p> + +<p>Thinking of these things, the thunder of the +cannonade shaking sand from the parapet, I became +conscious that the rat eyes of Duck Werner +were furtively watching me.</p> + +<p>"You can do me dirt, now, can't you, Doc?" +he said with a leer.</p> + +<p>"How do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Aw, as if I had to tell you. I got some sense +left."</p> + +<p>Suddenly his sallow visage under the iron +helmet became distorted with helpless fury; he +fairly snarled; his thin lips writhed as he spat +out the suspicion which had seized him:</p> + +<pb n='141'/><anchor id='Pg141'/> +<p>"By God, Doc, if you do that!—if you leave +me here caged up an' go home an' raise hell +in the 50th—with me an' Joe here——"</p> + +<p>After a breathless pause: "Well," said I, +"what will you do about it?"—for he was looking +murder at me.</p> + +<p>Neither of us spoke again for a few moments; +an officer, smoking a cigarette, came up +between Heinie and Pick-em-up Joe, adjusted +a periscope and set his eye to it. Through +the sky above us the shells raced as though +hundreds of shaky express trains were rushing +overhead on rickety aërial tracks, deafening +the world with their outrageous clatter.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Doc——"</p> + +<p>I looked up into his altered face—a sallow, +earnest face, fiercely intent. Every atom of +the man's intelligence was alert, concentrated +on me, on my expression, on my slightest +movement.</p> + +<p>"Doc," he said, "let's talk business. We're +men, we are, you an' me. I've fought you +plenty times. I <hi rend='italic'>know</hi>. An' I guess you are +on to me, too. I ain't no squealer; you know +that anyway. Perhaps I'm everything else<pb n='142'/><anchor id='Pg142'/> +you claim I am when you make parlor speeches +to Gussie an' Reggie an' when you stand on +a bar'l in Avenoo A an' say: 'my friends' to +Billy an' Izzy an' Pete the Wop.</p> + +<p>"All right. Go to it! I'm it. I got mine. +That's what I'm there for. But—when I get +mine, the guys that back me get theirs, too. +My God, Doc, let's talk business! What's a +little graft between friends?"</p> + +<p>"Duck," I said, "you own the 50th Ward. +You are no fool. Why is it not possible for +you to understand that some men don't graft?"</p> + +<p>"Aw, can it!" he retorted fiercely. "What +else is there to chase except graft? What +else is there, I ask you? Graft! Ain't there +graft into everything God ever made? An' +don't the smart guy get it an' take his an' +divide the rest same as you an' me?"</p> + +<p>"You can't comprehend that I don't graft, +can you, Duck?"</p> + +<p>"What do you call it what you get, then? +The wages of Reeform? And what do you +hand out to your lootenants an' your friends?"</p> + +<p>"Service."</p> + +<pb n='143'/><anchor id='Pg143'/> +<p>"Hey? Well, all right. But what's in it for +you? Where do you get yours, Doc?"</p> + +<p>"There's nothing in it for me except to give +honest service to the people who trust me."</p> + +<p>"Listen," he persisted with a sort of ferocious +patience; "you ain't on no bar'l now; an' +you ain't calling no Ginneys and no Kikes +your friends. You're just talkin' to me like +there wasn't nobody else onto this damn +planet excep' us two guys. Get that?"</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"And I'm tellin' you that I get mine same +as any one who ain't a loonatic. Get that?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"All right. Now I know you ain't no nut. +Which means that you get yours, whatever +you call it. And <hi rend='italic'>now</hi> will you talk business?"</p> + +<p>"What business do you want to talk, Duck?" +I added; "I should say that you already have +your hands rather full of business and Lebel +rifles——"</p> + +<p>"Aw' Gawd; <hi rend='italic'>this</hi>? This ain't business. I was +a damn fool and I'm doin' time like any souse +what the bulls pinch. Only I get more than +thirty days, I do. That's what's killin' me,<pb n='144'/><anchor id='Pg144'/> +Doc!—Duck Werner in a tin lid, suckin' soup +an' shootin' Fritzies when I oughter be in +Noo York with me fren's lookin' after business. +Can you beat it?" he ended fiercely.</p> + +<p>He chewed hard on his quid for a few moments, +staring blankly into space with the detached +ferocity of a caged tiger.</p> + +<p>"What are they a-doin' over there in the +50th?" he demanded. "How do I know whose +knifin' me with the boys? I don't mean your +party. You're here same as I am. I mean +Mike the Kike, and the regular Reepublican +nomination, I do.... And, how do I know +when <hi rend='italic'>you</hi> are going back?"</p> + +<p>I was silent.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Are</hi> you?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Doc, will you talk business, man to man?"</p> + +<p>"Duck, to tell you the truth, the hell that is +in full blast over here—this gigantic, world-wide +battle of nations—leaves me, for the +time, uninterested in ward politics."</p> + +<p>"Stop your kiddin'."</p> + +<p>"Can't you comprehend it?"</p> + +<p>"Aw, what do you care about what Kink wins?<pb n='145'/><anchor id='Pg145'/> +If we was Kinks, you an' me, all right. But +we ain't Doc. We're little fellows. Our graft +ain't big like the Dutch Emperor's, but maybe +it comes just as regular on pay day. Ich ka +bibble."</p> + +<p>"Duck," I said, "you explain your presence +here by telling me that you enlisted while +drunk. How do you explain my being here?"</p> + +<p>"You're a Doc. I guess there must be big +money into it," he returned with a wink.</p> + +<p>"I draw no pay."</p> + +<p>"I believe you," he remarked, leering. "Say, +don't you do that to me, Doc. I may be unfortunit; +I'm a poor damn fool an' I know it. +But don't tell me you're here for your health."</p> + +<p>"I won't repeat it, Duck," I said, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Much obliged. Now for God's sake let's +talk business. You think you've got me cinched. +You think you can go home an' raise hell in the +50th while I'm doin' time into these here +trenches. You sez to yourself, 'O there ain't +nothin' to it!' An' then you tickles yourself +under the ribs, Doc. You better make a deal +with me, do you hear? Gimme mine, and you +can have yours, too; and between us, if we<pb n='146'/><anchor id='Pg146'/> +work together, we can hand one to Mike the +Kike that'll start every ambulance in the city +after him. Get me?"</p> + +<p>"There's no use discussing such things——"</p> + +<p>"All right. I won't ask you to make it +fifty-fifty. Gimme half what I oughter have. +You can fix it with Curley Tim Brady——"</p> + +<p>"Duck, this is no time——"</p> + +<p>"Hell! It's all the time I've got! What +do you expec' out here, a caffy dansong? I +don't see no corner gin-mills around neither. +Listen, Doc, quit up-stagin'! You an' me kick +the block off'n this here Kike-Wop if we get +together. All I ask of you is to talk business——"</p> + +<p>I moved aside, and backward a little way, +disgusted with the ratty soul of the man, and +stood looking at the soldiers who were digging +out bombproof burrows all along the +trench and shoring up the holes with heavy, +green planks.</p> + +<p>Everybody was methodically busy in one way +or another behind the long rank of Legionaries +who stood at the loops, the butts of the +Lebel rifles against their shoulders.</p> + +<pb n='147'/><anchor id='Pg147'/> +<p>Some sawed planks to shore up dugouts; +some were constructing short ladders out of +the trunks of slender green saplings; some +filled sacks with earth to fill the gaps on the +parapet above; others sharpened pegs and +drove them into the dirt façade of the trench, +one above the other, as footholds for the men +when a charge was ordered.</p> + +<p>Behind me, above my head, wild flowers and +long wild grasses drooped over the raw edge +of the parados, and a few stalks of ripening +wheat trailed there or stood out against the +sky—an opaque, uncertain sky which had been +so calmly blue, but which was now sickening +with that whitish pallor which presages a +storm.</p> + +<p>Once or twice there came the smashing tinkle +of glass as a periscope was struck and a vexed +officer, still holding it, passed it to a rifleman +to be laid aside.</p> + +<p>Only one man was hit. He had been fitting +a shutter to the tiny embrasure between +sandbags where a machine gun was to be +mounted; and the bullet came through and<pb n='148'/><anchor id='Pg148'/> +entered his head in the center of the triangle +between nose and eyebrows.</p> + +<p>A little later when I was returning from +that job, walking slowly along the trench, +Pick-em-up Joe hailed me cheerfully, and I +glanced up to where he and Heinie stood +with their rifles thrust between the sandbags +and their grimy fists clutching barrel and +butt.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Heinie!" I said pleasantly. "How +are you, Joe?"</p> + +<p>"Commong ça va?" inquired Heinie, evidently +mortified at his situation and condition, +but putting on the careless front of a +gunman in a strange ward.</p> + +<p>Pick-em-up Joe added jauntily: "Well, Doc, +what's the good word?"</p> + +<p>"France," I replied, smiling; "Do you know +a better word?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "Noo York. Say, what's +your little graft over here, Doc?"</p> + +<p>"You and I reverse rôles, Pick-em-up; you +<hi rend='italic'>stop</hi> bullets; <hi rend='italic'>I</hi> pick 'em up—after you're +through with 'em."</p> + +<p>"The hell you say!" he retorted, grinning.<pb n='149'/><anchor id='Pg149'/> +"Well, grab it from me, if it wasn't for the +Jack Johnsons and the gas, a gun fight in +the old 50th would make this war look like +Luna Park! It listens like it, too, only this +here show is all fi-<hi rend='italic'>nally</hi>, with Bingle's Band +playin' circus tunes an' the supes hollerin' like +they seen real money."</p> + +<p>He was a merry ruffian, and he controlled +the "coke" graft in the 50th while Heinie was +perpetual bondsman for local Magdalenes.</p> + +<p>"Well, ain't we in Dutch—us three guys!" +he remarked with forced carelessness. "We +sure done it that time."</p> + +<p>"Did you do business with Duck?" inquired +Pick-em-up, curiously.</p> + +<p>"Not so he noticed it. Joe, can't you and +Heinie rise to your opportunities? This is +the first time in your lives you've ever been +decent, ever done a respectable thing. Can't +you start in and live straight—think straight? +You're wearing the uniform of God's own +soldiers; you're standing shoulder to shoulder +with men who are fighting God's own battle. +The fate of every woman, every child, +every unborn baby in Europe—and in Amer<pb n='150'/><anchor id='Pg150'/>ica, +too—depends on your bravery. If you +don't win out, it will be our turn next. If +you don't stop the Huns—if you don't come +back at them and wipe them out, the world +will not be worth inhabiting."</p> + +<p>I stepped nearer: "Heinie," I said, "you +know what your trade has been, and what it is +called. Here's your chance to clean yourself. +Joe—you've dealt out misery, insanity, death, +to women and children. You're called the +Coke King of the East Side. Joe, we'll get +you sooner or later. Don't take the trouble +to doubt it. Why not order a new pack and +a fresh deal? Why not resolve to live straight +from this moment—here where you have taken +your place in the ranks among real men—here +where this army stands for liberty, for the +right to live! You've got your chance to +become a real man; so has Heinie. And +when you come back, we'll stand by you——"</p> + +<p>"An' gimme a job choppin' tickets in the +subway!" snarled Heinie. "Expec' me to squeal +f'r that? Reeform, hey? Show me a livin' in +it an' I carry a banner. But there ain't<pb n='151'/><anchor id='Pg151'/> +nothing into it. How's a guy to live if there +ain't no graft into nothin'?"</p> + +<p>Joe touched his gas-mask with a sneer: +"He's pushin' the yellow stuff at us, Heinie," +he said; and to me: "You get <hi rend='italic'>yours</hi> all right. +I don't know what it is, but you get it, same +as me an' Heinie an' Duck. <hi rend='italic'>I</hi> don't know +what it is," he repeated impatiently; "maybe +it's dough; maybe it's them suffragettes with +their silk feet an' white gloves what clap +their hands at you. <hi rend='italic'>I</hi> ain't saying nothin' +to <hi rend='italic'>you</hi>, am I? Then lemme alone an' go an' +talk business with Duck over there——"</p> + +<p>Officers passed rapidly between the speaker +and me and continued east and west along +the ranks of riflemen, repeating in calm, steady +voices:</p> + +<p>"Fix bayonets, <hi rend='italic'>mes enfants</hi>; make as little +noise as possible. Everybody ready in ten +minutes. Ladders will be distributed. Take +them with you. The bomb-throwers will leave +the trench first. Put on goggles and respirators. +Fix bayonets and set one foot on the +pegs and ladders ... all ready in seven minutes. +Three mines will be exploded. Take<pb n='152'/><anchor id='Pg152'/> +and hold the craters.... Five minutes!... +When the mines explode that is your signal. +Bombers lead. Give them a leg up and follow.... +Three minutes...."</p> + +<p>From a communication trench a long file of +masked bomb-throwers appeared, loaded sacks +slung under their left arms, bombs clutched +in their right hands; and took stations at +every ladder and row of freshly driven pegs.</p> + +<p>"One minute!" repeated the officers, selecting +their own ladders and drawing their long +knives and automatics.</p> + +<p>As I finished adjusting my respirator and +goggles a muffled voice at my elbow began: +"Be a sport, Doc! Gimme a chanst! Make +it fifty-fifty——"</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Allez!</hi>" shouted an officer through his respirator.</p> + +<p>Against the sky all along the parapet's edge +hundreds of bayonets wavered for a second; +then dark figures leaped up, scrambled, +crawled forward, rose, ran out into the sunless, +pallid light.</p> + +<p>Like surf bursting along a coast a curtain +of exploding shells stretched straight across the<pb n='153'/><anchor id='Pg153'/> +débris of what had been a meadow—a long +line of livid obscurity split with flame and +storms of driving sand and gravel. Shrapnel +leisurely unfolded its cottony coils overhead +and the iron helmets rang under the hail.</p> + +<p>Men fell forward, backward, sideways, remaining +motionless, or rolling about, or rising +to limp on again. There was smoke, now, and +mire, and the unbroken rattle of machine guns.</p> + +<p>Ahead, men were fishing in their sacks and +throwing bombs like a pack of boys stoning +a snake; I caught glimpses of them furiously +at work from where I knelt beside one fallen +man after another, desperately busy with my +own business.</p> + +<p>Bearers ran out where I was at work, not +my own company but some French ambulance +sections who served me as well as their own +surgeons where, in a shell crater partly full +of water, we found some shelter for the +wounded.</p> + +<p>Over us black smoke from the Jack Johnsons +rolled as it rolls out of the stacks of soft-coal +burning locomotives; the outrageous din +never slackened, but our deafened ears had<pb n='154'/><anchor id='Pg154'/> +become insensible under the repeated blows of +sound, yet not paralyzed. For I remember, +squatting there in that shell crater, hearing +a cricket tranquilly tuning up between the +thunderclaps which shook earth and sods down +on us and wrinkled the pool of water at our +feet.</p> + +<p>The Legion had taken the trench; but the +place was a rabbit warren where hundreds of +holes and burrows and ditches and communicating +runways made a bewildering maze.</p> + +<p>And everywhere in the dull, flame-shot obscurity, +the Legionaries ran about like ghouls +in their hoods and round, hollow eye-holes; +masked faces, indistinct in the smoke, loomed +grotesque and horrible as Ku-Klux where the +bayonets were at work digging out the enemy +from blind burrows, turning them up from +their bloody forms.</p> + +<p>Rifles blazed down into bomb-proofs, cracked +steadily over the heads of comrades who piled +up sandbags to block communication trenches; +grenade-bombs rained down through the smoke +into trenches, blowing bloody gaps in huddling +masses of struggling Teutons until they flat<pb n='155'/><anchor id='Pg155'/>tened +back against the parados and lifted +arms and gun-butts stammering out, "Comrades! +Comrades!"—in the ghastly irony of +surrender.</p> + +<p>A man whose entire helmet, gas-mask, and +face had been blown off, and who was still +alive and trying to speak, stiffened, relaxed, +and died in my arms. As I rolled him aside +and turned to the next man whom the bearers +were lowering into the crater, his respirator +and goggles fell apart, and I found myself +looking into the ashy face of Duck Werner.</p> + +<p>As we laid him out and stripped away iron +helmet and tunic, he said in a natural and +distinct voice.</p> + +<p>"Through the belly, Doc. Gimme a drink."</p> + +<p>There was no more water or stimulant at +the moment and the puddle in the crater was +bloody. He said, patiently, "All right; I can +wait.... It's in the belly.... It ain't nothin', +is it?"</p> + +<p>I said something reassuring, something about +the percentage of recovery I believe, for I +was exceedingly busy with Duck's anatomy.</p> + +<pb n='156'/><anchor id='Pg156'/> +<p>"Pull me through, Doc?" he inquired calmly.</p> + +<p>"Sure...."</p> + +<p>"Aw, listen, Doc. Don't hand me no cones +of hokey-pokey. Gimme a deck of the stuff. +Dope out the coke. Do I get mine this trip?"</p> + +<p>I looked at him, hesitating.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Doc, am I hurted bad? Gimme a +hones' deal. Do I croak?"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk, Duck——"</p> + +<p>"Dope it straight. <hi rend='italic'>Do</hi> I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I thought you'd say that," he returned serenely. +"Now I'm goin' to fool you, same as +I fooled them guys at Bellevue the night that +Mike the Kike shot me up in the subway."</p> + +<p>A pallid sneer stretched his thin and burning +lips; in his ratty eyes triumph gleamed.</p> + +<p>"I've went through worse than this. I ain't +hurted bad. I ain't got mine just yet, old +scout! Would I leave meself croak—an' that +bum, Mike the Kike, handin' me fren's the +ha-ha! Gawd," he muttered hazily, as though +his mind was beginning to cloud, "just f'r that +I'll get up an'—an' go—home—" His voice +flattened out and he lay silent.</p> + +<pb n='157'/><anchor id='Pg157'/> +<p>Working over the next man beyond him +and glancing around now and then to discover +a <hi rend='italic'>brancardier</hi> who might take Duck to +the rear, I presently caught his eyes fixed +on me.</p> + +<p>"Say, Doc, will you talk—business?" he asked +in a dull voice.</p> + +<p>"Be quiet, Duck, the bearers will be here +in a minute or two——"</p> + +<p>"T'hell wit them guys! I'm askin' you will +you make it fifty-fifty—'r' somethin'—" Again +his voice trailed away, but his bright ratty +eyes were indomitable.</p> + +<p>I was bloodily occupied with another patient +when something struck me on the shoulder—a +human hand, clutching it. Duck was +sitting upright, eyes a-glitter, the other hand +pressed heavily over his abdomen.</p> + +<p>"Fifty-fifty!" he cried in a shrill voice. +"F'r Christ's sake, Doc, talk business—" And +life went out inside him—like the flame of a +suddenly snuffed candle—while he still sat +there....</p> + +<p>I heard the air escaping from his lungs<pb n='158'/><anchor id='Pg158'/> +before he toppled over.... I swear to you it +sounded like a whispered word—"business."</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>"Then came their gas—a great, thick, yellow +billow of it pouring into our shell hole.... +I couldn't get my mask on fast enough ... +and here I am, Gray, wondering, but really +knowing.... Are you stopping at the Club +tonight?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Vail got to his feet unsteadily: "I'm feeling +rather done in.... Won't sit up any longer, +I guess.... See you in the morning?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Gray.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, then. Look in on me if you +leave before I'm up."</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>And that is how Gray saw him before he +sailed—stopped at his door, knocked, and, receiving +no response, opened and looked in. +After a few moments' silence he understood +that the "Seed of Death" had sprouted.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='159'/><anchor id='Pg159'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XIII. MULETEERS'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XIII. MULETEERS'/> +<head>CHAPTER XIII<lb/><lb/> +MULETEERS</head> + +<p>Lying far to the southwest of the battle +line, only when a strong northwest wind blew +could Sainte Lesse hear the thudding of cannon +beyond the horizon. And once, when the +northeast wind had blown steadily for a +week, on the wings of the driving drizzle had +come a faint but dreadful odour which hung +among the streets and lanes until the wind +changed.</p> + +<p>Except for the carillon, nothing louder than +the call of a cuckoo, the lowing of cattle or +a goatherd's piping ever broke the summer +silence in the little town. Birds sang; a +shallow river rippled; breezes ruffled green +grain into long, silvery waves across the valley; +sunshine fell on quiet streets, on scented +gardens unsoiled by war, on groves and<pb n='160'/><anchor id='Pg160'/> +meadows, and on the stone-edged brink of +brimming pools where washerwomen knelt +among the wild flowers, splashing amid floating +pyramids of snowy suds.</p> + +<p>And into the exquisite peace of this little +paradise rode John Burley with a thousand +American mules.</p> + +<p>The town had been warned of this impending +visitation; had watched preparations for +it during April and May when a corral was +erected down in a meadow and some huts +and stables were put up among the groves of +poplar and sycamore, and a small barracks +was built to accommodate the negro guardians +of the mules and a peloton of gendarmes +under a fat brigadier.</p> + +<p>Sainte Lesse as yet knew nothing personally +of the American mule or of Burley. +<corr sic='Saine'>Sainte</corr> Lesse heard both before it beheld either—Burley's +loud, careless, swaggering voice +above the hee-haw of his trampling herds:</p> + +<p>"All I ask for is human food, Smith—not +luxuries—just food!—and that of the commonest +kind."</p> + +<p>And now an immense volume of noise and<pb n='161'/><anchor id='Pg161'/> +dust enveloped the main street of Sainte +Lesse, stilling the quiet noon gossip of the +town, silencing the birds, awing the town +dogs so that their impending barking died +to amazed gurgles drowned in the din of the +mules.</p> + +<p>Astride a cream-coloured, wall-eyed mule, +erect in his saddle, talkative, gesticulating, +good-humoured, famished but gay, rode Burley +at the head of the column, his reckless +grey eyes glancing amiably right and left at +the good people of Sainte Lesse who clustered +silently at their doorways under the +trees to observe the passing of this noisy, +unfamiliar procession.</p> + +<p>Mules, dust; mules, dust, and then more +mules, all enveloped in dust, clattering, ambling, +trotting, bucking, shying, kicking, halting, +backing; and here and there an American +negro cracking a long snake whip with +strange, aboriginal ejaculations; and three +white men in khaki riding beside the +trampling column, smoking cigarettes.</p> + +<p>"Sticky" Smith and "Kid" Glenn rode +mules on the column's flank; Burley continued<pb n='162'/><anchor id='Pg162'/> +to lead on his wall-eyed animal, preceded now +by the fat brigadier of the gendarmerie, upon +whom he had bestowed a cigarette.</p> + +<p>Burley, talking all the while from his saddle +to whoever cared to listen, or to himself +if nobody cared to listen, rode on in the van +under the ancient bell-tower of Sainte Lesse, +where a slim, dark-eyed girl looked up at +him as he passed, a faint smile hovering on +her lips.</p> + +<p>"Bong jour, Mademoiselle," continued Burley, +saluting her <hi rend='italic'>en passant</hi> with two fingers +at the vizor of his khaki cap, as he had seen +British officers salute. "I compliment you on +your silent but eloquent welcome to me, my +comrades, my coons, and my mules. Your +charming though slightly melancholy smile +bids us indeed welcome to your fair city. I +thank you; I thank all the inhabitants for +this unprecedented ovation. Doubtless a municipal +banquet awaits us——"</p> + +<p>Sticky Smith spurred up.</p> + +<p>"Did you see the inn?" he asked. "There +it is, to the right."</p> + +<p>"It looks good to me," said Burley.<pb n='163'/><anchor id='Pg163'/> +"Everything looks good to me except these +accursed mules. Thank God, that seems to +be the corral—down in the meadow there, +Brigadeer!"</p> + +<p>The fat brigadier drew bridle; Burley burst +into French:</p> + +<p>"Esker—esker——"</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Oui</hi>," nodded the brigadier, "that is where +we are going."</p> + +<p>"Bong!" exclaimed Burley with satisfaction; +and, turning to Sticky Smith: "Stick, +tell the coons to hustle. We're there!"</p> + +<p>Then, above the trampling, whip-cracking, +and shouting of the negroes, from somewhere +high in the blue sky overhead, out of limpid, +cloudless heights floated a single bell-note, +then another, another, others exquisitely +sweet and clear, melting into a fragment of +heavenly melody.</p> + +<p>Burley looked up into the sky; the negroes +raised their sweating, dark faces in pleased +astonishment; Stick and Kid Glenn lifted +puzzled visages to the zenith. The fat brigadier +smiled and waved his cigarette:</p> + +<pb n='164'/><anchor id='Pg164'/> +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Il est midi, messieurs.</hi> That is the carillon +of Sainte Lesse."</p> + +<p>The angelic melody died away. Then, high +in the old bell-tower, a great resonant bell +struck twelve times.</p> + +<p>Said the brigadier:</p> + +<p>"When the wind is right, they can hear our +big bell, Bayard, out there in the first line +trenches——"</p> + +<p>Again he waved his cigarette toward the +northeast, then reined in his horse and backed +off into the flowering meadow, while the first +of the American mules entered the corral, +the herd following pellmell.</p> + +<p>The American negroes went with the mules +to a hut prepared for them inside the corral—it +having been previously and carefully explained +to France that an American mule +without its negro complement was as galvanic +and unaccountable as a beheaded chicken.</p> + +<p>Burley burst into French again, like a +shrapnel shell:</p> + +<p>"Esker—esker——"</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Oui</hi>," said the fat brigadier, "there is an +excellent inn up the street, messieurs." And<pb n='165'/><anchor id='Pg165'/> +he saluted their uniform, the same being constructed +of cotton khaki, with a horseshoe +on the arm and an oxidized metal mule on +the collar. The brigadier wondered at and +admired the minute nicety of administrative +detail characterizing a government which +clothed even its muleteers so becomingly, yet +with such modesty and dignity.</p> + +<p>He could not know that the uniform was +unauthorized and the insignia an invention +of Sticky Smith, aiming to counteract any +social stigma that might blight his sojourn +in France.</p> + +<p>"For," said Sticky Smith, before they went +aboard the transport at New Orleans, "if you +dress a man in khaki, with some gimcrack +on his sleeve and collar, you're level with +anybody in Europe. Which," he added to +Burley, "will make it pleasant if any emperors +or kings drop in on us for a drink or a +quiet game behind the lines."</p> + +<p>"Also," added Burley, "it goes with the +ladies." And he and Kid Glenn purchased +uniforms similar to Smith's and had the<pb n='166'/><anchor id='Pg166'/> +horseshoe and mule fastened to sleeve and +collar.</p> + +<p>"They'll hang you fellows for francs-tireurs," +remarked a battered soldier of fortune +from the wharf as the transport cast +off and glided gradually away from the sun-blistered +docks.</p> + +<p>"Hang <hi rend='italic'>who</hi>?" demanded Burley loudly +from the rail above.</p> + +<p>"What's a frank-tiroor?" inquired Sticky +Smith.</p> + +<p>"And who'll hang us?" shouted Kid Glenn +from the deck of the moving steamer.</p> + +<p>"The Germans will if they catch you in +that uniform," retorted the battered soldier +of fortune derisively. "You chorus-boy mule +drivers will wish you wore overalls and one +suspender if the Dutch Kaiser nails you!"</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='167'/><anchor id='Pg167'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XIV. LA PLOO BELLE'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XIV. LA PLOO BELLE'/> +<head>CHAPTER XIV<lb/><lb/> +LA PLOO BELLE</head> + +<p>They had been nearly three weeks on the +voyage, three days in port, four more on +cattle trains, and had been marching since +morning from the nearest railway station at +Estville-sur-Lesse.</p> + +<p>Now, lugging their large leather hold-alls, +they started up the main street of Sainte +Lesse, three sunburnt, loud-talking Americans, +young, sturdy, careless of glance and +voice and gesture, perfectly self-satisfied.</p> + +<p>Their footsteps echoed loudly on the pavement +of this still, old town, lying so quietly +in the shadow of its aged trees and its sixteenth +century belfry, where the great bell, +Bayard, had hung for hundreds of years, and, +tier on tier above it, clustered in set ranks +the fixed bells of the ancient carillon.</p> + +<pb n='168'/><anchor id='Pg168'/> +<p>"Some skyscraper," observed Burley, patronizing +the bell-tower with a glance.</p> + +<p>As he spoke, they came to the inn, a very +ancient hostelry built into a remnant of the +old town wall, and now a part of it. On the +signboard was painted a white doe; and that +was the name of the inn.</p> + +<p>So they trooped through the stone-arched +tunnel, ushered by a lame innkeeper; and +Burley, chancing to turn his head and glance +back through the shadowy stone passage, +caught a glimpse in the outer sunshine of +the girl whose dark eyes had inspired him +with jocular eloquence as he rode on his mule +under the bell-tower of Sainte Lesse.</p> + +<p>"A peach," he said to Smith. And the +sight of her apparently going to his head, +he burst into French: "Tray chick! Tray, +tray chick! I'm glad I've got on this uniform +and not overalls and one suspender."</p> + +<p>"What's biting you?" inquired Smith.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, Stick, nothing. But I believe +I've seen the prettiest girl in the world right +here in this two-by-four town."</p> + +<pb n='169'/><anchor id='Pg169'/> +<p>Stick glanced over his shoulder, then +shrugged:</p> + +<p>"She's ornamental, only she's got a sad +on."</p> + +<p>But Burley trudged on with his leather +hold-all, muttering to himself something +about the prettiest girl in the world.</p> + +<p>The "prettiest girl in the world" continued +her way unconscious of the encomiums of +John Burley and the critique of Sticky Smith. +Her way, however, seemed to be the way of +Burley and his two companions, for she +crossed the sunny street and entered the +White Doe by the arched door and tunnel-like +passage.</p> + +<p>Unlike them, however, she turned to the +right in the stone corridor, opened a low +wooden door, crossed the inn parlour, ascended +a short stairway, and entered a bedroom.</p> + +<p>Here, standing before a mirror, she unpinned +her straw hat, smoothed her dark +hair, resting her eyes pensively for a few +moments on her reflected face. Then she +sauntered listlessly about the little room in +performance of those trivial, aimless offices,<pb n='170'/><anchor id='Pg170'/> +entirely feminine, such as opening all the +drawers in her clothes-press, smoothing out +various frilly objects and fabrics, investigating +a little gilded box and thoughtfully inspecting +its contents, which consisted of hair-pins. +Fussing here, lingering there, loitering +by her bird-cage, where a canary cheeped its +greeting and hopped and hopped; bending +over a cluster of white phlox in a glass of +water to inhale the old-fashioned perfume, +she finally tied on a fresh apron and walked +slowly out to the ancient, vaulted kitchen.</p> + +<p>An old peasant woman was cooking, while +a young one washed dishes.</p> + +<p>"Are the American gentlemen still at table, +Julie?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle Maryette, they are devouring +everything in the house!" exclaimed old +Julie, flinging both hands toward heaven. +"<hi rend='italic'>Tenez</hi>, mamzelle, I have heard of eating in +ancient days, I have read of Gargantua, I +have been told of banquets, of feasting, of +appetites! But there is one American in +there! Mamzelle Maryette, if I should swear +to you that he is on his third chicken and<pb n='171'/><anchor id='Pg171'/> +that a row of six pint bottles of '93 Margaux +stand empty on the cloth at his elbow, +I should do no penance for untruthfulness. +<hi rend='italic'>Tenez, Mamzelle Maryette, regardez un peu +par l'oubliette</hi>—" And old Julie slid open +the wooden shutter on the crack and Maryette +bent forward and surveyed the dining room +outside.</p> + +<p>They were laughing very loud in there, +these three Americans—three powerful, sun-scorched +young men, very much at their ease +around the table, draining the red Bordeaux +by goblets, plying knife and fork with joyous +and undiminished vigour.</p> + +<p>The tall one with the crisp hair and clear, +grayish eyes—he of the three chickens—was +already achieving the third—a crisply +browned bird, fresh from the spit, fragrant +and smoking hot. At intervals he buttered +great slices of rye bread, or disposed of an +entire young potato, washing it down with a +goblet of red wine, but always he returned +to the rich roasted fowl which he held, still +impaled upon its spit, and which he carved<pb n='172'/><anchor id='Pg172'/> +as he ate, wings, legs, breast falling in steaming +flakes under his skillful knife blade.</p> + +<p>Sticky Smith finally pushed aside his drained +glass and surveyed an empty plate frankly +and regretfully, unable to continue. He said:</p> + +<p>"I'm going to bed and I'm going to sleep +twenty-four hours. After that I'm going to +eat for twenty-four more hours, and then I'll +be in good shape. Bong soir."</p> + +<p>"Aw, stick around with the push!" remonstrated +Kid Glenn thickly, impaling another +potato upon his fork and gesticulating with it.</p> + +<p>Smith gazed with surfeited but hopeless +envy upon Burley's magnificent work with +knife and fork, saw him crack a seventh bottle +of Bordeaux, watched him empty the first +goblet.</p> + +<p>But even Glenn's eyes began to dull in +spite of himself, his head nodded mechanically +at every mouthful achieved.</p> + +<p>"I gotta call it off, Jack," he yawned. +"Stick and I need the sleep if you don't. +So here's where we quit——"</p> + +<p>"Let me tell you about that girl," began +Burley. "I never saw a prettier—" But<pb n='173'/><anchor id='Pg173'/> +Glenn had appetite neither for food nor +romance:</p> + +<p>"Say, listen. Have a heart, Jack! We +need the sleep!"</p> + +<p>Stick had already risen; Glenn shoved back +his chair with a gigantic yawn and shambled +to his feet.</p> + +<p>"I want to tell you," insisted Burley, "that +she's what the French call tray, tray +chick——"</p> + +<p>Stick pointed furiously at the fowl:</p> + +<p>"Chick? I'm fed up on chick! Maybe she +is some chick, as you say, but it doesn't interest +me. Goo'bye. Don't come battering +at my door and wake me up, Jack. Be a +sport and lemme alone——"</p> + +<p>He turned and shuffled out, and Glenn followed, +his Mexican spurs clanking.</p> + +<p>Burley jeered them:</p> + +<p>"Mollycoddles! Come on and take in the +town with us!"</p> + +<p>But they slammed the door behind them, +and he heard them stumbling and clanking +up stairs.</p> + +<p>So Burley, gazing gravely at his empty<pb n='174'/><anchor id='Pg174'/> +plate, presently emptied the last visible bottle +of Bordeaux, then stretching his mighty +arms and superb chest, fished out a cigarette, +set fire to it, unhooked the cartridge-belt and +holster from the back of his chair, buckled +it on, rose, pulled on his leather-peaked cap, +and drew a deep breath of contentment.</p> + +<p>For a moment he stood in the centre of +the room, as though in pleasant meditation, +then he slowly strode toward the street door, +murmuring to himself: "Tray, tray chick. The +prettiest girl in the world.... La ploo belle +fille du monde ... la ploo belle...."</p> + +<p>He strolled as far as the corral down in +the meadow by the stream, where he found +the negro muleteers asleep and the mules +already watered and fed.</p> + +<p>For a while he hobnobbed with the three +gendarmes on duty there, practicing his kind +of French on them and managing to understand +and be understood more or less—probably +less.</p> + +<p>But the young man was persistent; he desired +to become that easy master of the +French language that his tongue-tied com<pb n='175'/><anchor id='Pg175'/>rades +believed him to be. So he practiced +garrulously upon the polite, suffering gendarmes.</p> + +<p>He related to them his experience on shipboard +with a thousand mutinous mules to +pacify, feed, water, and otherwise cherish. +They had, it appeared, encountered no submarines, +but enjoyed several alarms from +destroyers which eventually proved to be +British.</p> + +<p>"A cousin of mine," explained Burley, +"Ned Winters, of El Paso, went down on the +steamer <hi rend='italic'>John B. Doty</hi>, with eleven hundred +mules and six niggers. The Boches torpedoed +the ship and then raked the boats. I'd like +to get a crack at one Boche before I go back +to God's country."</p> + +<p>The gendarmes politely but regretfully +agreed that it was impracticable for Burley +to get a crack at a Hun; and the American +presently took himself off to the corral, after +distributing cigarettes and establishing cordial +relations with the Sainte Lesse Gendarmerie.</p> + +<p>He waked up a negro and inspected the<pb n='176'/><anchor id='Pg176'/> +mules; that took a long time. Then he sought +out the negro blacksmith, awoke him, and +wrote out some directions.</p> + +<p>"The idea is," he explained, "that whenever +the French in this sector need mules +they draw on our corral. We are supposed +to keep ten or eleven hundred mules here all +the time and look after them. Shipments +come every two weeks, I believe. So after +you've had another good nap, George, you +wake up your boys and get busy. And +there'll be trouble if things are not in running +order by tomorrow night."</p> + +<p>"Yas, suh, Mistuh Burley," nodded the +sleepy blacksmith, still blinking in the afternoon +sunshine.</p> + +<p>"And if you need an interpreter," added +Burley, "always call on me until you learn +French enough to get on. Understand, +George?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, suh."</p> + +<p>"Because," said Burley, walking away, "a +thorough knowledge of French idioms is +necessary to prevent mistakes. When in +doubt always apply to me, George, for only<pb n='177'/><anchor id='Pg177'/> +a master of the language is competent to +deal with these French people."</p> + +<p>It was his one vanity, his one weakness. +Perhaps, because he so ardently desired proficiency, +he had already deluded himself with +the belief that he was a master of French.</p> + +<p>So, belt and loaded holster sagging, and +large silver spurs clicking and clinking at +every step, John Burley sauntered back along +the almost deserted street of Sainte Lesse, +thinking sometimes of his mules, sometimes +of the French language, and every now and +then of a dark-eyed, dark-haired girl whose +delicately flushed and pensive gaze he had encountered +as he had ridden into Sainte Lesse +under the old belfry.</p> + +<p>"Stick Smith's a fool," he thought to himself +impatiently. "Tray chick doesn't mean +'some chicken.' It means a pretty girl, in +French."</p> + +<p>He looked up at the belfry as he passed +under it, and at the same moment, from beneath +the high, gilded dragon which crowned +its topmost spire, a sweet bell-note floated, +another, others succeeding in crystalline<pb n='178'/><anchor id='Pg178'/> +sweetness, linked in a fragment of some ancient +melody. Then they ceased; then came +a brief silence; the great bell he had heard +before struck five times.</p> + +<p>"Lord!—that's pretty," he murmured, moving +on and turning into the arched tunnel +which was the entrance to the White Doe Inn.</p> + +<p>Wandering at random, he encountered the +innkeeper in the parlour, studying a crumpled +newspaper through horn-rimmed spectacles +on his nose.</p> + +<p>"Tray jolie," said Burley affably, seating +himself with an idea of further practice in +French.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Plait-il?</hi>"</p> + +<p>"The bells—tray beau!"</p> + +<p>The old man straightened his bent shoulders +a little proudly.</p> + +<p>"For thirty years, m'sieu, I have been Carillonneur +of Sainte Lesse." He smiled; then, +saddened, he held out both hands toward Burley. +The fingers were stiff and crippled with +rheumatism.</p> + +<p>"No more," he said slowly; "the carillon is<pb n='179'/><anchor id='Pg179'/> +ended for me. The great art is no more for +Jean Courtray, Master of Bells."</p> + +<p>"What is a carillon?" inquired John Burley +simply.</p> + +<p>Blank incredulity was succeeded by a +shocked expression on the old man's visage. +After a silence, in mild and patient protest, +he said:</p> + +<p>"I am Jean Courtray, Carillonneur of +Sainte Lesse.... Have you never heard of +the carillon of Sainte Lesse, or of me?"</p> + +<p>"Never," said Burley. "We don't have +anything like that in America."</p> + +<p>The old carillonneur, Jean Courtray, began +to speak in a low voice of his art, his profession, +and of the great carillon of forty-six +bells in the ancient tower of Sainte Lesse.</p> + +<p>A carillon, he explained, is a company of +fixed bells tuned according to the chromatic +scale and ranging through several octaves. +These bells, rising tier above tier in a belfry, +the smallest highest, the great, ponderous +bells of the bass notes lowest, are not free +to swing, but are fixed to huge beams, and +are sounded by clappers connected by a wil<pb n='180'/><anchor id='Pg180'/>derness +of wires to a keyboard which is played +upon by the bell-master or carillonneur.</p> + +<p>He explained that the office of bell-master +was an ancient one and greatly honoured; +that the bell-master was also a member of the +municipal government; that his salary was a +fixed one; that not only did he play upon the +carillon on fête days, market days, and particular +occasions, but he also travelled and +gave concerts upon the few existing carillons +of other ancient towns and cities, not alone +in France where carillons were few, but in +Belgium and Holland, where they still were +comparatively many, although the German +barbarians had destroyed some of the best at +Liége, Arras, Dixmude, Termonde, and Ypres.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur," he went on in a voice which +began to grow a little unsteady, "the Huns +have destroyed the ancient carillons of Louvain +and of Mechlin. In the superb bell-tower +of Saint Rombold I have played for a +thousand people; and the Carillonneur, Monsieur +Vincent, and the great bell-master, Josef +Denyn, have come to me to congratulate me +with tears in their eyes—in their eyes——"</p> + +<pb n='181'/><anchor id='Pg181'/> +<p>There were tears in his own now, and he +bent his white head and looked down at the +worn floor under his crippled feet.</p> + +<p>"Alas," he said, "for Denyn—and for Saint +Rombold's tower. The Hun has passed that +way."</p> + +<p>After a silence:</p> + +<p>"Who is it now plays the carillon in Sainte +Lesse!" asked Burley.</p> + +<p>"My daughter, Maryette. Sainte Lesse has +honoured me in my daughter, whom I myself +instructed. My daughter—the little child of +my old age, monsieur—is mistress of the bells +of Sainte Lesse.... They call her Carillonnette +in Sainte Lesse——"</p> + +<p>The door opened and the girl came in.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='182'/><anchor id='Pg182'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XV. CARILLONETTE'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XV. CARILLONETTE'/> +<head>CHAPTER XV<lb/><lb/> +CARILLONETTE</head> + +<p>Sticky Smith and Kid Glenn remained a +week at Sainte Lesse, then left with the +negroes for Calais to help bring up another +cargo of mules, the arrival of which was daily +expected.</p> + +<p>A peloton of the Train-des-Equipages and +three Remount troopers arrived at Sainte +Lesse to take over the corral. John Burley +remained to explain and interpret the American +mule to these perplexed troopers.</p> + +<p>Morning, noon, and night he went clanking +down to the corral, his cartridge belt and +holster swinging at his hip. But sometimes +he had a little leisure.</p> + +<p>Sainte Lesse knew him as a mighty eater +and as a lusty drinker of good red wine; as +a mighty and garrulous talker, too, he be<pb n='183'/><anchor id='Pg183'/>came +known, ready to accost anybody in the +quiet and subdued old town and explode into +French at the slightest encouragement.</p> + +<p>But Burley had only women and children +and old men on whom to practice his earnest +and voluble French, for everybody else was +at the front.</p> + +<p>Children adored him—adored his big, silver +spurs, his cartridge belt and pistol, the +metal mule decorating his tunic collar, his +six feet two of height, his quick smile, the +even white teeth and grayish eyes of this +American muleteer, who always had a stick +of barley sugar to give them or an amazing +trick to perform for them with a handkerchief +or coin that vanished under their very +noses at the magic snap of his finger.</p> + +<p>Old men gossiped willingly with him; +women liked him and their rare smiles in the +war-sobered town of Sainte Lesse were often +for him as he sauntered along the quiet street, +clanking, swaggering, affable, ready for conversation +with anybody, and always ready for +the small, confident hands that unceremoni<pb n='184'/><anchor id='Pg184'/>ously +clasped his when he passed by where +children played.</p> + +<p>As for Maryette Courtray, called Carillonnette, +she mounted the bell-tower once every +hour, from six in the morning until nine +o'clock in the evening, to play the passing of +Time toward that eternity into which it is +always and ceaselessly moving.</p> + +<p>After nine o'clock Carillonnette set the drum +and wound it; and through the dark hours of +the night the bells played mechanically every +hour for a few moments before Bayard +struck.</p> + +<p>Between these duties the girl managed the +old inn, to which, since the war, nobody came +any more—and with these occupations her life +was full—sufficiently full, perhaps, without +the advent of John Burley.</p> + +<p>They met with enough frequency for her, +if not for him. Their encounters took place +between her duties aloft at the keyboard under +the successive tiers of bells and his intervals +of prowling among his mules.</p> + +<p>Sometimes he found her sewing in the parlour—she +could have gone to her own room,<pb n='185'/><anchor id='Pg185'/> +of course; sometimes he encountered her in +the corridor, in the street, in the walled garden +behind the inn, where with basket and +pan she gathered vegetables in season.</p> + +<p>There was a stone seat out there, built +against the southern wall, and in the shadowed +coolness of it she sometimes shelled +peas.</p> + +<p>During such an hour of liberty from the +bell-tower he found the dark-eyed little mistress +of the bells sorting various vegetables +and singing under her breath to herself the +carillon music of Josef Denyn.</p> + +<p>"Tray chick, mademoiselle," he said, with +a cheerful self-assertion, to hide the embarrassment +which always assailed him when he +encountered her.</p> + +<p>"You know, Monsieur Burley, you should +not say '<hi rend='italic'>très chic</hi>' to me," she said, shaking +her pretty head. "It sounds a little familiar +and a little common."</p> + +<p>"Oh," he exclaimed, very red. "I thought +it was the thing to say."</p> + +<p>She smiled, continuing to shell the peas, +then, with her sensitive and slightly flushed<pb n='186'/><anchor id='Pg186'/> +face still lowered, she looked at him out of +her dark blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes," she said, "young men say +'<hi rend='italic'>très chic</hi>.' It depend on when and how one +says it."</p> + +<p>"Are there times when it is all right for +me to say it?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so.... How are your mules +today?"</p> + +<p>"The same," he said, "—ready to bite or +kick or eat their heads off. The Remount +took two hundred this morning."</p> + +<p>"I saw them pass," said the girl. "I +thought perhaps you also might be departing."</p> + +<p>"Without coming to say good-bye—to <hi rend='italic'>you</hi>!" +he stammered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, conventions must be disregarded in +time of war," she returned carelessly, continuing +to shell peas. "I really thought I +saw you riding away with the mules."</p> + +<p>"That man," said Burley, much hurt, "was +a bow-legged driver of the Train-des-Equipages. +I don't think he resembles me."</p> + +<p>As she made no comment and expressed no<pb n='187'/><anchor id='Pg187'/> +contrition for her mistake, he gazed about +him at the sunny garden with a depressed +expression. However, this changed presently +to a bright and hopeful one.</p> + +<p>"Vooz ate tray, tray belle, mademoiselle!" +he asserted cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur!" Vexed perhaps as much at +her own quick blush as his abrupt eulogy, she +bit her lip and looked at him with an ominously +level gaze. Then, suddenly, she smiled.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur Burley, one does <hi rend='italic'>not</hi> so express +one's self without reason, without apropos, +without—without encouragement——"</p> + +<p>She blushed again, vividly. Under her wide +straw hat her delicate, sensitive face and +dark blue eyes were beautiful enough to inspire +eulogy in any young man.</p> + +<p>"Pardon," he said, confused by her reprimand +and her loveliness. "I shall hereafter +only <hi rend='italic'>think</hi> you are pretty, mademoiselle—mais +je ne le dirais ploo."</p> + +<p>"That would be perhaps more—<hi rend='italic'>comme il +faut</hi>, monsieur."</p> + +<p>"Ploo!" he repeated with emphasis. "Ploo +jamais! Je vous jure——"</p> + +<pb n='188'/><anchor id='Pg188'/> +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Merci</hi>; it is not perhaps necessary to +swear quite so solemnly, monsieur."</p> + +<p>She raised her eyes from the pan, moving +her small, sun-tanned hand through the heaps +of green peas, filling her palm with them and +idly letting them run through her slim fingers.</p> + +<p>"L'amour," he said with an effort—"how +funny it is—isn't it, mademoiselle?"</p> + +<p>"I know nothing about it," she replied with +decision, and rose with her pan of peas.</p> + +<p>"Are you going, mademoiselle?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Have I offended you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>He trailed after her down the garden path +between rows of blue larkspurs and hollyhocks—just +at her dainty heels, because the +brick walk was too narrow for both of them.</p> + +<p>"Ploo," he repeated appealingly.</p> + +<p>Over her shoulder she said with disdain:</p> + +<p>"It is not a topic for conversation among +the young, monsieur—what you call <hi rend='italic'>l'amour</hi>." +And she entered the kitchen, where he had +not the effrontery to follow her.</p> + +<p>That evening, toward sunset, returning<pb n='189'/><anchor id='Pg189'/> +from the corral, he heard, high in the blue +sky above him, her bell-music drifting; and +involuntarily uncovering, he stood with bared +head looking upward while the celestial melody +lasted.</p> + +<p>And that evening, too, being the fête of +Alincourt, a tiny neighbouring village across +the river, the bell-mistress went up into the +tower after dinner and played for an hour +for the little neighbour hamlet across the +river Lesse.</p> + +<p>All the people who remained in Sainte +Lesse and in Alincourt brought out their +chairs and their knitting in the calm, fragrant +evening air and remained silent, sadly enraptured +while the unseen player at her keyboard +aloft in the belfry above set her carillon +music adrift under the summer stars—golden +harmonies that seemed born in the heavens +from which they floated; clear, exquisitely +sweet miracles of melody filling the world of +darkness with magic messages of hope.</p> + +<p>Those widowed or childless among her listeners +for miles around in the darkness wept +quiet tears, less bitter and less hopeless for<pb n='190'/><anchor id='Pg190'/> +the divine promise of the sky music which +filled the night as subtly as the scent of +flowers saturates the dusk.</p> + +<p>Burley, listening down by the corral, leaned +against a post, one powerful hand across his +eyes, his cap clasped in the other, and in his +heart the birth of things ineffable.</p> + +<p>For an hour the carillon played. Then +old Bayard struck ten times. And Burley +thought of the trenches and wondered +whether the mellow thunder of the great bell +was audible out there that night.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='191'/><anchor id='Pg191'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XVI. DJACK'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XVI. DJACK'/> +<head>CHAPTER XVI<lb/><lb/> +DJACK</head> + +<p>There came a day when he did not see +Maryette as he left for the corral in the +morning.</p> + +<p>Her father, very stiff with rheumatism, sat +in the sun outside the arched entrance to the +inn.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "she is going to be gone all +day today. She has set and wound the drum +in the belfry so that the carillon shall play +every hour while she is absent."</p> + +<p>"Where has she gone?" inquired Burley.</p> + +<p>"To play the carillon at Nivelle."</p> + +<p>"Nivelle!" he exclaimed sharply.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Oui, monsieur.</hi> The Mayor has asked for +her. She is to play for an hour to entertain +the wounded." He rested his withered cheek +on his hand and looked out through the win<pb n='192'/><anchor id='Pg192'/>dow +at the sunshine with aged and tragic +eyes. "It is very little to do for our +wounded," he added aloud to himself.</p> + +<p>Burley had sent twenty mules to Nivelle +the night before, and had heard some disquieting +rumours concerning that town.</p> + +<p>Now he walked out past the dusky, arched +passageway into the sunny street and continued +northward under the trees to the barracks +of the Gendarmerie.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Bon jour l'ami Gargantua!</hi>" exclaimed the +fat, jovial brigadier who had just emerged +with boots shining, pipe-clay very apparent, +and all rosy from a fresh shave.</p> + +<p>"Bong joor, mon vieux copain!" replied +Burley, preoccupied with some papers he was +sorting. "Be good enough to look over my +papers."</p> + +<p>The brigadier took them and examined +them.</p> + +<p>"Are they <hi rend='italic'>en règle</hi>?" demanded Burley.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Parfaitement, mon ami.</hi>"</p> + +<p>"Will they take me as far as Nivelle?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. But your mules went forward +last night with the Remount——"</p> + +<pb n='193'/><anchor id='Pg193'/> +<p>"I know. I wish to inspect them again before +the veterinary sees them. Telephone to +the corral for a saddle mule."</p> + +<p>The brigadier went inside to telephone and +Burley started for the corral at the same +time.</p> + +<p>His cream-coloured, wall-eyed mule was +saddled and waiting when he arrived; he +stuffed his papers into the breast of his tunic +and climbed into the saddle.</p> + +<p>"Allongs!" he exclaimed. "Hoop!"</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>Half way to Nivelle, on an overgrown, +bushy, circuitous path which was the only +road open between Nivelle and Sainte Lesse, +he overtook Maryette, driving her donkey and +ancient market cart.</p> + +<p>"Carillonnette!" he called out joyously. +"Maryette! C'est je!"</p> + +<p>The girl, astonished, turned her head, and +he spurred forward on his wall-eyed mount, +evincing cordial symptoms of pleasure in the +encounter.</p> + +<p>"Wee, wee!" he cried. "Je voolay veneer +avec voo!" And ere the girl could protest,<pb n='194'/><anchor id='Pg194'/> +he had dismounted, turning the wall-eyed +one's nose southward, and had delivered a +resounding whack upon the rump of that +temperamental animal.</p> + +<p>"Allez! Go home! Beat it!" he cried.</p> + +<p>The mule lost no time but headed for the +distant corral at a canter; and Burley, grinning +like a great, splendid, intelligent dog +who has just done something to be proud of, +stepped into the market cart and seated himself +beside Maryette.</p> + +<p>"Who told you where I am going?" she +asked, scarcely knowing whether to laugh or +let loose her indignation.</p> + +<p>"Your father, Carillonnette."</p> + +<p>"Why did you follow me?"</p> + +<p>"I had nothing else to do——"</p> + +<p>"Is that the reason?"</p> + +<p>"I like to be with you——"</p> + +<p>"Really, monsieur! And you think it was +not necessary to consult my wishes?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you like to be with me?" he asked, +so naïvely that the girl blushed and bit her +lip and shook the reins without replying.</p> + +<p>They jogged on through the disused by<pb n='195'/><anchor id='Pg195'/>way, +the filbert bushes brushing axle and +traces; but presently the little donkey relapsed +into a walk again, and the girl, who +had counted on that procedure when she +started from Sainte Lesse, did not urge him.</p> + +<p>"Also," she said in a low voice, "I have +been wondering who permits you to address +me as Carillonnette. Also as Maryette. You +have been, heretofore, quite correct in assuming +that mademoiselle is the proper form of +address."</p> + +<p>"I was so glad to see you," he said, so simply +that she flushed again and offered no further +comment.</p> + +<p>For a long while she let him do the talking, +which was perfectly agreeable to him. +He talked on every subject he could think of, +frankly practicing idioms on her, pleased with +his own fluency and his progress in French.</p> + +<p>After a while she said, looking around at +him with a curiosity quite friendly:</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Monsieur Burley, <hi rend='italic'>why</hi> did you +desire to come with me today?"</p> + +<p>He started to reply, but checked himself, +looking into the dark blue and engaging eyes.<pb n='196'/><anchor id='Pg196'/> +After a moment the engaging eyes became +brilliantly serious.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," she repeated. "Is it because +there were some rumours last evening concerning +Nivelle?"</p> + +<p>"Wee!"</p> + +<p>"Oh," she nodded, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>After driving for a little while in silence +she looked around at him with an expression +on her face which altered it exquisitely.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, my friend," she murmured.... +"And if you wish to call me Carillonnette—do +so."</p> + +<p>"I do want to. And my name's Jack.... +If you don't mind."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were fixed on her donkey's ears.</p> + +<p>"Djack," she repeated, musingly. "Jacques—Djack—it's +the same, isn't it—Djack?"</p> + +<p>He turned red and she laughed at him, no +longer afraid.</p> + +<p>"Listen, my friend," she said, "it is <hi rend='italic'>très +beau</hi>—what have you done."</p> + +<p>"Vooz êtes tray belle——"</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Non!</hi> Please stop! It is not a question +of me——"</p> + +<pb n='197'/><anchor id='Pg197'/> +<p>"Vooz êtes tray chick——"</p> + +<p>"Stop, Djack! That is not good manners! +No! I was merely saying that—you have +done something very nice. Which is quite +true. You heard rumours that Nivelle had +become unsafe. People whispered last evening—something +about the danger of a salient +being cut at its base.... I heard the gossip +in the street. Was that why you came +after me?"</p> + +<p>"Wee."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Djack."</p> + +<p>She leaned a trifle forward in the cart, her +dimpled elbows on her knees, the reins sagging.</p> + +<p>Blue and rosy jays flew up before them, +fluttering away through the thickets; a bullfinch +whistled sweetly from a thorn bush, +watching them pass under him, unafraid.</p> + +<p>"You see," she said, half to herself, "I <hi rend='italic'>had</hi> +to come. Who could refuse our wounded? +There is no bell-master in our department; +and only one bell-mistress.... To find anyone +else to play the Nivelle carillon one would +have to pierce the barbarians' lines and search<pb n='198'/><anchor id='Pg198'/> +the ruins of Flanders for a <hi rend='italic'>Beiaardier</hi>—a +<hi rend='italic'>Klokkenist</hi>, as they call a carillonneur in the +low countries.... But the Mayor asked it, +and our wounded are waiting. You understand, +<hi rend='italic'>mon ami</hi> Djack, I had to come."</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>She added, naïvely:</p> + +<p>"God watches over our trenches. We shall +be quite safe in Nivelle."</p> + +<p>A dull boom shook the sunlit air. Even in +the cart they could feel the vibration.</p> + +<p>An hour later, everywhere ahead of them, +a vast, confused thundering was steadily increasing, +deepening with every ominous reverberation.</p> + +<p>Where two sandy wood roads crossed, a +mounted gendarme halted them and examined +their papers.</p> + +<p>"My poor child," he said to the girl, shaking +his head, "the wounded at Nivelle were +taken away during the night. They are +fighting there now in the streets."</p> + +<p>"In Nivelle streets!" faltered the girl.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Oui, mademoiselle.</hi> Of the carillon little +remains. The Boches have been shelling it<pb n='199'/><anchor id='Pg199'/> +since daylight. Turn again. And it is better +that you turn quickly, because it is not known +to us what is going on in that wooded district +over there. For if they get a foothold in +Nivelle on this drive they might cross this +road before evening."</p> + +<p>The girl sat grief-stricken and silent in the +cart, staring at the woods ahead where the +road ran through taller saplings and where, +here and there, mature trees towered.</p> + +<p>All around them now the increasing thunder +rolled and echoed and shook the ground +under them. Half a dozen gendarmes came +up at a gallop. Their officer drew bridle, +seized the donkey's head and turned animal +and cart southward.</p> + +<p>"Go back," he said briefly, recognizing Burley +and returning his salute. "You may have +to take your mules out of Sainte Lesse!" he +added, as he wheeled his horse. "We are +getting into trouble out here, <hi rend='italic'>nom de Dieu</hi>!"</p> + +<p>Maryette's head hung as the donkey jogged +along, trotting willingly because his nose was +now pointed homeward.</p> + +<p>The girl drove with loose and careless rein<pb n='200'/><anchor id='Pg200'/> +and in silence; and beside her sat Burley, his +troubled gaze always reverting to the despondent +form beside him.</p> + +<p>"Too bad, little girl," he said. "But another +time our wounded shall listen to your +carillon."</p> + +<p>"Never at Nivelle.... The belfry is being +destroyed.... The sweetest carillon in +France—the oldest, the most beautiful.... +Fifty-six bells, Djack—a wondrous wilderness +of bells rising above where one stands in the +belfry, tier on tier, tier on tier, until one's +gaze is lost amid the heavenly company aloft.... +Oh, Djack! And the great bell, Clovis! +He hangs there—through hundreds of years +he has spoken with his great voice of God!—so +that they heard him for miles and miles +across the land——"</p> + +<p>"Maryette—I am so sorry for you——"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Oh! My carillon of Nivelle! My +beloved carillon!"</p> + +<p>"Maryette, dear! My little Carillonnette——"</p> + +<p>"No—my heart is broken——"</p> + +<p>"Vooz ates tray, tray belle——"</p> + +<pb n='201'/><anchor id='Pg201'/> +<p>The sudden crashing of heavy feet in the +bushes checked him; but it was too late to +heed it now—too late to reach for his holster. +For all around them swarmed the men in sea-grey, +jerking the donkey off his forelegs, +blocking the little wheels with great, dirty +fists, seizing Burley from behind and dragging +him violently out of the cart.</p> + +<p>A near-sighted officer, thin and spare as +Death, was talking in a loud, nasal voice and +squinting at Burley where he still struggled, +red and exasperated, in the clutches of four +soldiers:</p> + +<p>"Also! That is no uniform known to us +or to any nation at war with us. That is not +regulation in England—that collar insignia. +This is a case of a franc-tireur! Now, then, +you there in your costume de fantasie! What +have you to say, eh?"</p> + +<p>There was a silence; Burley ceased struggling.</p> + +<p>"Answer, do you hear? What are you?"</p> + +<p>"American."</p> + +<p>"Pig-dog!" shouted the gaunt officer. "So +you are one of those Yankee muleteers in<pb n='202'/><anchor id='Pg202'/> +your uniform, and armed! It is sufficient that +you are American. If it had not been for +America this war would be ended! But it is +not enough, apparently, that you come here +with munitions and food, that you insult us +at sea, that you lie about us and slander us +and send your shells and cartridges to England +to slay our people! No! Also you must +come to insult us in your clown's uniform and +with your pistol—" The man began to choke +with fury, unable to continue, except by +gesture.</p> + +<p>But the jerky gestures were terribly significant: +soldiers were already pushing Burley +across the road toward a great oak tree; +six men fell out and lined up.</p> + +<p>"M-my Government—" stammered the +young fellow—but was given no opportunity +to speak. Very white, the chill sweat standing +on his forehead and under his eyes, he +stood against the oak, lips compressed, grey +eyes watching what was happening to him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he understood it was all over.</p> + +<p>"Djack!"</p> + +<p>He turned his gaze toward Maryette, where<pb n='203'/><anchor id='Pg203'/> +she struggled toward him, held by two soldiers.</p> + +<p>"Maryette—Carillonnette—" His voice suddenly +became steady, perfectly clear. "<hi rend='italic'>Je +vous aime</hi>, Carillonnette."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Djack! Djack!" she cried in terror.</p> + +<p>He heard the orders; was aware of the +levelled rifles; but his reckless greyish eyes +were now fixed on her, and he began to laugh +almost mischievously.</p> + +<p>"Vooz êtes tray belle," he said, "—tray, +tray chick——"</p> + +<p>"Djack!"</p> + +<p>But the clang of the volley precluded any +response from him except the half tender, +half reckless smile that remained on his youthful +face where he lay looking up at the sky +with pleasant, sightless eyes, and a sunbeam +touching the metal mule on his blood-wet +collar.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='204'/><anchor id='Pg204'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XVII. FRIENDSHIP'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XVII. FRIENDSHIP'/> +<head>CHAPTER XVII<lb/><lb/> +FRIENDSHIP</head> + +<p>She tried once more to lift the big, warm, +flexible body, exerting all her slender strength. +It was useless. It was like attempting to lift +the earth. The weight of the body frightened +her.</p> + +<p>Again she sank down among the ferns +under the great oak tree; once more she took +his blood-smeared head on her lap, smoothing +the bright, wet hair; and her tears fell +slowly upon his upturned face.</p> + +<p>"My friend," she stammered, "—my kind, +droll friend.... The first friend I ever +had——"</p> + +<p>The gun thunder beyond Nivelle had ceased; +an intense stillness reigned in the forest; only +a leaf moved here and there on the aspens.</p> + +<p>A few forest flies whirled about her, but<pb n='205'/><anchor id='Pg205'/> +as yet no ominous green flies came—none of +those jewelled harbingers of death which appear +with horrible promptness and as though +by magic from nowhere when anything dies +in the open world.</p> + +<p>Her donkey, still attached to the little gaily +painted market cart, had wandered on up the +sandy lane, feeding at random along the fern-bordered +thickets which walled in the Nivelle +byroad on either side.</p> + +<p>Presently her ear caught a slight sound; +something stirred somewhere in the woods +behind her. After an interval of terrible +stillness there came a distant crashing of +footsteps among dead leaves and underbrush.</p> + +<p>Horror of the Hun still possessed her; the +victim of Prussian ferocity still lay across +her knees. She dared not take the chance +that friendly ears might hear her call for aid—dared +not raise her voice in appeal lest she +awaken something monstrous, unclean, inconceivable—the +unseen thing which she could +hear at intervals prowling there among dead +leaves in the demi-light of the woods.</p> + +<p>Suddenly her heart leaped with fright; a<pb n='206'/><anchor id='Pg206'/> +man stepped cautiously out of the woods into +the road; another, dressed in leather, with +dry blood caked on his face, followed.</p> + +<p>The first comer, a French gendarme, had +already caught sight of the donkey and market +cart; had turned around instinctively to +look for their owner. Now he discovered her +seated there among the ferns under the oak +tree.</p> + +<p>"In the name of God," he growled, "what's +that child doing there!"</p> + +<p>The airman in leather followed him across +the road to the oak; the girl looked up at +them out of dark, tear-marred eyes that +seemed dazed.</p> + +<p>"Well, little one!" rumbled the big, red-faced +gendarme. "What's your name?—you +who sit here all alone at the wood's edge with +a dead man across your knees?"</p> + +<p>She made an effort to find her voice—to +control it.</p> + +<p>"I am Maryette Courtray, bell-mistress of +Sainte Lesse," she answered, trembling.</p> + +<p>"And—this young man?"</p> + +<p>"They shot him—the Prussians, monsieur."<pb n='207'/><anchor id='Pg207'/></p> + +<p>"My poor child! Was he your lover, then?"</p> + +<p>Her tear-filled eyes widened:</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she said naïvely; "it is sadder +than that. He was my friend."</p> + +<p>The big gendarme scratched his chin; then, +with an odd glance at the young airman who +stood beside him:</p> + +<p>"To lose a friend is indeed sadder than to +lose a lover. What was your friend's name, +little one?"</p> + +<p>She pressed her hand to her forehead in +an effort to search among her partly paralyzed +thoughts:</p> + +<p>"Djack.... That is his name.... He was +the first real friend I ever had."</p> + +<p>The airman said:</p> + +<p>"He is one of my countrymen—an American +muleteer, Jack Burley—in charge at +Sainte Lesse."</p> + +<p>At the sound of the young man's name pronounced +in English the girl began to cry. The +big gendarme bent over and patted her cheek.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Allons</hi>," he growled; "courage! little mistress +of the bells! Let us place your friend<pb n='208'/><anchor id='Pg208'/> +in your pretty market cart and leave this +accursed place, in God's name!"</p> + +<p>He straightened up and looked over his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"For the Boches are in Nivelle woods," he +added, with an oath, "and we ought to be on +our way to Sainte Lesse, if we are to arrive +there at all. <hi rend='italic'>Allons</hi>, comrade, take him by +the head!"</p> + +<p>So the wounded airman bent over and took +the body by the shoulders; the gendarme +lifted the feet; the little bell-mistress followed, +holding to one of the sagging arms, as +though fearing that these strangers might +take away from her this dead man who had +been so much more to her than a mere lover.</p> + +<p>When they laid him in the market cart she +released his sleeve with a sob. Still crying, +she climbed to the seat of the cart and gathered +up the reins. Behind her, flat on the +floor of the cart, the airman and the gendarme +had seated themselves, with the young man's +body between them. They were opening his +tunic and shirt now and were whispering to<pb n='209'/><anchor id='Pg209'/>gether, +and wiping away blood from the naked +shoulders and chest.</p> + +<p>"He's still warm, but there's no pulse," +whispered the airman. "He's dead enough, I +guess, but I'd rather hear a surgeon say so."</p> + +<p>The gendarme rose, stepped across to the +seat, took the reins gently from the girl.</p> + +<p>"Weep peacefully, little one," he said; "it +does one good. Tears are the tisane which +strengthens the soul."</p> + +<p>"Ye-es.... But I am remembering that—that +I was not very k-kind to him," she +sobbed. "It hurts—<hi rend='italic'>here</hi>—" She pressed a +slim hand over her breast.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Allons!</hi> Friends quarrel. God understands. +Thy friend back there—he also understands +now."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I hope he does!... He spoke to me +so tenderly—yet so gaily. He was even +laughing at me when they shot him. He was +so kind—and droll—" She sobbed anew, +clasping her hands and pressing them against +her quivering mouth to check her grief.</p> + +<p>"Was it an execution, then?" demanded the +gendarme in his growling voice.<pb n='210'/><anchor id='Pg210'/></p> + +<p>"They said he must be a franc-tireur to +wear such a uniform——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, the scoundrels! Ah, the assassins! +And so they murdered him there under the +tree?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, God! Yes! I seem to see him standing +there now—his grey, kind eyes—and no +thought of fear—just a droll smile—the way +he had with me—" whispered the girl, "the +way—<hi rend='italic'>his</hi> way—with me——"</p> + +<p>"Child," said the gendarme, pityingly, "it +<hi rend='italic'>was</hi> love!"</p> + +<p>But she shook her head, surprised, the tears +still running down her tanned cheeks:</p> + +<p>"Monsieur, it was more serious than love; +it was friendship."</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='211'/><anchor id='Pg211'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XVIII. THE AVIATOR'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XVIII. THE AVIATOR'/> +<head>CHAPTER XVIII<lb/><lb/> +THE AVIATOR</head> + +<p>Where the Fontanes highroad crosses the +byroad to Sainte Lesse they were halted by +a dusty column moving rapidly west—four +hundred American mules convoyed by gendarmerie +and remount troopers.</p> + +<p>The sweating riders, passing at a canter, +shouted from their saddles to the big gendarme +in the market cart that neither Nivelle +nor Sainte Lesse were to be defended at present, +and that all stragglers were being directed +to Fontanes and Le Marronnier. Mules +and drivers defiled at a swinging trot, enveloped +in torrents of white dust; behind them +rode a peloton of the remount, lashing recalcitrant +animals forward; and in the rear of +these rolled automobile ambulances, red +crosses aglow in the rays of the setting sun.<pb n='212'/><anchor id='Pg212'/></p> + +<p>The driver of the last ambulance seemed +to be ill; his head lay on the shoulder of a +Sister of Charity who had taken the steering +wheel.</p> + +<p>The gendarme beside Maryette signalled +her to stop; then he got out of the market +cart and, lifting the body of the American +muleteer in his powerful arms, strode across +the road. The airman leaped from the market +cart and followed him.</p> + +<p>Between them they drew out a stretcher, +laid the muleteer on it, and shoved it back +into the vehicle.</p> + +<p>There was a brief consultation, then they +both came back to Maryette, who, rigid in her +seat and very pale, sat watching the procedure +in silence.</p> + +<p>The gendarme said:</p> + +<p>"I go to Fontanes. There's a dressing station +on the road. It appears that your young +man's heart hasn't quite stopped yet——"</p> + +<p>The girl rose excitedly to her feet, but the +gendarme gently forced her back into her seat +and laid the reins in her hands. To the airman +he growled:<pb n='213'/><anchor id='Pg213'/></p> + +<p>"I did not tell this poor child to hope; I +merely informed her that her friend yonder +is still breathing. But he's as full of holes +as a pepper pot!" He frowned at Maryette: +"<hi rend='italic'>Allons!</hi> My comrade here goes to Sainte +Lesse. Drive him there now, in God's name, +before the Uhlans come clattering on your +heels!"</p> + +<p>He turned, strode away to the ambulance +once more, climbed in, and placed one big arm +around the sick driver's shoulder, drawing the +man's head down against his breast.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Bonne chance!</hi>" he called back to the airman, +who had now seated himself beside +Maryette. "Explain to our little bell-mistress +that we're taking her friend to a place where +they fool Death every day—where to cheat +the grave is a flourishing business! Good-bye! +Courage! En route, brave Sister of the +World!"</p> + +<p>The Sister of Charity turned and smiled at +Maryette, made her a friendly gesture, threw +in the clutch, and, twisting the steering wheel +with both sun-browned hands, guided the ma<pb n='214'/><anchor id='Pg214'/>chine +out onto the road and sped away swiftly +after the cloud of receding dust.</p> + +<p>"Drive on, mademoiselle," said the airman +quietly.</p> + +<p>In his accent there was something poignantly +familiar to Maryette, and she turned +with a start and looked at him out of her +dark blue, tear-marred eyes.</p> + +<p>"Are <hi rend='italic'>you</hi> also American?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Gunner observer, American air squadron, +mademoiselle."</p> + +<p>"An airman?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. My machine was shot down in Nivelle +woods an hour ago."</p> + +<p>After a silence, as they jogged along between +the hazel thickets in the warm afternoon +sunshine:</p> + +<p>"Were you acquainted with my friend?" +she asked wistfully.</p> + +<p>"With Jack Burley? A little. I knew him +in Calais."</p> + +<p>The tears welled up into her eyes:</p> + +<p>"Could you tell me about him?... He was +my first friend.... I did not understand him +in the beginning, monsieur. Among children<pb n='215'/><anchor id='Pg215'/> +it is different; I had known boys—as one +knows them at school. But a man, never—and, +indeed, I had not thought I had grown +up until—he came—Djack—to live at our inn.... +The White Doe at Sainte Lesse, monsieur. +My father keeps it."</p> + +<p>"I see," nodded the airman gravely.</p> + +<p>"Yes—that is the way. He came—my first +friend, Djack—with mules from America, monsieur—one +thousand mules. And God knows +Sainte Lesse had never seen the like! As for +me—I thought I was a child still—until—do +you understand, monsieur?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Maryette."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is how I found I was grown up. +He was a man, not a boy—that is how I found +out. So he became my first friend. He was +quite droll, and very big and kind—and timid—following +me about—oh, it was quite droll +for both of us, because at first I was afraid, +but pretended not to be."</p> + +<p>She smiled, then suddenly her eyes filled +with the tragedy again, and she began to +whimper softly to herself, with a faint sound +like a hovering pigeon.<pb n='216'/><anchor id='Pg216'/></p> + +<p>"Tell me about him," said the airman.</p> + +<p>She staunched her tears with the edge of +her apron.</p> + +<p>"It was that way with us," she managed to +say. "I was enchanted and a little frightened—it +being my first friendship. He was so big, +so droll, so kind.... We were on our way +to Nivelle this morning. I was to play the +carillon—being mistress of the bells at Sainte +Lesse—and there was nobody else to play the +bells at Nivelle; and the wounded desired to +hear the carillon."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"So Djack came after me—hearing rumours +of Prussians in that direction. They were +true—oh, God!—and the Prussians caught us +there where you found us."</p> + +<p>She bowed her supple figure double on the +seat, covering her face with her sun-browned +hands.</p> + +<p>The airman drove on, whistling "La Brabançonne" +under his breath, and deep in +thought. From time to time he glanced at +the curved figure beside him; but he said no +more for a long time.<pb n='217'/><anchor id='Pg217'/></p> + +<p>Toward sunset they drove into the Sainte +Lesse highway.</p> + +<p>He spoke abruptly, dryly:</p> + +<p>"Anybody can weep for a friend. But few +avenge their dead."</p> + +<p>She looked up, bewildered.</p> + +<p>They drove under the old Sainte Lesse gate +as he spoke. The sunlight lay pink across the +walls and tipped the turret of the watch tower +with fire.</p> + +<p>The town seemed very still; nothing was +to be seen on the long main street except here +and there a Spahi horseman <hi rend='italic'>en vidette</hi>, and +the clock-tower pigeons circling in their evening +flight.</p> + +<p>The girl, Maryette, looked dumbly into the +fading daylight when the cart stopped before +her door. The airman took her gently by +the arm, and that awakened her. As though +stiffened by fatigue she rose and climbed to +the sidewalk. He took her unresisting arm +and led her through the tunnelled wall and +into the White Doe Inn.</p> + +<p>"Get me some supper," he said. "It will +take your mind off your troubles."<pb n='218'/><anchor id='Pg218'/></p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Bread, wine, and some meat, if you have +any. I'll be back in a few moments."</p> + +<p>He left her at the inn door and went out +into the street, whistling "La Brabançonne." +A cavalryman directed him to the military +telephone installed in the house of the notary +across the street.</p> + +<p>His papers identified him; the operator +gave him his connection; they switched him +to the headquarters of his air squadron, where +he made his report.</p> + +<p>"Shot down?" came the sharp exclamation +over the wire.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, about eleven-thirty this morning +on the north edge of Nivelle forest."</p> + +<p>"The machine?"</p> + +<p>"Done for, sir. They have it."</p> + +<p>"You?"</p> + +<p>"A scratch—nothing. I had to run."</p> + +<p>"What else have you to report?"</p> + +<p>The airman made his brief report in an +unemotional voice. Ending it, he asked permission +to volunteer for a special service. +And for ten minutes the officer at the other<pb n='219'/><anchor id='Pg219'/> +end of the wire listened to a proposition which +interested him intensely.</p> + +<p>When the airman finished, the officer said:</p> + +<p>"Wait till I relay this matter."</p> + +<p>For a quarter of an hour the airman waited. +Finally the operator half turned on his camp +chair and made a gesture for him to resume +the receiver.</p> + +<p>"If you choose to volunteer for such service," +came the message, "it is approved. But understand—you +are not ordered on such duty."</p> + +<p>"I understand. I volunteer."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Munitions go to you immediately +by automobile. It is expected that the +wind will blow from the west by morning. +By morning, also, all reserves will arrive in +the west salient. What is to be your signal?"</p> + +<p>"The carillon from the Nivelle belfry."</p> + +<p>"What tune?"</p> + +<p>"'La Brabançonne.' If not that, then the +tocsin on the great bell, Clovis."</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>In the tiny café the crippled innkeeper sat, +his aged, wistful eyes watching three leather-<pb n='220'/><anchor id='Pg220'/>clad +airmen who had been whispering together +around a table in the corner all the afternoon.</p> + +<p>They nodded in silence to the new arrival, +and he joined them.</p> + +<p>Daylight faded in the room; the drum in +the Sainte Lesse belfry, set to play before +the hour sounded, began to turn aloft; the +silvery notes of the carillon seemed to shower +down from the sky, filling the twilight world +with angelic melody. Then, in resonant +beauty, the great bell, Bayard, measured the +hour.</p> + +<p>The airman who had just arrived went to a +sink, washed the caked blood from his face +and tied it up with a first-aid bandage. Then +he began to pace the café, his head bent in +thought, his nervous hands clasped behind +him.</p> + +<p>The room was dusky when he came back +to the table where his three comrades still +sat consulting in whispers. The old innkeeper +had fallen asleep on his chair by the +window. There was no light in the room except +what came from stars.<pb n='221'/><anchor id='Pg221'/></p> + +<p>"Well," said one of the airmen in a carefully +modulated voice, "what are you going +to do, Jim?"</p> + +<p>"Stay."</p> + +<p>"What's the idea?"</p> + +<p>The bandaged airman rested both hands on +the stained table-top:</p> + +<p>"We quit Nivelle tonight, but our reserves +are already coming up and we are to retake +Nivelle tomorrow. You flew over the town +this morning, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>All three said yes.</p> + +<p>"You took photographs?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"Then you know that our trenches pass +under the bell-tower?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Very well. The wind is north. When the +Boches enter our trenches they'll try to gas +our salient while the wind holds. But west +winds are predicted after sunrise tomorrow. +I'm going to get into the Nivelle belfry tonight +with a sack of bombs. I'm going to try +to explode their gas cylinders if I can. The<pb n='222'/><anchor id='Pg222'/> +tocsin is the signal for our people in the +salient."</p> + +<p>"You're crazy!" remarked one of the airmen.</p> + +<p>"No; I'll bluff it out. I'm to have a Boche +uniform in a few moments."</p> + +<p>"You <hi rend='italic'>are</hi> crazy! You know what they'll do +to you, don't you, Jim?"</p> + +<p>The bandaged airman laughed, but in his +eyes there was an odd flicker like a tiny flame. +He whistled "La Brabançonne" and glanced +coolly about the room.</p> + +<p>One of the airmen said to another in a +whisper:</p> + +<p>"There you are. Ever since they got his +brother he's been figuring on landing a whole +bunch of Huns at one clip. This is going to +finish him, this business."</p> + +<p>Another said:</p> + +<p>"Don't try anything like that, Jim——"</p> + +<p>"Sure, I'll try it," interrupted the bandaged +airman pleasantly. "When are you fellows +going?"</p> + +<p>"Now."<pb n='223'/><anchor id='Pg223'/></p> + +<p>"All right. Take my report. Wait a moment——"</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, Jim, act sensibly!"</p> + +<p>The bandaged airman laughed, fished out +from his clothing somewhere a note book and +pencil. One of the others turned an electric +torch on the table; the bandaged man made +a little sketch, wrote a few lines which the +others studied.</p> + +<p>"You can get that note to headquarters in +half an hour, can't you, Ed?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"All right. I'll wait here for my answer."</p> + +<p>"You know what risk you run, Jim?" +pleaded the youngest of the airmen.</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly. All right, then. You'd better +be on your way."</p> + +<p>After they had left the room, the bandaged +airman sat beside the table, thinking hard in +the darkness.</p> + +<p>Presently from somewhere across the dusky +river meadow the sudden roar of an airplane +engine shattered the silence; then another +whirring racket broke out; then another.</p> + +<p>He heard presently the loud rattle of his<pb n='224'/><anchor id='Pg224'/> +comrades' machines from high above him in +the star-set sky; he heard the stertorous +breathing of the old innkeeper; he heard again +the crystalline bell-notes break out aloft, linger +in linked harmonies, die away; he heard +Bayard's mellow thunder proclaim the hour +once more.</p> + +<p>There was a watch on his wrist, but it had +been put out of business when his machine +fell in Nivelle woods. Glancing at it mechanically +he saw the phosphorescent dial glimmer +faintly under shattered hands that remained +fixed.</p> + +<p>An hour later Bayard shook the starlit +silence ten times.</p> + +<p>As the last stroke boomed majestically +through the darkness an automobile came racing +into the long, unlighted street of Sainte +Lesse and halted, panting, at the door of the +White Doe Inn.</p> + +<p>The airman went out to the doorstep, saluted +the staff captain who leaned forward +from the tonneau and turned a flash on him. +Then, satisfied, the officer lifted a bundle from<pb n='225'/><anchor id='Pg225'/> +the tonneau and handed it to the airman. A +letter was pinned to the bundle.</p> + +<p>After the airman had read the letter twice, +the staff captain leaned a trifle nearer.</p> + +<p>"Do you think it can be done?" he demanded +bluntly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Here are your munitions, too."</p> + +<p>He lifted from the tonneau a bomb-thrower's +sack, heavy and full. The airman took +it and saluted.</p> + +<p>"It means the cross," said the staff captain +dryly. And to the engineer chauffeur: "Let +loose!"</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='226'/><anchor id='Pg226'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XIX. HONOUR'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XIX. HONOUR'/> +<head>CHAPTER XIX<lb/><lb/> +HONOUR</head> + +<p>For a moment the airman stood watching +and listening. The whir of the receding car +died away in the night.</p> + +<p>Then, carrying his bundle and his bomber's +sack, heavy with latent death, he went into +the inn and through the café, where the sleeping +innkeeper sat huddled, and felt his way +cautiously to the little dining room.</p> + +<p>The wooden shutters had been closed; a +candle flared on the table. Maryette sat beside +it, her arms extended across the cloth, +her head bowed.</p> + +<p>He thought she was asleep, but she looked +up as his footfall sounded on the bare floor.</p> + +<p>She was so pale that he asked her if she +felt ill.<pb n='227'/><anchor id='Pg227'/></p> + +<p>"No. I have been thinking of my friend," +she replied in a low but steady voice.</p> + +<p>"He may live," said the airman. "He was +alive when we lifted him."</p> + +<p>The girl nodded as though preoccupied—an +odd, mysterious little nod, as though assenting +to some intimate, inward suggestion +of her own mind.</p> + +<p>Then she raised her dark blue eyes to the +airman, who was still standing beside the +table, the sack of bombs hanging from his +left shoulder, the bundle under his arm.</p> + +<p>"Here is supper," she said, looking around +absently at the few dishes. Then she folded +her hands on the table's edge and sat silent, +as though lost in thought.</p> + +<p>He placed the sack carefully on a cane chair +beside him, the bundle on the floor, and seated +himself opposite her. There was bread, meat, +and a bottle of red wine. The girl declined +to eat, saying that she had supped.</p> + +<p>"Your friend Jack," he said again, after a +long silence, "—I have seen worse cases. He +may live, mademoiselle."</p> + +<p>"That," she said musingly, in her low, even<pb n='228'/><anchor id='Pg228'/> +voice, "is now in God's hands." She gave +the slightest movement to her shoulders, as +though easing them a trifle of that burden. +"I have prayed. You saw me weep. That is +ended—so much. Now—" and across her eyes +shot a blue gleam, "—now I am ready to listen +to <hi rend='italic'>you</hi>! In the cart—out on the road +there—you said that anybody can weep, but +that few dare avenge."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he drawled, "I said that."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then; tell me <hi rend='italic'>how</hi>!"</p> + +<p>"What do <hi rend='italic'>you</hi> want to avenge? Your +friend?"</p> + +<p>"His country's honour, and mine! If he +had been slain—otherwise—I should have perhaps +mourned him, confident in the law of +France. But—I have seen the Rhenish swine +on French soil—I saw the Boches do this +thing in France. It is not merely my friend +I desire to avenge; it is the triple crime +against his life, against the honour of his +country and of mine." She had not raised +her voice; had not stirred in her chair.</p> + +<p>The airman, who had stopped eating, sat<pb n='229'/><anchor id='Pg229'/> +with fork in hand, listening, regarding her +intently.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, resuming his meal, "I understand +quite well what you mean. Some such +philosophy sent my elder brother and me over +here from New York—the wild hogs trampling +through Belgium—the ferocious herds from +the Rhine defacing, defiling, rending, obliterating +all that civilized man has reverenced for +centuries.... That's the idea—the world-wide +menace of these unclean hordes—and +the murderous filth of them!... They got +my brother."</p> + +<p>He shrugged, realizing that his face had +flushed with the heat of inner fires.</p> + +<p>"Coolness does it," he added, almost apologetically, +"—method and coolness. The world +must keep its head clear: yellow fever and +smallpox have been nearly stamped out; the +Hun can be eliminated—with intelligence and +clear thinking.... And I'm only an American +airman who has been shot down like a +winged heron whose comrades have lingered a +little to comfort him and have gone on.... +Yes, but a winged heron can still stab, little<pb n='230'/><anchor id='Pg230'/> +mistress of the bells.... And every blow +counts.... Listen attentively—for Jack's sake ... and +for the sake of France. For I am +going to explain to you how you can strike—if +you want to."</p> + +<p>"I am listening," said Maryette serenely.</p> + +<p>"We may not live through it. Even my +orders do not send me to do this thing; they +merely permit it. Are you contented to go +with me?"</p> + +<p>She nodded, the shadow of a smile on her +lips.</p> + +<p>"Very well. You play the carillon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You can play 'La Brabançonne'?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"On the bells?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>He rose, went around the table, carrying +his chair with him, and seated himself beside +her. She inclined her pale, pretty head; he +placed his lips close to her ear, speaking very +slowly and distinctly, explaining his plan in +every minute detail.</p> + +<p>While he was still speaking in a whisper,<pb n='231'/><anchor id='Pg231'/> +the street outside filled with the trample of +arriving cavalry. The Spahis were leaving +the environs of Sainte Lesse; <hi rend='italic'>chasseurs à +cheval</hi> followed from still farther afield, escorting +ambulances from the Nivelle hospitals +now being abandoned.</p> + +<p>"The trenches at Nivelle are being emptied," +said the airman.</p> + +<p>"And do you mean that you and I are to +go there, to Nivelle?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"That is exactly what I mean. In an hour +I shall be in the Nivelle belfry. Will you be +there with me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "You can play +'La Brabançonne' on the bells while I blow +hell out of them in the redoubt below us!"</p> + +<p>The infantry from the Nivelle trenches began +to pass. There were a few wagons, a +battery of seventy-fives, a soup kitchen or two +and a long column of mules from Fontanes.</p> + +<p>Two American muleteers knocked at the +inn door and came stamping into the hallway, +asking for a loaf and a bottle of red wine. +Maryette rose from the table to find pro<pb n='232'/><anchor id='Pg232'/>visions; +the airman got up also, saying in +English:</p> + +<p>"Where do you come from, boys?"</p> + +<p>"From Fontanes corral," they replied, surprised +to hear their own tongue spoken.</p> + +<p>"Do you know Jack Burley, one of your +people?"</p> + +<p>"Sure. He's just been winged bad."</p> + +<p>"The Huns done him up something fierce," +added the other.</p> + +<p>"Very bad?"</p> + +<p>Maryette came back with a loaf and two +bottles.</p> + +<p>"I seen him at Fontanes," replied the muleteer, +taking the provisions from the girl. +"He's all shot to pieces, but they say he'll pull +through."</p> + +<p>The airman turned to Maryette:</p> + +<p>"Jack will get well," he translated bluntly.</p> + +<p>The girl, who had just refused the money +offered by the American muleteer, turned +sharply, became deadly white for a second, +then her face flamed with a hot and splendid +colour.</p> + +<p>One of the muleteers said:<pb n='233'/><anchor id='Pg233'/></p> + +<p>"Is this here his girl?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," nodded the airman.</p> + +<p>The muleteer became voluble, patting Maryette +on one arm and then on the other:</p> + +<p>"J'ai vue Jack Burley, mamzelle, toot a +l'heure! Il est bien, savvy voo! Il est tray, +tray bien! Bocoo de trou! N'importe! <corr sic='I'l'>Il</corr> +va tray bien! Savvy voo? Jack Burley, l'ami +de voo! Comprenny? On va le guerir toot +sweet! Wee! Wee! Wee!——"</p> + +<p>The girl flung her arms around the amazed +muleteer's neck and kissed him impetuously +on both cheeks. The muleteer blushed and +his comrade fidgeted. Only the girl remained +unembarrassed.</p> + +<p>Half laughing, half crying, terribly excited, +and very lovely to look upon, she caught both +muleteers by their sleeves and poured out a +torrent of questions. With the airman's aid +she extracted what information they had to +offer; and they went their way, flustered, still +blushing, clasping bread and bottles to their +agitated breasts.</p> + +<p>The airman looked her keenly in the eyes +as she came back from the door, still intensely<pb n='234'/><anchor id='Pg234'/> +excited, adorably transfigured. She opened +her lips to speak—the happy exclamation on +her lips, already half uttered, died there.</p> + +<p>"Well?" inquired the airman quietly.</p> + +<p>Dumb, still breathing rapidly, she returned +his gaze in silence.</p> + +<p>"Now that your friend Jack is going to live—what +next?" asked the airman pleasantly.</p> + +<p>For a full minute she continued to stare at +him without a word.</p> + +<p>"No need to avenge him now," added the +airman, watching her.</p> + +<p>"No." She turned, gazed vaguely into +space. After a moment she said, as though +to herself: "But his country's honour—and +mine? That reckoning still remains! Is it +not true?"</p> + +<p>The airman said, with a trace of pity in his +voice, for the girl seemed very young:</p> + +<p>"You need not go with me to Nivelle just +because you promised."</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said simply, "I must go, of +course—it being a question of our country's +honour."</p> + +<p>"I do not ask it. Nor would Jack, your<pb n='235'/><anchor id='Pg235'/> +friend. Nor would your own country ask it +of you, Maryette Courtray."</p> + +<p>She replied serenely:</p> + +<p>"But <hi rend='italic'>I</hi> ask it—of <hi rend='italic'>myself</hi>. Do you understand, +monsieur?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly." He glanced mechanically at +his useless wrist watch, then inquired the +time. She went to her room, returned, wearing +a little jacket and carrying a pair of big, +wooden gloves.</p> + +<p>"It is after eleven o'clock," she said. "I +brought my jacket because it is cold in all +belfries. It will be cold in Nivelle, up there +in the tower under Clovis."</p> + +<p>"You really mean to go with me?"</p> + +<p>She did not even trouble to reply to the +question. So he picked up his packet and his +sack of bombs, and they went out, side by +side, under the tunnelled wall.</p> + +<p>Infantry from Nivelle trenches were still +plodding along the dark street under the +trees; dull gleams came from their helmets +and bayonets in the obscure light of the stars.</p> + +<p>The girl stood watching them for a few<pb n='236'/><anchor id='Pg236'/> +moments, then her hand sought the airman's +arm:</p> + +<p>"If there is to be a battle in the street here, +my father cannot remain."</p> + +<p>The airman nodded, went out into the street +and spoke to a passing officer. He, in turn, +signalled the driver of a motor omnibus to +halt.</p> + +<p>The little bell-mistress entered the tavern, +followed by two soldiers. In a few moments +they came out bearing, chair-fashion between +them, the crippled innkeeper.</p> + +<p>The old man was much alarmed, but his +daughter followed beside him to the omnibus, +in which were several lamed soldiers.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Et toi?</hi>" he quavered as they lifted him +in. "What of thee, Maryette?"</p> + +<p>"I follow," she called out cheerily. "I rejoin +thee—" the bus moved on—"God knows +when or where!" she added under her breath.</p> + +<p>The airman was whispering to a fat staff +officer when she rejoined him. All three +looked up in silence at the belfry of Sainte +Lesse, looming above them, a monstrous +shadow athwart the stars. A moment later<pb n='237'/><anchor id='Pg237'/> +an automobile, arriving from the south, drew +up in front of the inn.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Bonne chance</hi>," said the fat officer +abruptly; he turned and waddled swiftly away +in the darkness. They saw him mount his +horse. His legs stuck out sideways.</p> + +<p>"Now," whispered the airman, with a nod +to the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>The little bell-mistress entered the car, her +wooden gloves tucked under one arm. The +airman followed with his packet and his sack +of bombs. The chauffeur started his engine.</p> + +<p>The middle of the road was free to him; +the edges were occupied by the retreating infantry. +As the car started, very slowly, cautiously +feeling its way out of Sainte Lesse, +the fat staff officer turned his horse and +trotted up alongside. The car stopped, the +engine still running.</p> + +<p>"It's understood?" asked the officer in a low +voice. "It's to be when we hear 'La Brabançonne'?"</p> + +<p>"When you hear 'La Brabançonne.'"</p> + +<p>"Understood," said the staff officer crisply, +saluted and drew bridle. And the car moved<pb n='238'/><anchor id='Pg238'/> +out into the starlit night along an endless +column of retreating soldiers, who were laughing, +smoking, and chatting as though not in +the least depressed by their withdrawal from +the dry and cosy trenches of Nivelle which +they were abandoning.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='239'/><anchor id='Pg239'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XX. LA BRABANÇONNE'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XX. LA BRABANÇONNE'/> +<head>CHAPTER XX<lb/><lb/> +"LA BRABANÇONNE"</head> + +<p>No shells were falling in Nivelle as they +left the car on the outskirts of the town and +entered the long main street. That was all +of Nivelle, a long, treeless main street from +which branched a few alleys.</p> + +<p>Smouldering débris of what had been houses +illuminated the street. There were no other +lights. Nothing stirred except a gaunt cat +flitting like a shadow along the gutter. There +was not a sound save the faint stirring of +the cinders over which pale flames played +fitfully.</p> + +<p>Abandoned trenches ditched the little town +in every direction; temporary shelters made +of boughs, sheds, and broken-down wagons +stood along the street. Otherwise, all impedimenta, +materials, and stores had appar<pb n='240'/><anchor id='Pg240'/>ently +been removed by the retreating columns. +There was little wreckage except the burning +débris of the few shell-struck houses—a few +rags, a few piles of firewood, a bundle of +straw and hay here and there.</p> + +<p>High, mounting toward the stars, the ancient +tower with its gilded hippogriff dominated +the place—a vast, vague shape brooding +over the single mile-long street and grimy +alleys branching from it.</p> + +<p>Nobody guarded the portal; the ancient +doors stood wide open; pitch darkness reigned +within.</p> + +<p>"Do you know the way?" whispered the +airman.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Take hold of my hand."</p> + +<p>He dared not use his flash. Carrying bundle +and bombsack under one arm, he sought +for her hand and encountered it. Cool, slim +fingers closed over his.</p> + +<p>After a few moments' stealthy advance, she +whispered:</p> + +<p>"Here are the stairs. Be careful; they +twist."</p> + +<p>She started upward, feeling with her feet<pb n='241'/><anchor id='Pg241'/> +for every stone step. The ascent appeared +to be interminable; the narrowing stone spiral +seemed to have no end. Her hand grew warm +within his own.</p> + +<p>But at last they felt a fresh wind blowing +and caught a glimpse of stars above them.</p> + +<p>Then, tier on tier, the bells of the carillon, +fixed to their great beams, appeared above +them—a shadowy, bewildering wilderness of +bells, rising, rank above rank, until they vanished +in the darkness overhead. Beside them, +almost touching them, loomed the great bell +Clovis, a gigantic mass bulking enormously +in that shadowy place.</p> + +<p>A sonorous wind flowed through the open +tower, eddying among the bells—a strong, +keen night wind blowing from the north.</p> + +<p>The airman walked to the south parapet +and looked down. Below him in the starlight, +like an indistinct map spread out, lay the +Nivelle redoubt and the trench with its +gabions, its sand bags, its timbers, its dugouts.</p> + +<p>Very far away to the southeast they could +see the glare of rockets and exploding shells, +but the sound of the bombardment did not<pb n='242'/><anchor id='Pg242'/> +reach them. North, a single searchlight +played and switched across the clouds; west, +all was dark.</p> + +<p>"They'll arrive just before dawn," said the +airman, placing his sack of bombs on the +pavement under the parapet. "Come, little +bell-mistress, take me to see your keyboard."</p> + +<p>"It is below—a few steps. This way—if +you will follow me——"</p> + +<p>She turned to the stone stairs again, descended +a dozen steps, opened a door on a +narrow landing.</p> + +<p>And there, in the starlight, he saw the keyboard +and the bewildering maze of wires running +up and branching like a huge web toward +the tiers of bells above.</p> + +<p>He looked at the keyboard curiously. The +little mistress of the bells displayed the two +wooden gloves with which she encased her +hands when she played the carillon.</p> + +<p>"It would be impossible for one to play +unless one's hands are armoured," she explained.</p> + +<p>"It is almost a lost art," he mused aloud, +"—this playing the carillon—this wonderful<pb n='243'/><anchor id='Pg243'/> +bell-music of the middle ages. There are few +great bell-masters in this day."</p> + +<p>"Few," she said dreamily.</p> + +<p>"And"—he turned and stared at her—"few +mistresses of the bells, I imagine."</p> + +<p>"I think I am the only one in France or in +Flanders.... And there are few carillons +left. The Huns are battering them down. +Towers of the ancient ages are falling everywhere +in Flanders and in France under their +shell fire. Very soon there will be no more +of the old carillons left; no more bell-music +in the world." She sighed heavily. "It is a +pity."</p> + +<p>She seated herself at the keyboard.</p> + +<p>"Dare I play?" she asked, looking up over +her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"No; it would only mean a shell from the +Huns."</p> + +<p>She nodded, laid the wooden gloves beside +her and let her delicate hands wander over +the mute keys.</p> + +<p>Leaning beside her the airman quietly explained +the plan they were to follow.</p> + +<p>"With dawn they will come creeping into<pb n='244'/><anchor id='Pg244'/> +Nivelle—the Huns," he said. "I have one of +their officers' uniforms in that bundle above. +I shall try to pass as a general officer. You +see, I speak German. My education was +partly ruined in Germany. So I'll get on very +well, I expect.</p> + +<p>"And directly under us is the trench and +the main redoubt. They'll occupy that first +thing. They'll swarm there—the whole trench +will be crawling with them. They'll install +their gas cylinders at once, this wind being +their wind.</p> + +<p>"But with sunrise the wind changes—and +whether it changes or not, I don't care," he +added. "I've got them at last where I want +them."</p> + +<p>The girl looked up at him. He smiled that +terrifying smile of his:</p> + +<p>"With the explosion of my first bomb among +their gas cylinders you are to start these bells +above us. Are you afraid?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You are to play 'La Brabançonne.' That +is the signal to our trenches."</p> + +<p>"I have often played it," she said coolly.<pb n='245'/><anchor id='Pg245'/></p> + +<p>"Not in the teeth of a barbarian army. Not +in the faces of a murderous soldiery."</p> + +<p>The girl sat quite still for a few moments; +then looking up at him, and very pale in the +starlight:</p> + +<p>"Do you think they will tear me to pieces, +monsieur?"</p> + +<p>He said:</p> + +<p>"I mean to hold those stairs with my sack +of bombs until our people enter the trenches. +If they can do it in an hour we will be all +right."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"It is only a half-hour affair from our +salient. I allow our people an hour."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"But if, even now, you had rather go +back——"</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>No!</hi>"</p> + +<p>"There is no disgrace in going back."</p> + +<p>"You said once, 'anybody can weep for +friend and country. Few avenge either.' I +am—happy—to be among the few."</p> + +<p>He nodded. After a moment he said:</p> + +<p>"I'll bet you something. My country is all<pb n='246'/><anchor id='Pg246'/> +right, but it's sick. It's<lb/> got a nauseous dose +of verbiage to spew up—something it's swallowed—something +about being too proud to +fight.... My brother and I couldn't stand +it, so we came to France.... He was in the +photo air service. He was in mufti—and +about two miles up, I believe. Six Huns went +for him.... And winged him. He had to +land behind their lines.... In mufti.... +Well—I've never found courage to hear the +details. I can't stand them—yet."</p> + +<p>"Your brother—is dead, monsieur?" she +asked timidly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. With—circumstances. Well, then—after +that, from an ordinary, commonplace +man I became a machine for the extermination +of vermin. That's all I am—an animated magazine +of Persian powder—or I do it in any +handy way. It's not a sporting proposition, +you see, just get rid of them any old way. +You don't understand, do you?"</p> + +<p>"A—little."</p> + +<p>"But it's slow work—slow work," he muttered +vaguely, "—and the world is crawling—crawling +with them. But if God guides my<pb n='247'/><anchor id='Pg247'/> +bomb this time and if I hit one of their gas +cylinders—<hi rend='italic'>that</hi> ought to be worth while."</p> + +<p>In the starlight his features became tense +and terrible; she shivered in her threadbare +jacket.</p> + +<p>After a few moments' silence he went away +up the steps to put on his German uniform. +When he descended again she had a troubled +question for him to answer:</p> + +<p>"But how shall you account for me, a French +girl, monsieur, if they come to the belfry?"</p> + +<p>A heavy flush darkened his face:</p> + +<p>"Little mistress of the bells, I shall pretend +to be what the Huns are. Do you know how +they treat French women?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard," she said faintly.</p> + +<p>"Then if they come and find you here as +my—<hi rend='italic'>prisoner</hi>—they will think they understand."</p> + +<p>The colour flamed in her face and she bowed +it, resting her elbows on the keyboard.</p> + +<p>"Come," he said, "don't be distressed. Does +it matter what a Hun thinks? Come; let's +be cheerful. Can you hum for me 'La Brabançonne'?"<pb n='248'/><anchor id='Pg248'/></p> + +<p>She did not reply.</p> + +<p>"Well, never mind," he said. "But it's a +grand battle anthem.... We Americans have +one.... It's out of fashion. And after all, +I had rather hear 'La Brabançonne' when the +time comes.... What a terrible admission! +But what Americans have done to my country +is far more terrible. The nation's sick—sick!... +I prefer 'La Brabançonne' for the time +being."</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>The Prussians entered Nivelle a little before +dawn. The airman had been watching +the street below. Down there in the slight +glow from the cinders of what once had been +a cottage a cat had been squatting, staring +at the bed of coals, as though she were once +more installed upon the family hearthstone.</p> + +<p>Then something unseen as yet by the airman +attracted the animal's attention. Alert, +crouching, she stared down the vista of dark, +deserted houses, then turned and fled like a +ghost.</p> + +<p>For a long while the airman perceived +nothing. Suddenly close to the house façades<pb n='249'/><anchor id='Pg249'/> +on either side of the street, shadowy forms +came gliding forward.</p> + +<p>They passed the glowing embers and went +on toward Sainte-Lesse; jägers, with knapsacks +on back and rifles trailing; and on their +heads oddly shaped pot helmets with battered +looking visors.</p> + +<p>One or two motorcyclists followed, whizzing +through the desolate street and into the +country beyond.</p> + +<p>After a few minutes, out of the throat of +the darkness emerged a solid column of infantry. +In a moment, beneath the bell tower, the +ground was swarming with Huns; every inch +of the earth became infested with them; fields, +hedges, alleys crawled alive with Germans. +They overran every road, every street, every +inch of open country; their wagons choked the +main thoroughfare, they were already establishing +themselves in the redoubt below, in the +trench, running in and out of dugouts and all +over scarp, counter-scarp, parades and parapet, +ant-like in energy, busy with machine gun, +trench mortar, installing telephones, searchlights, +periscopes, machine guns.<pb n='250'/><anchor id='Pg250'/></p> + +<p>Automobiles arrived—two armoured cars +and grey passenger machines in which there +were officers.</p> + +<p>The airman laid his hand on Maryette's arm.</p> + +<p>"Little bell-mistress," he said, "German officers +are coming into the tower. I want them +to find you in my arms when they come up +into this belfry. Understand me, and forgive +me."</p> + +<p>"I—understand," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Play your part bravely. Will you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>He put his arms around her; they stood +rigid, listening.</p> + +<p>"Now!" he whispered, and drew her close, +kissing her.</p> + +<p>Spurred boots clattered on the stone floor:</p> + +<p>"Herr Je!" exclaimed an astonished voice. +Somebody laughed. But the airman coolly +pushed the girl aside, and as the faint grey +light of dawn fell on his field uniform bearing +the ribbon of the iron cross, two pairs of +spurred heels hastily clinked together and two +hands flew to the oddly shaped helmet visors.</p> + +<p>"Also!" exclaimed the airman in a mincing<pb n='251'/><anchor id='Pg251'/> +Berlin accent. "When I require a corps of +observers I usually send my aide. That being +now quite perfectly understood, you gentlemen +will give yourselves the trouble to descend +as you have come. Further, you will place a +sentry at the tower door, and inform enquirers +that General Count von Gierdorff and his +staff are occupying the Nivelle belfry for purposes +of observation."</p> + +<p>The astounded officers saluted steadily; and +if they imagined that the mythical staff of this +general officer was clustered aloft somewhere +up there where the bells hung it was impossible +to tell by the strained expressions on their +wooden countenances.</p> + +<p>However, it was evidently perfectly plain +to them what the high Excellenz was about in +this vaulted room where wires led aloft to +an unseen carillon on the landing in the belfry +above.</p> + +<p>The airman nodded; they went. And when +their clattering steps echoed far below on the +spiral stone stairs, the airman motioned to +the little bell-mistress. She followed him up +the short flight to where the bells hung.<pb n='252'/><anchor id='Pg252'/></p> + +<p>"We're in for it now," he said. "If High +Command comes into this place to investigate +then I shall have to hold those stairs.... +It's growing quite light in the east. Which +way is the wind?"</p> + +<p>"North," she said in a steady voice. She +was terribly pale.</p> + +<p>He went to the parapet and looked over, +half wondering, perhaps, whether he would +receive a rifle shot through the head.</p> + +<p>Far below at the foot of the bell-tower +the dimly discerned Nivelle redoubt, swarming +with men, was being armed; and, to the south, +wired he thought, but could not see distinctly.</p> + +<p>Then, as the dusk of early dawn grew +greyer, the first rifle shots rattled out in +the west. The French salient was saluting +the wire-stringers.</p> + +<p>Back under shelter they tumbled; whistles +sounded distantly; a trench mortar crashed; +then the accentless tattoo of machine guns +broke from every emplacement.</p> + +<p>"The east is turning a little yellow," he said +calmly. "I believe this matter is going through.<pb n='253'/><anchor id='Pg253'/> +Toss some dust into the air. Which way?"</p> + +<p>"North," said the girl.</p> + +<p>"Good. I think they're placing their cylinders. +I think I can see them laying their coils. +I'm certain of it. What luck!"</p> + +<p>The airman was becoming excited and his +voice trembled a little with the effort to control +it.</p> + +<p>"It's growing pink in the east. Try a handful +of dust again," he suggested almost gaily.</p> + +<p>"North," she said briefly, watching the dust +aloft.</p> + +<p>"Luck's with us! Look at the east! If +their High Command keeps his nose out of +this place!—if he <hi rend='italic'>does</hi>!—Look at the east, little +bell-mistress! It's all gold! There's pink +up higher. I can see a faint tinge of blue, +too. Can you?"</p> + +<p>"I think so."</p> + +<p>A minute dragged like a year in prison. +Then:</p> + +<p>"Try the wind again," he said in a strained +voice.</p> + +<p>"North."</p> + +<p>"Oh, luck! Luck!" he muttered, slinging his<pb n='254'/><anchor id='Pg254'/> +sack of bombs over his shoulder. "We've +got them! We've certainly got them! What's +that! An airplane! Look, little girl—one of +our planes is up. There's another! Which +way is the wind?"</p> + +<p>"North."</p> + +<p>"Got 'em!" he snapped between his teeth. +"Run over to the stairs. Listen! Is anybody +coming up?"</p> + +<p>"I can hear nothing."</p> + +<p>"Stand there and listen. Never mind the +row the guns are making; listen for somebody +on the stairs. Look how light it's getting! +The sun will push up before many +minutes. We've got 'em! <hi rend='italic'>Got 'em!</hi> Wet +your finger and try the wind!"</p> + +<p>"North."</p> + +<p>"North here, too. What do you know about +that! Luck! Luck's with us! And we've got +'em—!" he lifted his clenched hand and +laughed at her. "Like that!" he said, his blue +eyes blazing. "They're getting ready to gas +below. Look at 'em! Glory to God! I can +see two cylinders directly under me. They're +manning the nozzles! Every man is masking<pb n='255'/><anchor id='Pg255'/> +at his post! Anybody on the stairs! Any +sound?"</p> + +<p>"None."</p> + +<p>"Are you certain?"</p> + +<p>"It is as still as death below."</p> + +<p>"Try the dust. The wind's changing, I +think. Quick! Which way?"</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>West.</hi>"</p> + +<p>"Oh, glory! Glory to God! They feel it +below! They know. The wind has changed. +Off came their respirators. No gas this morning, +eh? Yes, by God, there will be gas enough +for all——!"</p> + +<p>He caught up a bomb, leaned over the parapet, +held it aloft, poised, aiming steadily for +one second of concentrated coördination of +mind and muscle. Then straight down he +launched it. The cylinder beneath him was +shattered and a green geyser of gas burst from +it deluging the trench.</p> + +<p>Already a second bomb followed the first, +then another, and then a third; and with the +last report another cylinder in the trench below +burst into thick green billows of death and +flowed over the ground, <hi rend='italic'>west</hi>.<pb n='256'/><anchor id='Pg256'/></p> + +<p>Two more bombs whirled down, bursting on +a machine gun; then the airman turned with a +cry of triumph, and at the same instant the +sun rose above the hills and flung a golden +ray straight across his face.</p> + +<p>To Maryette the man stood transfigured, +like the Blazing Guardian of the Flaming +Sword.</p> + +<p>"Ring out your Brabançonne!" he cried. +"Let the Huns hear the war song of the land +they've trampled! Now! Little bell-mistress, +arm your white hands with your wooden gloves +and make this old carillon speak in brass and +iron!"</p> + +<p>He caught her by the arm; they ran down +the short flight of steps; she drew on her +wooden gloves and sprang to the keyboard.</p> + +<p>"I'll hold the stairs!" he cried. "I can +hold these stairs for an hour against the +whole world in arms. Now, then! The Brabançonne!"</p> + +<p>Above the roaring confusion and the explosions +far below, from high up in the sky a +clear bell note floated as though out of +Heaven itself—another, others, crystalline<pb n='257'/><anchor id='Pg257'/> +clear, imperious, filling all the sky with their +amazing and terrible beauty.</p> + +<p>The mistress of the bells struck the keyboard +with armoured hands—beautiful, slender, +avenging hands; the bells above her +crashed out into the battle-song of Flanders, +filling sky and earth with its splendid defiance +of the Hun.</p> + +<p>The airman, bomb in hand, stood at the +head of the stone stairs; the ancient tower +rocked with the fiercely magnificent anthem +of revolt—the war cry of a devastated land—the +land that died to save the world—the +martyr, Belgium, still prone in the deathly +trance awaiting her certain resurrection.</p> + +<p>The rising sun struck the tower where +three score ancient bells poured from metal +throats their heavenly summons to battle!</p> + +<p>The Hun heard it, tumbling, clawing, strangling +below in the hellish vapours of his own +death-fog; and now, from the rear his sky-guns +hurled shrapnel at the carillon in the +belfry of Nivelle.</p> + +<p>Clouds possessed the tower—soft, white, +fleecy clouds rolling, unfolding, floating about<pb n='258'/><anchor id='Pg258'/> +the ancient buttresses and gargoyles. An iron +hail rained on slate and parapet and resounding +bell-metal. But the bells pealed and pealed +in clear-voiced beauty, and Clovis, the great +iron giant, hung, scarcely sonorous under the +shrapnel rain.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there were bayonets on the stairs—the +clatter of heavy feet—alien faces on the +threshold. Then a bomb flew, and the terrible +crash cleared the stairs.</p> + +<p>Twice more the clatter came with the clank +of bayonets and guttural cries; but both died +out in the infernal roar of the grenades exploding +inside that stony spiral. And no more +bayonets flickered on the stairs.</p> + +<p>The airman, frozen to a statue, listened. +Again and again he thought he could hear +bugles, but the roar from below blotted out +the distant call.</p> + +<p>"Little bell-mistress!"</p> + +<p>She turned her head, her hands still striking +the keyboard. He spoke through the confusion +of the place:</p> + +<p>"Sound the tocsin!"</p> + +<p>Then Clovis thundered from the belfry like<pb n='259'/><anchor id='Pg259'/> +a great gun fired, booming out over the world. +Around the iron colossus shrapnel swept in +gusts; Clovis thundered on, annihilating all +sound except his own tremendous voice, heedless +of shell and bullet, disdainful of the hell's +shambles below, where masked French infantry +were already leaping the parapets of Nivelle +Redoubt into the squirming masses below.</p> + +<p>The airman shouted at her through the +tumult:</p> + +<p>"They murdered my brother. Did I tell +you? They hacked him to slivers with their +bayonets. I've settled the reckoning down in +the gas there—their own green gas, damn +them! You don't understand what I say, do +you? He was my brother——"</p> + +<p>A frightful explosion blew in the oubliette; +the room rattled and clattered with shrapnel.</p> + +<p>The airman swayed where he stood in the +swirling smoke, lurched up against the stone +coping, slid down to his knees.</p> + +<p>When his eyes opened the little bell-mistress +was bending over him.</p> + +<p>"They got me," he gasped. All the front of +his tunic was sopping red.<pb n='260'/><anchor id='Pg260'/></p> + +<p>"They said it meant the cross—if I made +good.... Are you hurt?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" she whispered. "But you——"</p> + +<p>"Go on and play!" he whispered with a terrible +effort.</p> + +<p>"But you——"</p> + +<p>"The Brabançonne! Quick!"</p> + +<p>She went, whimpering. Standing before the +keyboard she pulled on her wooden gloves and +struck the keys.</p> + +<p>Out over the infernal uproar below pealed +the bells; the morning sky rang with the noble +summons to all brave men. Once more the +ancient tower trembled with the mighty out-crash +of the battle hymn.</p> + +<p>With the last note she turned and looked +down at him where he lay against the wall. He +opened his glazing eyes and tried to smile at +her.</p> + +<p>"Bully," he whispered. "Could you recite—the +words—to me—just so I could hear them +on my way—West?"</p> + +<p>She left the keyboard, came and dropped +on her knees beside him; and closing her eyes +to check the tears sang in a low, tremulous,<pb n='261'/><anchor id='Pg261'/> +girlish voice, De Lonlay's words, to the battle +anthem of revolution.</p> + +<p>"Bully," he sighed. And spoke no more on +earth.</p> + +<p>But the little mistress of the bells did not +know his soul had passed.</p> + +<p>And the French officer who came leaping up +the stairs, pistol lifted, halted in astonishment +to see a dead man lying beside a sack of +bombs and a young girl on her knees beside +him, weeping and tremblingly intoning "La +Brabançonne."</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='262'/><anchor id='Pg262'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XXI. THE GARDENER'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XXI. THE GARDENER'/> +<head>CHAPTER XXI<lb/><lb/> +THE GARDENER</head> + +<p>A week later, toward noon, as usual, the +two American, muleteers, Smith and Glenn, +sauntered over from their corral to the White +Doe Tavern where, it being a meatless day, +they ate largely of potato soup and of a +tench, smoking hot.</p> + +<p>The tench had been caught that morning off +the back doorstep, which was an ancient and +mossy slab of limestone let into the coping of +the river wall.</p> + +<p>Jean Courtray, the crippled inn-keeper, +caught it. All that morning he had sat there +in the sun on the river wall, half dozing, opening +his dim eyes at intervals to gaze at his +painted quill afloat among the water weeds of +the little river Lesse. At intervals, too, he +turned his head with that peculiar movement<pb n='263'/><anchor id='Pg263'/> +of the old, and peered at his daughter, Maryette, +and the Belgian gardener who were working +among the potatoes in the garden.</p> + +<p>And at last he had hooked his fish and the +emaciated young Belgian dropped his hoe and +came over and released it from the hook where +it lay flopping and quivering and glittering +among the wild grasses on the river bank. And +that was how Kid Glenn and Sticky Smith, +American muleteers on duty at Saint Lesse, +came to lunch on freshly caught tench at the +Inn of the White Doe.</p> + +<p>After luncheon, agreeably satiated, they rose +from the table in the little dining room and +strolled out to the garden in the rear of the +inn, their Mexican spurs clanking. Maryette +heard them; they tipped their caps to her; +she acknowledged their salute gravely and continued +to cultivate her garden with a hoe, the +blond, consumptive Belgian trundling a rickety +cultivator at her heels.</p> + +<p>"Look, Stick," drawled Glenn. "Maryette's +got her decoration on."</p> + +<p>From where they lounged by the river wall<pb n='264'/><anchor id='Pg264'/> +they could see the cross of the Legion pinned +to the girl's blouse.</p> + +<p>Both muleteers had been present at the investment +the day before, when a general officer +arrived from Paris and the entire garrison of +Sainte Lesse had been paraded—an impressive +total of three dozen men—six gendarmes and +a brigadier; one remount sub-lieutenant and +twenty troopers; a veterinary, two white American +muleteers, and five American negro hostlers +from Baton Rouge.</p> + +<p>The girl had nearly died of shyness during +the ceremony, had endured the accolade with +crimson cheeks, had stammered a whispered +response to the congratulations of neighbors +who had gathered to see the little bell-mistress +of Sainte Lesse honoured by the country which +she had served in the belfry of Nivelle.</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>As she came past Smith and Glenn, trailing +her hoe, the latter now sufficiently proficient +in French, said gaily:</p> + +<p>"Have you heard from Jack again, Mamzelle Maryette?"</p> + +<p>The girl blushed:<pb n='265'/><anchor id='Pg265'/></p> + +<p>"I hear from Djack by every mail," she +said, with all the transparent honesty that +characterized her.</p> + +<p>Smith grinned:</p> + +<p>"Just like that! Well, tell him from me +to quit fooling away his time in a hospital +and come and get you or somebody is going +to steal you."</p> + +<p>The girl was very happy; she stood there +in the September sunshine leaning on her hoe +and gazing half shyly, half humorously down +the river where a string of American mules +was being watered.</p> + +<p>Mellow Ethiopian laughter sounded from the +distance as the Baton Rouge negroes exchanged +pleasantries in limited French with +a couple of gendarmes on the bank above them. +And there, in the sunshine of the little garden +by the river, war and death seemed very far +away. Only at intervals the veering breeze +brought to Sainte Lesse the immense vibration +of the cannonade; only at intervals the +high sky-clatter of an airplane reminded the +village that the front was only a little north<pb n='266'/><anchor id='Pg266'/> +of Nivelle, and that what had been Nivelle +was not so very far away.</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>"If you were <hi rend='italic'>my</hi> girl, Maryette," remarked +Smith, "I'd die of worry in that hospital."</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>You</hi> might have reason to, Monsieur," retorted +the girl demurely. "But you see it's +Djack who is convalescing, not you."</p> + +<p>She had become accustomed to the ceaseless +banter of Burley's two comrades—a banter +entirely American, and which at first she was +unable to understand. But now all things +American, including accent and odd, perverted +humour, had become very dear to her. The +clink-clank of the muleteer's big spurs always +set her heart beating; the sight of an arriving +convoy from the Channel port thrilled her, +and to her the trample of mules, the shouts +of foreign negroes, the drawling, broken French +spoken by the white muleteers made heavenly +real to her the dream which love had so suddenly +invaded, and into which, as suddenly, +strode Death, clutching at Love.</p> + +<p>She had beaten him off—she had—or God +had—routed Death, driven him from the dream.<pb n='267'/><anchor id='Pg267'/> +For it was a dream to her still, and she thought +she could never be able to comprehend the +magic reality of it, even when at last her +man, "Djack," came back to prove the blessed +miracle which held her in the magic of its +thrall.</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>"Who's the guy with the wheelbarrow?" inquired +Sticky Smith, rolling a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Karl, his name is," she answered; "—a +Belgian refugee."</p> + +<p>"He looks like a Hun to me," remarked +Glenn, bluntly.</p> + +<p>"He has his papers," said the girl.</p> + +<p>Glenn shrugged.</p> + +<p>"With his little pink eyes of a pig and his +whitish hair and eyebrows—well, maybe they +make 'em like that in Belgium."</p> + +<p>"Papers," added Smith, "<hi rend='italic'>can</hi> be swiped."</p> + +<p>The girl shook her head:</p> + +<p>"He's an invalid student from Ypres. He +looks quite ill, I think."</p> + +<p>"He looks the lunger, all right. But Huns +have it, too. What does he do—wander about +town at will?"<pb n='268'/><anchor id='Pg268'/></p> + +<p>"He works for us, monsieur. Your suspicions +are harsh. Karl is quite harmless, poor +boy."</p> + +<p>"What does he do after hours?" demanded +Sticky Smith, watching the manœuvres of the +sickly blond youth and the wheelbarrow.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur Smith, if you knew how innocent +is his pastime!" she exclaimed, laughing. "He +collects and studies moths and butterflies. Is +there, if you please, a mania more harmless in +the world?... And now I must return to my +work, messieurs."</p> + +<p>As the two muleteers strode clanking away +toward the canal in the meadow, the blond +youth turned his head and looked after them +out of eyes which were naturally pale and +small, and which, as he watched the two Americans, +seemed to grow paler and smaller yet.</p> + +<p>That afternoon old Courtray, swathed in a +shawl, sat on the mossy doorstep and fished +among the water weeds of the river. The sun +was low; work in the garden had ended.</p> + +<p>Maryette had gone up into her belfry to +play the sunset hymn on the noble old carillon. +Through the sunset sky the lovely bell-notes<pb n='269'/><anchor id='Pg269'/> +floated far and wide, exquisitely chaste and +aloof as the high-showering ecstasy of a skylark.</p> + +<p>As always the little village looked upward +and listened, pausing in its humble duties as +long as their little bell-mistress remained in +her tower.</p> + +<p>After the hymn she played "Myn hart is vol +verlangen" and "Het Lied der Vlamingen," +and ended with the delicate, bewitching little +folk-song, "Myn Vryer," by Hasselt.</p> + +<p>Then in the red glow of the setting sun the +girl laid aside her wooden gloves, rose from +the ancient keyboard, wound up the drum, and, +her duty done for the evening, came down out +of the tower among the transparent evening +shadows of the tree-lined village street.</p> + +<p>The sun hung over Nivelle hills, which had +turned to amethyst. Sunbeams laced the little +river in a red net through which old Courtray's +quill stemmed the ripples. He still +clutched his fishing pole, but his eyes were +closed, his chin resting on his chest.</p> + +<p>Maryette came silently into the garden and +looked at her father—looked at the blond Karl<pb n='270'/><anchor id='Pg270'/> +seated on the river wall beside the dozing +angler. The blond youth had a box on his +knees into which he was intently peering.</p> + +<p>The girl came to the river wall and seated +herself at her father's feet. The Belgian refugee +student had already risen to attention, his +heels together, but Maryette signed him to be +seated again.</p> + +<p>"What have you found now, Karl?" she inquired +in a cautiously modulated voice.</p> + +<p>"Ah, mademoiselle, fancy! I haff by chance +with my cultivator among your potatoes already +twenty pupæ of the magnificent moth, Sphinx +Atropos, upturned! See! Regard them, mademoiselle! +What lucky chance! What fortune +for me, an entomologist, this wonderful sphinx +moth to discover encased within its chrysalis!"</p> + +<p>The girl smiled at his enthusiasm:</p> + +<p>"But, Karl, those funny, smooth brown +things which resemble little polished evergreen-cones +are not rare in my garden. Often, when +spading or hoeing among the potato vines, I +uncover them."</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle, the caterpillar which makes +this chrysalis feeds by night on the leaves of<pb n='271'/><anchor id='Pg271'/> +the potato, and, when ready to transform, burrows +into the earth to become a <corr sic='chryalis'>chrysalis</corr> or +pupa, as we call it. That iss why mademoiselle +has often disinterred the pupæ of this largest +and strangest of our native sphinx-moths."</p> + +<p>Maryette leaned over and looked into the +wooden box, where lay the chrysalides.</p> + +<p>"What kind of moth do they make?" she +asked.</p> + +<p>He blinked his small, pale eyes:</p> + +<p>"The Death's Head," he said, complacently.</p> + +<p>The girl recoiled involuntarily:</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she exclaimed under her breath, +"—<hi rend='italic'>that</hi> creature!"</p> + +<p>For everywhere in France the great moth, +with its strange and ominous markings, is perfectly +well known. To the superstitious it is +a creature of evil omen in its fulvous, black +and lead-coloured livery of death. For the +broad, furry thorax bears a skull, and the big, +mousy body the yellow ribs of a skeleton.</p> + +<p>Measuring often more than five inches across +the expanded wings, its formidable size alone +might be sufficient to inspire alarm, but in addition +it possesses a horrid attribute unknown<pb n='272'/><anchor id='Pg272'/> +among other moths and butterflies; it can +utter a cry—a tiny shrill, shuddering complaint. +Small wonder, perhaps, that the peasant +holds it in horror—this sleek, furry, powerfully +winged creature marked with skull and +bones, which whirrs through the night and +comes thudding against the window, and +shrieks horridly when touched by a human +hand.</p> + +<p>"So <hi rend='italic'>that</hi> is what turns into the Death's Head +moth," said the girl in a low voice as though +to herself. "I never knew it. I thought those +things were legless cock-chafers when I dug +them out of potato hills. Karl, why do you +keep them?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, mademoiselle! To study them. To +breed from them the moth. The Death's Head +is magnificent."</p> + +<p>"God made it," admitted the girl with a +faint shudder, "but I am afraid I could not +love it. When do they hatch out?"</p> + +<p>"It is time now. It is not like others of the +sphinx family. Incubation requires but a few +weeks. These are nearly ready to emerge, +mademoiselle."<pb n='273'/><anchor id='Pg273'/></p> + +<p>"Oh. And then what do they do?"</p> + +<p>"They mate."</p> + +<p>She was silent.</p> + +<p>"The males seek the females," he said in his +pedantic, monotonous voice. "And so ardent +are the lovers that although there be no female +moth within five, eight, perhaps ten miles, yet +will her lover surely search through the night +for her and find her."</p> + +<p>Maryette shuddered again in spite of herself. +The thought of this creature marked +with the emblems of death and possessed of +ardour, too, was distasteful.</p> + +<p>"Amour macabre—what an unpleasant +thought, Karl. I do not care for your Death's +Head and for the history of their amours."</p> + +<p>She turned and gently laid her head on her +father's knees. The young man regarded her +with a pallid sneer.</p> + +<p>Addressing her back, still holding his boxful +of pupæ on his bony knees, he said with +the sneer quite audible in his voice:</p> + +<p>"Your famous savant, Fabre, first inspired +me to study the sex habits of the Death's +Head."<pb n='274'/><anchor id='Pg274'/></p> + +<p>She made no reply, her cheek resting on her +father's knees.</p> + +<p>"It was because of his wonderful experiments +with the Great Peacock moth and with +others of the genus that I have studied to +acquaint myself concerning the amours of the +Death's Head. <hi rend='italic'>And I have discovered that he +will find the female even if she be miles and +miles away.</hi>"</p> + +<p>The man was grinning now in the dusk—grinning +like a skull; but the girl's back was +still turned and she merely found something +in his voice not quite agreeable.</p> + +<p>"I think," she said in a low, quiet voice, +"that I have now heard sufficient about the +Death's Head moth."</p> + +<p>"Ah—have I offended mademoiselle? I ask +a thousand pardons——"</p> + +<p>Old Courtray awoke in the dusk.</p> + +<p>"My quill, Maryette," he muttered, "—see if +it floats yet?"</p> + +<p>The girl bent over the water and strained +her eyes. Her father tested the line with shaky +hands. There was no fish on the hook.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Voyons!</hi> The <hi rend='italic'>asticot</hi> also is gone. Some<pb n='275'/><anchor id='Pg275'/> +robber fish has been nibbling!" exclaimed the +girl cheerfully, reeling in the line. "Father, +one cannot fish and doze at the same time."</p> + +<p>"Eternal vigilance is the price of success—in +peace as well as in war," said Karl, the student, +as he aided Maryette to raise her father +from the chair.</p> + +<p>"Vigilance," repeated the girl. "Yes, always +now in France. Because always the +enemy is listening." ... Her strong young +arm around her father, she traversed the garden +slowly toward the house. A pleasant +odour came from the kitchen of the White Doe, +where an old peasant woman was cooking.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='276'/><anchor id='Pg276'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XXII. THE SUSPECT'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XXII. THE SUSPECT'/> +<head>CHAPTER XXII<lb/><lb/> +THE SUSPECT</head> + +<p>That night she wrote to her lover at the +great hospital in the south, where he lay slowly +growing well:</p> + +<quote rend='display'> +<p><hi rend='smallcaps'>My Djack:</hi></p> + +<p>Today has been very beautiful, made so for me by my thoughts of you +and by a warm September sun which makes for human happiness, too.</p> + +<p>I am wearing my ribbon of the Legion. Ah, my Djack, it belongs more +rightly to you, who would not let me go alone to Nivelle that +dreadful day. Why do they not give you the cross? They must be very +stupid in Paris.</p> + +<p>All day my happy thoughts have been with you, my Djack. It all seems +a blessed dream that we love each other. And I—oh, how could I have +been so ignorant, so silly, not to know it sooner than I did!</p> + +<p>I don't know; I thought it was friendship. And that was so wonderful +to me that I never dreamed any other miracle possible!</p> + +<p><hi rend='italic'>Allons</hi>, my Djack. Come and instruct me quickly, <pb n='277'/><anchor id='Pg277'/>because my desire +for further knowledge is very ardent.</p> + +<p>The news? <hi rend='italic'>Cher ami</hi>, there is little. Always the far thunder beyond +Nivelle in ruins; sometimes a battle-plane high in the blue; a +convoy of your beloved mules arriving from the coast; nothing more +exciting.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Smeet and Monsieur Glenn inquire always concerning you. +They are brave and kind; their odd jests amuse me.</p> + +<p>My father caught a tench in the Lesse this morning.</p> + +<p>My gardener, Karl, collected many unpleasant creatures while hoeing +our potatoes. Poor lad, he seems unhealthy. I am glad I could offer +him employment.</p> + +<p>My Djack, there could not possibly be any mistake about him, could +there? His papers are en règle. He is what he pretends, a Belgian +student from Ypres in distress and ill health, is he not?</p> + +<p>But how can you answer me, you who lie there all alone in a hospital +at Nice? Also, I am ashamed of myself for doubting the unfortunate +young man. I am too happy to doubt anybody, perhaps.</p> + +<p>And so good night, my Djack. Sleep sweetly, guarded by powerful +angels.</p> + +<lg rend='right'> +<l>Thy devoted,</l> +<l><hi rend='smallcaps'>Maryette.</hi></l> +</lg> +</quote> + +<p>She had been writing in the deserted café. +Now she took a candle and went slowly up<pb n='278'/><anchor id='Pg278'/>stairs. +On the white plaster wall of her bedroom +was a Death's Head moth.</p> + +<p>The girl, startled for an instant, stood still; +an unfeigned shiver of displeasure passed over +her. Not that the Death's Head was an unfamiliar +or terrifying sight to her; in late +summer she usually saw one or two which had +flown through some lighted window.</p> + +<p>But it was the amorous history of this creature +which the student Karl had related that +now repelled her. This night creature with +the skull on its neck, once scarcely noticed, had +now become a trifle repulsive.</p> + +<p>She went nearer, lifting the lighted candle. +The thing crouched there with slanted wings. +It was newly hatched, its sleek body still wet +with the humors of incubation—wet as a +soaked mouse. Its abdomen, too, seemed enormous, +all swelled and distended with unfertilized +eggs. No, there could be no question concerning +the sex of the thing; this was a female, +and her tumefied body was almost bursting +with eggs.</p> + +<p>In startling design the yellow skull stood +out; the ribs of the skeleton. Two tiny, fiery<pb n='279'/><anchor id='Pg279'/> +eyes glimmered at the base of the antennæ—two +minute jewelled sparks of glowing, lambent +fire. They seemed to be watching her, maliciously +askance.</p> + +<p>The very horrid part of it was that, if +touched, the creature would cry out. The girl +knew this, hesitated, looked at the open window +through which it must have crawled, and sat +down on her bed to consider the situation.</p> + +<p>"After all," she said to herself resolutely. +"God made it. It is harmless. If God thought +fit to paint one of his lesser creatures like a +skeleton, perhaps it was to remind us that +life is brief and that we should lose no time +to live it nobly in His sight.... I think that +perhaps explains it."</p> + +<p>However, she did not undress.</p> + +<p>"I am quite foolish to be afraid of this +poor moth. I repeat that I am foolish. <hi rend='italic'>Allez</hi>—I +am <hi rend='italic'>not</hi> afraid. I am no longer afraid. I—I +admire this handiwork of God."</p> + +<p>She sat looking at the creature, her hands +lying clasped in her lap.</p> + +<p>"It's a very odd thing," she said to herself, +"that a lover can find this creature even if he<pb n='280'/><anchor id='Pg280'/> +be miles and miles away.... Maybe he's on +his way now——"</p> + +<p>Instinctively she sprang up and closed her +bedroom window.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, looking severely at the +motionless moth, "you shall have no visitors in +my room. You may remain here; I shall not +disturb you; and tomorrow you will go away +of your own accord. But I cannot permit you +to receive company——"</p> + +<p>A heavy fall on the floor above checked her. +Breathless, listening, she crept to her door.</p> + +<p>"Karl!" she called.</p> + +<p>Listening again, she could hear distant and +vaguely dreadful sounds from the gardener-student's +room above.</p> + +<p>She was frightened but she went up. The +youth had had a bad hemorrhage. She sat +beside him late into the night. After his +breathing grew quieter, sitting there in silence +she could hear odd sounds, rustling, squeaking +sounds from the box of Death's Head chrysalids +on the night table beside his bed.</p> + +<p>The pupæ of the Death's Head were making +merry in anticipation of the rapidly approach<pb n='281'/><anchor id='Pg281'/>ing +change—the Great Adventure of their lives—the +coming metamorphosis.</p> + +<p>The youth lay asleep now. As she +extinguished the candle and stole from the room, all +the pupæ of the Death's Head began to squeak +in the darkness.</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>The student-gardener could do no more +work for the present. He lay propped up in +bed, pasty, scarlet lipped, and he seemed bald +and lidless, so colourless were hair and eye-lashes.</p> + +<p>"Can I do anything for you, Karl?" asked +Maryette, coming in for a moment as usual in +the intervals of her many duties.</p> + +<p>"The ink, if you would be so condescending—and +a pen," he said, watching her out of +hollow, sallow eyes of watery blue.</p> + +<p>She fetched both from the café.</p> + +<p>She came again in another hour, knocking +at his door, but he said rather sharply that +he wished to sleep.</p> + +<p>Scarcely noticing the querulous tone, she +departed. She had much to do besides her +duties in the belfry. Her father was an invalid<pb n='282'/><anchor id='Pg282'/> +who required constant care; there was only +one servant, an old peasant woman who cooked. +The Government required her father to keep +open the White Doe Tavern, and there was +always a little business from the scanty +garrison of Sainte Lesse, always a few meals to get, +a few drinks to serve, and nobody now to do +it except herself.</p> + +<p>Then, in the belfry she had duties other than +playing, than practice. Always at night the +clock-drum was to be wound.</p> + +<p>She had no assistant. The town maintained +none, and her salary as Mistress of the Bells +of Sainte Lesse did not permit her to engage +anybody to help her.</p> + +<p>So she oiled and wound all the machinery +herself, adjusted and cared for the clock, swept +the keyboard clean, inspected and looked after +the wires leading to the tiers of bells overhead.</p> + +<p>Then there was work to do in the garden—a +few minutes snatched between other duties. +And when night arrived at last she was rather +tired—quite weary on this night in particular,<pb n='283'/><anchor id='Pg283'/> +having managed to fulfill all the duties of the +sick youth as well as her own.</p> + +<p>The night was warm and fragrant. She +sat in the dark at her open window for a while, +looking out into the north where, along the +horizon, heat lightning seemed to play. But +it was only the reflected flashes of the guns. +When the wind was right, she could hear +them.</p> + +<p>She had even managed to write to her lover. +Now, seated beside the open window, she was +thinking of him. A dreamy, happy lethargy +possessed her; she was on the first delicate +verge of slumber, so close to it that all earthly +sounds were dying out in her ears. Then, suddenly, +she was awake, listening.</p> + +<p>A window had been opened in the room +overhead.</p> + +<p>She went to the stars and called:</p> + +<p>"Karl!"</p> + +<p>"What?" came the impatient reply.</p> + +<p>"Are you ill?"</p> + +<p>"No. N-no, I thank you—" His voice became +urbane with an apparent effort. "Thank +you for inquiring——"<pb n='284'/><anchor id='Pg284'/></p> + +<p>"I heard your window open—" she said.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I am quite well. The air is +mild and grateful.... I thank mademoiselle +for her solicitude."</p> + +<p>She returned to her room and lighted her +candle. On the white plaster wall sat the +Death's Head moth.</p> + +<p>She had not been in her room all day. She +was astonished that the moth had not left.</p> + +<p>"Shall I have to put you out?" she thought +dubiously. "Really, I can not keep my window +closed for fear of visitors for you, Madam +Death! I certainly shall be obliged to put you +out."</p> + +<p>So she found a sheet of paper and a large +glass tumbler. Over the moth she placed the +tumbler, then slipped the sheet of paper under +the glass between moth and wall.</p> + +<p>The thing cried and cried, beating at the +glass with wings as powerful as a bird's, and +the girl, startled and slightly repelled, placed +the moth on her night table, imprisoned under +the tumbler.</p> + +<p>For a while it fluttered and flapped and +cried out in its strange, uncanny way, then<pb n='285'/><anchor id='Pg285'/> +settled on the sheet of paper, quivering its +wings, both eyes like living coals.</p> + +<p>Seated on the bedside, Maryette looked at it, +schooling herself to think of it kindly as one +of God's creatures before she released it at +her open window.</p> + +<p>And, as she sat there, something came whizzing +into the room through her window, circled +around her at terrific speed with a humming, +whispering whirr, then dropped with a +solid thud on the night table beside the imprisoned +female moth.</p> + +<p>It was the first suitor arrived from outer +darkness—a big, powerful Death's Head moth +with eyes aglow, the yellow skull displayed in +startling contrast on his velvet-black body.</p> + +<p>The girl watched him, fascinated. He scrambled +over to the tumbler, tested it with heavy +antennæ; then, ardent and impatient, beat +against the glass with muscular wings that +clattered in the silence.</p> + +<p>But it was not the amorous fury of the +creature striking the tumbler with resounding +wings, not the glowing eyes, the strong, clawed +feet, the Death's Head staring from its fune<pb n='286'/><anchor id='Pg286'/>real +black thorax that held the girl's attention. +It was something else; something entirely different +riveted her eyes on the creature.</p> + +<p>For the cigar-shaped body, instead of bearing +the naked ribs of a skeleton, was snow +white.</p> + +<p>And now she began to understand. Somebody +had already caught the moth, had +wrapped around its body a cylinder of white +tissue paper—tied it on with a fine, white +silk thread.</p> + +<p>The moth was very still now, exploring the +interstices between tumbler and table with +heavy, pectinated antennæ.</p> + +<p>Cautiously Maryette bent forward and +dropped both hands on the moth.</p> + +<p>Instantly the creature cried out horribly; it +was like a mouse between her shrinking fingers; +but she slipped the cylinder of tissue +paper from its abdomen and released it with +a shiver; and it darted and whizzed around the +room, gyrating in whistling circles around her +head until, unnerved, she struck at it again +and again with empty hands, following, driv<pb n='287'/><anchor id='Pg287'/>ing +it toward the open window, out of which +it suddenly darted.</p> + +<p>But now there was another Death's Head in +the room, a burly, headlong, infatuated male +which drove headlong at the tumbler and clung +to it, slipping, sliding, filling the room with +a feathery tattoo of wings.</p> + +<p>It, also, had a snow-white body; and before +she had seized the squeaking thing and had +slipped the tissue wrapper from its body, another +Death's Head whirred through the window; +then another, then two; then others. The +room swarmed; they were crawling all over +the tumbler, the table, the bed. The room +was filled with the soft, velvety roar of whirring +wings beating on wall and ceiling and +against the tumbler where Madam Death sat +imprisoned, quivering her wings, her eyes two +molten rubies, and the ghastly skull staring +from her back.</p> + +<p>How Maryette ever brought herself to do it; +how she did it at last, she had no very clear +idea. The touch of the slippery, mousy bodies +was fearsomely repugnant to her; the very +sight of the great, skull-bearing things began<pb n='288'/><anchor id='Pg288'/> +to sicken her physically. A dreadful, almost +impalpable floss from their handled wings and +bodies smeared her hands; the place vibrated +with their tiny goblin cries.</p> + +<p>Somehow she managed to strip them of the +tissue cylinders, drive them from where they +crawled on ceiling, wall and sill into whistling +flight. Amid a whirlwind of wings she fought +them toward the open window; whizzing, flitting, +circling they sped in widening spirals to +escape her blows, where she stood half blinded +in the vortex of the ghostly maelstrom.</p> + +<p>One by one they darted through the open +window out into the night; and when the last +spectral streak of grey had sped into outer +darkness the girl slammed the windowpanes +shut and leaned against the sill enervated, exhausted, +revolted.</p> + +<p>The room was misty with the microscopic +dust from the creatures' wings; on her palms +and fingers were black stains and stains of +livid orange; and across wall and ceiling +streaks and smudges of rusty colour.</p> + +<p>She was still trembling when she washed the +smears from her hands. Her fingers were<pb n='289'/><anchor id='Pg289'/> +still unsteady as she smoothed out each tiny +sheet of tissue paper and laid it on her night +table. Then, seated on the bed's edge beside +the lighted candle, she began to read the messages +written in ink on these frail, translucent +tissue missives.</p> + +<p>Every bit of tissue bore a message; the writing +was microscopic, the script German, the +language Flemish. Slowly, with infinite pains, +the little bell-mistress of Sainte Lesse translated +to herself each message as she deciphered +it.</p> + +<p>She was trembling more than ever when she +finished. Every trace of colour had fled from +her cheeks.</p> + +<p>Then, as she sat there, struggling to keep +her mind clear of the horror of the thing, +striving to understand what was to be done, +there came upon her window pane a sudden +muffled drumming sound, and her frightened +gaze fell upon a Death's Head moth outside, +its eyes like coals, its misty wings beating +furiously for admittance. And around its body +was tied a cylinder of white tissue.</p> + +<p>But the girl needed no more evidence. The<pb n='290'/><anchor id='Pg290'/> +wretched youth in the room overhead had already +sealed his own doom with any one of +these tissue cylinders. Better for him if the +hemorrhage had slain him. Now a firing squad +must do that much for him.</p> + +<p>Yet, even still, the girl hesitated, almost +incredulous, trying to comprehend the monstrous +grotesquerie of the abominable plot.</p> + +<p>Intuition pointed to the truth; logic proved +it; somewhere in the German trenches a comrade +of this spy was awaiting these messages +with a caged Death's Head female as the bait—a +living loadstone wearing the terrific emblems +of death—an unfailing magnet to draw +the skull-bearing messengers for miles—had it +not been that a <hi rend='italic'>nearer magnet deflected them +in their flight!</hi></p> + +<p>That was it! That was what the miserable +youth upstairs had not counted on. Chance +had ruined him; destiny had sent Madam Death +into the room below him to draw, with her +macabre charms, every ardent winged messenger +which he liberated from his bedroom +window.</p> + +<p>The subtle effluvia permeating the night air<pb n='291'/><anchor id='Pg291'/> +for miles around might have guided these messengers +into the German trenches had not a +nearer and more imperious perfume annihilated +it. Headlong, amorous, impatient they +had whirled toward the embraces of Madam +Death; the nearer and more powerful perfume +had drawn the half-maddened, half-drugged +messengers. The spy in the room upstairs, +like many Germans, had reasoned wrongly on +sound premises. His logic had broken down, +not his amazing scientific foundation. His +theory was correct; his application stupid.</p> + +<p>And now this young man was about to die. +Maryette understood that. She comprehended +that his death was necessary; that it was the +unavoidable sequence of what he had attempted +to do. Trapped rats must be drowned; +vermin exterminated by easiest and quickest +methods; spies who betray one's native land +pass naturally the same route.</p> + +<p>But this thing, this grotesque, incredible, terrible +attempt to engraft treachery on one of +nature's most amazing laws—this secret, cunning +Teutonic reasoning, this scientific scoundrelism, +this criminal enterprise based on pa<pb n='292'/><anchor id='Pg292'/>tient, +plodding and German efficiency, still bewildered +the girl.</p> + +<p>And yet she vaguely realized how science had +been already prostituted to Prussian malignancy +and fury; she had heard of flame jets, +of tear-bombs, of bombs containing deadly +germs; she herself had beheld the poison gas +rolling back into the trenches at Nivelle under +the town tower. Dimly she began to understand +that the Hun, in his cunning savagery, +had tricked, betrayed and polluted civilization +itself into lending him her own secrets with +which she was ultimately to be destroyed.</p> + +<p>The very process of human thinking had +been imitated by these monkeys of Europe—apes +with the ferocity of hogs—and no souls, +none—nothing to lift them inside the pale +where dwells the human race.</p> + +<p>There came a rapping on the café door. +The girl rose wearily; an immense weight +seemed to crush her shoulders so that her +knees had become unsteady.</p> + +<p>She opened the café door; it was Sticky +Smith, come for his nightcap before turning +in.<pb n='293'/><anchor id='Pg293'/></p> + +<p>"The man upstairs is a German spy," she +said listlessly. "Had you not better go over +and get a gendarme?"</p> + +<p>"Who's a spy? That Dutch shrimp you had +in your garden?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Where is he?" demanded the muleteer with +an oath.</p> + +<p>She placed her lighted candle on the bar.</p> + +<p>"Wait," she said. "Read these first—we +must be quite certain about what we do."</p> + +<p>She laid the squares of tissue paper out on +the bar.</p> + +<p>"Do you read Flemish?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am——"</p> + +<p>"Then I will translate into French for you. +And first of all I must tell you how I came to +possess these little letters written upon tissue. +Please listen attentively."</p> + +<p>He rested his palm on the butt of his dangling +automatic.</p> + +<p>"Go on," he said.</p> + +<p>She told him the circumstances.</p> + +<p>As she commenced to translate the tissue +paper messages in a low, tremulous voice, the<pb n='294'/><anchor id='Pg294'/> +sound of a door being closed and locked in +the room overhead silenced her.</p> + +<p>The next instant she had stepped out to the +stairs and called:</p> + +<p>"Karl!"</p> + +<p>There was no reply. Smith came out to the +stair-well and listened.</p> + +<p>"It is his custom," she whispered, "to lock +his door before retiring. That is what we +heard."</p> + +<p>"Call again."</p> + +<p>"He can't hear me. He is in bed."</p> + +<p>"Call, all the same."</p> + +<p>"Karl!" she cried out in an unsteady voice.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='295'/><anchor id='Pg295'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XXIII. MADAM DEATH'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XXIII. MADAM DEATH'/> +<head>CHAPTER XXIII<lb/><lb/> +MADAM DEATH</head> + +<p>There was no reply, because the young man +was hanging out over his window sill in the +darkness trying to switch away, from her +closed window below, the big, clattering +Death's Head moth which obstinately and persistently +fluttered there.</p> + +<p>What possessed the moth to continue battering +its wings at the window of the room below? +Had the other moths which he released +done so, too? They had darted out of his +room into the night, each garnished with a +tissue robe. He supposed they had flown +north; he had not looked out to see.</p> + +<p>What had gone wrong with this moth, then?</p> + +<p>He took his emaciated blond head between +his bony fingers and pondered, probing for +reason with German thoroughness—that cele<pb n='296'/><anchor id='Pg296'/>brated +thoroughness which is invariably riddled +with flaws.</p> + +<p>Of all contingencies he had thought—or so +it seemed to him. He could not recollect any +precaution neglected. He had come to Sainte +Lesse for a clearly defined object and to make +certain reports concerning matters of interest +to the German military authorities north of +Nivelle.</p> + +<p>The idea, inspired by the experiments of +Henri Fabre, was original with him. Patiently, +during the previous year, he had worked +it out—had proved his theory by a series of +experiments with moths of this species.</p> + +<p>He had arranged with his staff comrade, +Dr. Glück, for a forced hatching of the pupæ +which the latter had patiently bred from the +enormous green and violet-banded caterpillars.</p> + +<p>At least one female Death's Head must be +ready, caged in the trenches beyond Nivelle. +Hundreds of pupæ could not have died. Where, +then, was his error—if, indeed, he had made +any?</p> + +<p>Leaning from the window, he looked down<pb n='297'/><anchor id='Pg297'/> +at the frantic moth, perplexed, a little uneasy +now.</p> + +<p>"Swine!" he muttered. "What, then, ails you +that you do not fly to the mistress awaiting +you over yonder?"</p> + +<p>He could see the cylinder of white tissue +shining on the creature's body, where it fluttered +against the pane, illuminated by the rays +of the candle from within the young girl's +room.</p> + +<p>Could it be possible that the candle-light +was proving the greater attraction?</p> + +<p>Even as the possibility entered his mind, he +saw another Death's Head dart at the window +below and join the first one. But this newcomer +wore no tissue jacket.</p> + +<p>Then, out of the darkness the Death's Heads +began to come to the window below, swarms of +them, startling him with the racket of their +wings.</p> + +<p>From where did they arrive? They could +not be the moths he liberated. But.... <hi rend='italic'>Were +they?</hi> Had some accident robbed their bodies +of the tissue missives? Had they blundered +into somebody's room and been robbed?<pb n='298'/><anchor id='Pg298'/></p> + +<p>Mystified, uneasy, he hung over his window +sill, staring with sickening eyes at the winged +tumult below.</p> + +<p>With patient, plodding logic he began to +seek for the solution. What attracted these +moths to the room below? Was it the candle-light? +That alone could not be sufficient—could +not contend with the more imperious +attraction, the subtle effluvia stealing out of +the north and appealing to the ruling passion +which animated the frantic winged things below +him.</p> + +<p>Patiently, methodically in his mind he probed +about for some clue to the solution. The ruling +passion animating the feathery whirlwind +below was the necessity for mating and perpetuating +the species.</p> + +<p>That was the dominant passion; the lure +of candle-light a secondary attraction.... +Then, if this were so—and it had been proven +to be a fact—then—then—<hi rend='italic'>what</hi> was in that +young girl's bedroom just below him?</p> + +<p>Even as the question flashed in his mind +he left the window, went to his door, listened, +noiselessly unlocked it.<pb n='299'/><anchor id='Pg299'/></p> + +<p>A low murmur of voices came from the +café.</p> + +<p>He drew off both shoes, descended the stairs +on the flat pads of his large, bony feet, listening +all the while.</p> + +<p>Candle-light streamed out into the corridor +from her open bedroom door; and he crept to +the sill and peered in, searching the place with +small, pale eyes.</p> + +<p>At first he noticed nothing to interest him, +then, all in an instant, his gaze fell upon +Madam Death under her prison of glass.</p> + +<p>There she sat, her great bulging abdomen +distended with eggs, her lambent eyes shining +with the terrible passion of anticipation. For +one thing only she had been created. That +accomplished she died. And there she crouched +awaiting the fulfillment of her life's cycle with +the blazing eyes of a demon.</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>From the café below came the cautious murmur +of voices. The young man already knew +what they were whispering about; or, if he +did not know he no longer cared.</p> + +<p>The patches of bright colour in his sunken<pb n='300'/><anchor id='Pg300'/> +cheeks had died out in an ashen pallor. As +far as he was concerned the world was now +ended. And he knew it.</p> + +<p>He went into the bedroom and sat down +on the bed's edge. His little, pale eyes wandered +about the white room; the murmur of +voices below was audible all the while.</p> + +<p>After a few moments' patient waiting, his +gaze rested again on Madam Death, squatting +there with wings sloped, and the skull and +bones staring at him from her head and distended +abdomen.</p> + +<p>After all there was an odd resemblance between +himself and Madam Death. He had +been born to fulfill one function, it appeared. +So had she. And now, in his case as in hers, +death was immediately to follow. This was +sentiment, not science—the blind lobe of the +German brain balancing grotesquely the reasoning +lobe.</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>The voices below had ceased. Presently he +heard a cautious step on the stair.</p> + +<p>He had a little pill-box in his pocket. Methodically, +without haste, he drew it out, chose<pb n='301'/><anchor id='Pg301'/> +one white pellet, and, holding it between his +bony thumb and forefinger, listened.</p> + +<p>Yes, somebody was coming up the stairs, +very careful to make no sound.</p> + +<p>Well—there were various ways for a Death's +Head Hussar to die for his War Lord. All +were equally laudable. God—the God of Germany—the +celestial friend and comrade of his +War Lord—would presently correct him if he +was transgressing military discipline or the etiquette +of Kultur. As for the levelled rifles of +the execution squad, he preferred another way.... +<hi rend='italic'>This</hi> way!...</p> + +<p>His eyes were already glazing when the +burly form of Sticky Smith filled the doorway.</p> + +<p>He looked down at Madam Death under the +tumbler beside him, then lifted his head and +gazed at Smith with blinded eyes.</p> + +<p>"Swine!" he said complacently, swaying +gently forward and striking the floor with his +face.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='302'/><anchor id='Pg302'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XXIV. BUBBLES'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XXIV. BUBBLES'/> +<head>CHAPTER XXIV<lb/><lb/> +BUBBLES</head> + +<p>An east wind was very likely to bring gas +to the trenches north of the Sainte Lesse salient. +A north wind, according to season, +brought snow or rain or fog upon British, +French, Belgian and Boche alike. Winds of +the south carried distant exhalations from +orchards and green fields into the pitted waste +of ashes where that monstrous desolation +stretched away beneath a thundering iron rain +which beat all day, all night upon the dead +flesh of the world.</p> + +<p>But the west wind was the vital wind, flowing +melodiously through the trees—a clean, +aromatic, refreshing wind, filling the sickened +world with life again.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, too, it brought the pleasant +music of the bells into far-away trenches, when<pb n='303'/><anchor id='Pg303'/> +the little bell-mistress of Sainte Lesse played +the carillon. And when her friend, the great +bell, Bayard, spoke through the resounding sky +of France to a million men-at-arms in blue +and steel, who were steadily forging hell's +manacles for the uncaged Hun, the loyal western +wind carried far beyond the trenches an +ominous iron vibration that meant doom for +the Beast.</p> + +<p>And the Beast heard, leering skyward out +of pale pig-eyes, but did not comprehend.</p> + +<p>At the base corral down in the meadow, +mules had been scarce recently, because a +transport had been torpedoed. But the next +transport from New Orleans escaped; the +dusty column had arrived at Sainte Lesse from +the Channel port, convoyed by American muleteers, +as usual; new mules, new negroes, new +Yankee faces invaded the town once more.</p> + +<p>However, it signified little to the youthful +mistress-of-the-bells, Maryette Courtray, +called "Carillonnette," for her Yankee lover +still lay in his distant hospital—her muleteer, +"Djack." So mules might bray, and negroes +fill the Sainte Lesse meadows with their shout<pb n='304'/><anchor id='Pg304'/>ing +laughter; and the lank, hawk-nosed Yankee +muleteers might saunter clanking into the +White Doe in search of meat or drink or +tobacco, or a glimpse of the pretty bell-mistress, +for all it meant to her.</p> + +<p>Her Djack lived; that was what occupied +her mind; other men were merely men—even +his comrades, Sticky Smith and Kid Glenn, +assumed individuality to distinguish them +from other men only because they were Djack's +friends. And as for all other muleteers, they +seemed to her as alike as Chinamen, leaving +upon her young mind a general impression +of long, thin legs and necks and the keen +eyes of hunting falcons.</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>She had washing to do that morning. Very +early she climbed up into the ancient belfry, +wound the drum so that the bells would play +a few bars at the quarters and before each +hour struck; and also in order that the carillon +might ring mechanically at noon in case she +had not returned to take her place at the keyboard +with her wooden gloves.</p> + +<p>There was a light west wind rippling through<pb n='305'/><anchor id='Pg305'/> +the tree tops; and everywhere sunshine lay +brilliant on pasture and meadow under the +purest of cobalt skies.</p> + +<p>In the garden her crippled father, swathed +in shawls, dozed in his deep chair beside the +river-wall, waking now and then to watch the +quill on his long bamboo fish-pole, stemming +the sparkling current of the little river Lesse.</p> + +<p>Sticky Smith, off duty and having filled himself +to repletion with café-au-lait at the inn, +volunteered to act as nurse, attendant, remover +of fish and baiter of hook, while Maryette +was absent at the stone-rimmed pool where +the washing of all Sainte Lesse laundry had +been accomplished for hundreds of years.</p> + +<p>"You promise not to go away?" she cautioned +him in the simple, first-aid French she +employed in speaking to him, and pausing with +both arms raised to balance the loaded clothes-basket +on her head.</p> + +<p>"Wee—wee!" he assured her with dignity. +"Je fume mong peep! Je regard le vieux +pêcher. Voo poovay allay, Mademoiselle +Maryette."<pb n='306'/><anchor id='Pg306'/></p> + +<p>She hesitated, then removed the basket from +her head and set it on the grass.</p> + +<p>"You are very kind, Monsieur Steek-Smeet. +I shall wash your underwear the very first +garments I take out of my basket. Thank +you a thousand times." She bent over with +sweet solicitude and pressed her lips to her +father's withered cheek:</p> + +<p>"Au revoir, my father <hi rend='italic'>chéri</hi>. An hour or +two at the meadow-<hi rend='italic'>lavoir</hi> and I shall return +to find thee. <hi rend='italic'>Bonne chance, mon père!</hi> Thou +shalt surely catch a large and beautiful fish +for luncheon before I return with my wash."</p> + +<p>She swung the basket of wash to her head +again without effort, and went her way, following +the deeply trodden sheep-path behind +the White Doe Inn.</p> + +<p>The path wound down through a sloping pasture, +across a footbridge spanning an arm of +the Lesse which washed the base of the garden +wall, then ascended a gentle aclivity among +hazel thicket and tall sycamores, becoming for +a little distance a shaded wood-path where +thrushes sang ceaselessly in the sun-flecked +undergrowth.<pb n='307'/><anchor id='Pg307'/></p> + +<p>But at the eastern edge of the copse the little +hill fell away into an open, sunny meadow, +fragrant with wild-flowers and clover, through +which a rivulet ran deep and cold between +grassy banks.</p> + +<p>It supplied the drinking water of Sainte +Lesse; and a branch of it poured bubbling into +the stone-rimmed <hi rend='italic'>lavoir</hi> where generations of +Sainte Lesse maids had scrubbed the linen of +the community, kneeling there amid wild flowers +and fluttering butterflies in the shade of +three tall elms.</p> + +<p>There was nobody at the pool; Maryette +saw that as she came out of the hazel copse +through the meadow. And very soon she was +on her knees at the clear pool's edge, bare of +arm and throat and bosom, her blue wool +skirts trussed up, and elbow deep in snowy +suds.</p> + +<p>Overhead the sky was a quivering, royal +blue; the earth shimmered in its bath of sunshine; +the west wind blowing carried away +eastward the reverberations of the distant +cannonade, so that not even the vibration of +the concussions disturbed Sainte Lesse.<pb n='308'/><anchor id='Pg308'/></p> + +<p>A bullfinch was piping lustily in a young +tree as she began her task; a blackbird answered +from somewhere among the hawthorns +with a bewildering series of complicated trills.</p> + +<p>As the little mistress-of-the-bells scrubbed +and beat the clothes with her paddle, and +rinsed and wrung them and soaped them +afresh, she sang softly under her breath, to +an ancient air of her <hi rend='italic'>pays</hi>, words that she +improvised to fit it—<hi rend='italic'>vrai chanson de laveuse</hi>:</p> + +<lg rend='stanza'> +<l>"A blackbird whistles</l> +<l rend='i20'>I love!</l> +<l>Over the thistles</l> +<l>Butterflies hover,</l> +<l>Each with her lover</l> +<l rend='i20'>In love.</l> +<l>Blue Demoiselles that glisten,</l> +<l rend='i20'>Listen, I love!</l> +<l>Wind of the west, oh, listen,</l> +<l rend='i20'>I am in love!</l> +<l>Sing my song, ye little gold bees!</l> +<l>Opal bubbles around my knees</l> +<l>All afloat in the soap-sud broth,</l> +<l>Whisper it low to the snowy froth;</l> +<l>And Thou who rulest the skies above,</l> +<l>Mary, adored—I love—I love!"</l> +</lg> + +<p>Slap-slap! went her paddle; the sud-spume +flew like shreds of cotton; iridescent foam set<pb n='309'/><anchor id='Pg309'/> +with bubbles swirled in the stone-edged basin, +constantly swept away down stream by the +current, constantly renewed as she soaped and +scrubbed, kneeling there in the meadow grass +above the pool.</p> + +<p>The blackbird came quite near to watch her; +the bullfinch, attracted by her childish voice +as she sang the song she was making, whistled +bold response, silent only when the echoing +slap of the paddle startled him where he sat +on the trembling tip of an aspen.</p> + +<p>Blue dragon flies drifted on glimmering +wings; she put them into her song; the meadow +was gay with butterflies' painted wings; she +sang about them, too. Cloud and azure sky, +tree tops and clover, the tiny rivulet dancing +through deep grasses, the wind furrowing the +fields, all these she put into her <hi rend='italic'>chansonnette +de laveuse</hi>. And always in the clear glass of +the stream she seemed to see the smiling face +of her friend, Djack—her lover who had +opened her eyes of a child to all things beautiful +in the world.</p> + +<p>Once or twice, from very far away, she +fancied she heard the distant singing of the<pb n='310'/><anchor id='Pg310'/> +negro muleteers sunning themselves down by +the corral. She heard, at quarter-hour intervals, +her bells melodiously recording time as it +sped by; then there were intervals of that +sweet stillness which is but a composite harmony +of summer—the murmur of insects, the +whisper of leaves and water, capricious seconds +of intense silence, then the hushed voice +of life exquisitely audible again.</p> + +<p>War, wickedness, the rage and cruelty of the +Beast—all the vile and filthy ferocity of the +ferocious Swine of the North became to her as +unreal as a tragic legend half-forgotten. And +death seemed very far away.</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>Her washing was done; the wet clothing +piled in her basket. Perspiration powdered +her forehead and delicate little nose.</p> + +<p>Hot, flushed, breathing deeply and irregularly +from her efforts under a vertical sun, +she stood erect, loosening the blouse over her +bosom to the breeze and pushing back the clustering +masses of hair above her brow.</p> + +<p>The water laughed up at her, invitingly; the +last floating castle of white foam swept past<pb n='311'/><anchor id='Pg311'/> +her feet down stream. On the impulse of the +moment she unlaced her blue wool skirt, +dropped it around her feet, stepped from it; +unbuckled both garters, stripped slippers and +stockings from her feet, and waded out into +the pool.</p> + +<p>The fresh, delicious coolness of the water +thrilled and encouraged her to further adventure; +she twisted up her splendid hair, bound +it with her blue kerchief, flung blouse and +chemisette from her, and gave herself to the +sparkling stream with a sigh of ecstasy.</p> + +<p>Alders swept the eastern edges of the current +where the rivulet widened beyond the +basin and ran south along the meadow's edge +to the Wood of Sainte Lesse—a cool, unruffled +flow, breast deep, floored with sand as soft as +silver velvet.</p> + +<p>She waded, floated, swam a little, or, erect, +roamed leisurely along the alder fringe, exploring +the dim green haunts of frog and +water-hen, stoat and bécassine—a slim, wet +dryad, gliding silently through sun and dappled +shadow.</p> + +<p>Where the stream comes to Sainte Lesse<pb n='312'/><anchor id='Pg312'/> +Wood, there is a hill set thick with hazel and +clumps of fern, haunted by one roe-deer and +numerous rabbits and pheasants.</p> + +<p>She was close to its base, now, gliding +through the shade like some lithe creature +of the forest; making no sound save where the +current curled around her supple body in +twisted necklaces of liquid light.</p> + +<p>Then, as she stood, peering cautiously +through tangled branches for a glimpse of the +little roe-deer, she heard a curious sound up +on the hill—an inexplicable sound like metal +striking stone.</p> + +<p>She stood as though frozen; clink, clink came +the distant sound. Then all was still. But +presently she saw a scared cock-pheasant, +crouching low with flattened neck outstretched, +run like a huge rat through the hazel growth, +out across the meadow.</p> + +<p>She remained motionless, scarcely daring to +draw her breath. Somebody had passed over +the hill—if, indeed, he or she had actually continued +on their mysterious way. Had they? +But finally the intense quiet reassured her, and +she concluded that whoever had made that<pb n='313'/><anchor id='Pg313'/> +metallic sound had continued on toward Sainte +Lesse Wood.</p> + +<p>She had taken with her a cake of soap. +Now, here in the green shade, she made her +ablutions, soaping herself from head to foot, +turning her head leisurely from time to time +to survey her leafy environment, or watch the +flight of some tiny woodland bird, or study +with pretty and speculative eyes the soap-suds +swirling in a dimpled whirlpool around her +thighs.</p> + +<p>The bubbles fascinated her; she played with +them, capriciously, touching one here, one +there, with tentative finger to see them explode +in a tiny rainbow shower.</p> + +<p>Finally she chose a hollow stem from among +a cluster of scented rushes, cleared it with a +vigorous breath, soaped one end, and, touching +it to the water, blew from it a prodigious +bubble, all swimming with gold and purple +hues.</p> + +<p>Into the air she tossed it, from the end of +the hollow reed; the breeze caught it and +wafted it upward until it burst.</p> + +<p><hi rend='italic'>Then a strange thing happened!</hi> Before her<pb n='314'/><anchor id='Pg314'/> +upturned eyes another bubble slowly arose +from a clump of aspens out of the hazel thickets +on the hill—a big, pearl-tinted, translucent +bubble, as large as a melon. Upward it floated, +slowly ascending to the tree-tops. There the +wind caught it, drove it east, but it still +mounted skyward, higher, higher, sailing always +eastward, until it dwindled to the size +of a thistledown and faded away in mid-air.</p> + +<p>Astounded, the little mistress-of-the-bells +stood motionless, waist deep in the stream, lips +parted, eyes straining to pierce the dazzling +ether above.</p> + +<p>And then, before her incredulous gaze, another +pearl-tinted, translucent bubble slowly +floated upward from the thicket near the aspens, +mounted until the breeze struck it, then +soared away skyward and melted like a snowflake +into the east.</p> + +<p>Moving as stealthily as some sinuous creature +of the water-weeds, the girl stole forward, +threading her way among the rushes, gliding, +twisting around tussock and alder, creeping +along fern-set banks, her eyes ever focused on<pb n='315'/><anchor id='Pg315'/> +the clump of aspens quivering against the sky +above the hazel.</p> + +<p>She could see nobody, hear not a sound from +the thicket on the little hill. But another bubble +rose above the aspens as she looked.</p> + +<p>Naked, she dared not advance into the woods—scarcely +dared linger where she was, yet +found enough courage to creep out on a carpet +of moss and lie flat under a young fir, +listening and watching.</p> + +<p>No more bubbles rose above the aspens; +there was not a sound, not a movement in the +hazel.</p> + +<p>For an hour or more she lay there; then, +with infinite caution, she slipped back into the +stream, waded across, crept into the meadow, +and sped like a scared fawn along the bank +until she stood panting by the stone-rimmed +pool again.</p> + +<p>Sun and wind had dried her skin; she +dressed rapidly, swung her basket to her head, +and started swiftly for Sainte Lesse.</p> + +<p>Before she came in sight of the White Doe +Tavern, she could hear the negro muleteers +singing down by the corral.<pb n='316'/><anchor id='Pg316'/> +Sticky Smith still squatted in the garden +by the river-wall, smoking his pipe. Her father +lay asleep in his chair, his wrinkled hands +still clasping the fishing pole, the warm breeze +blowing his white hair at the temples.</p> + +<p>She disposed of the wash; then she and +Sticky Smith gently aroused the crippled bell-master +and aided him into the house.</p> + +<p>The old peasant woman who cooked for the +inn had soup ready. The noonday meal in +Sainte Lesse had become an extremely simple +affair.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur Steek," said the girl carelessly, +"did you ever, as a child, fly toy balloons?"</p> + +<p>"Sure, Maryette. A old Eyetalian wop used +to come 'round town selling them. He had a +stick with about a hundred little balloons tied +to it—red, blue, green, yellow—all kinds and +colours. Whenever I had the price I bought +one."</p> + +<p>"Did it fly?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. The gas in it wasn't much good unless +you got a fresh one."</p> + +<p>"Would it fly high?"<pb n='317'/><anchor id='Pg317'/></p> + +<p>"Sure. Sky-high. I've seen 'em go clean out +of sight when you got a fresh one."</p> + +<p>"Nobody uses them here, do they?"</p> + +<p>"Here? No, it wouldn't be allowed. A spy +could send a message by one of those toy balloons."</p> + +<p>"Oh," nodded Maryette thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>Smith shook his head:</p> + +<p>"No, children wouldn't be permitted to play +with them things now, Maryette."</p> + +<p>"Then there are not any toy balloons to be +had here in Sainte Lesse?"</p> + +<p>"I rather guess not! Farther north there +are."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"The artillery uses them."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. The balloon and flying service +use 'em, too. I've seen officers send them +up. Probably it is to find out about upper air +currents."</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Our</hi> flying service?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Ballons d'essai</hi>," she nodded carelessly.<pb n='318'/><anchor id='Pg318'/> +But she was not yet entirely convinced regarding +the theory she was pondering.</p> + +<p>After lunch she continued to be very busy +in the laundry for a time, but the memory of +those three little balloons above the aspens +troubled her.</p> + +<p>Smith had gone on duty at the corral; Kid +Glenn sauntered clanking into the bar and was +there regaled with a <hi rend='italic'>bock</hi> and a <hi rend='italic'>tranche</hi>.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur Keed," said Maryette, "are any +of our airmen in Sainte Lesse today?"</p> + +<p>Glenn drained his glass and smacked his +lips:</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am," he said.</p> + +<p>"No balloonists, either?"</p> + +<p>"I don't guess so, Maryette. We've got the +Boche flyers scared stiff. They don't come over +our first lines anymore, and our own people +are out yonder."</p> + +<p>"Keed," she said, winningly sweet, "do you, +in fact, love me a little—for Djack's sake?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm."</p> + +<p>"I borrow of you that automatic pistol. +Yes?" She smiled at him engagingly.<pb n='319'/><anchor id='Pg319'/></p> + +<p>"Sure. Anything you want! What's the +trouble, Maryette?"</p> + +<p>She shrugged her pretty shoulders:</p> + +<p>"Nothing. It just came into my cowardly +head that the path to the <hi rend='italic'>lavoir</hi> is lonely at +sundown. And there are new muleteers in +Sainte Lesse. And I must wash my clothes."</p> + +<p>"I reckon," he said gravely, unbuckling his +weapon-filled holster and quietly strapping it +around her shoulder with its pocketed belt of +clips.</p> + +<p>"You will not require it this afternoon?" +she asked.</p> + +<p>"No fear. You won't either. Them mule-whacking +coons is white."</p> + +<p>She understood.</p> + +<p>"Some men who seem whitest are blacker +than any negro," she remarked. "<hi rend='italic'>Eh, bien!</hi> +I thank you, Keed, <hi rend='italic'>mon ami</hi>, for your complaisance. +You are very amiable to submit to +the whim of a silly girl who suddenly becomes +afraid of her own shadow."</p> + +<p>Glenn grinned and glanced significantly at +the cross dangling from her bosom:</p> + +<p>"Sure," he said, "your government decorates<pb n='320'/><anchor id='Pg320'/> +cowards. That's why it gave you the Legion."</p> + +<p>She blushed but looked up at him seriously:</p> + +<p>"Keed, if I flew a little toy balloon in the +air, where would the west wind carry it?"</p> + +<p>"Into the Boche trenches," he replied, much +interested in the idea. "If you've got one, +we'll paint 'To hell with Willie' on it and set +it afloat! But we'll have to get permission +from the gendarmes first."</p> + +<p>She said, smiling:</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, but I haven't any toy balloons."</p> + +<p>She picked up her basket with its new load +of soiled linen, swung it gracefully to her +head, ignoring his offered assistance, gave him +a beguiling glance, and went away along the +sheep-path.</p> + +<p>Once more she followed the deep-trodden and +ancient trail through copse and pasture and +over the stream down into the meadow, where +the west wind furrowed the wild-flowers and +the early afternoon sun fell hot.</p> + +<p>She set her clothes to soak, laid paddle +and soap beside them, then, straightening up, +remained erect on her knees, her intent gaze +fixed on the distant clump of aspens, delicate<pb n='321'/><anchor id='Pg321'/> +as mist above the hazel copse on the little +hill beyond.</p> + +<p>It was a whole hour before her eyes caught +the high glimmer of a tiny balloon. Only +for a moment was it visible at that distance, +then it became merged in the dazzling blue +above the woods.</p> + +<p>She waited. At last she concluded that there +were to be no more balloons. Then a sudden +fear assailed her lest she had waited too long +to investigate; and she sprang to her feet, +hurried over the single plank used as a footbridge, +and sped down through the alders.</p> + +<p>Here and there a pheasant ran headlong +across her path; a rabbit or two scuttled +through the ferns. Nearing the hazel copse +she slackened speed and advanced with caution, +scanning the thicket ahead.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, on the ground in front of her, +she caught sight of a small iron cylinder. Evidently +it had rolled down there from the slope +above.</p> + +<p>Very gingerly she approached and picked it +up. It was not very heavy, not too big for +her skirt pocket.<pb n='322'/><anchor id='Pg322'/></p> + +<p>As she slipped it into the pocket of her +blue woolen peasant-skirt, her quick eye caught +a movement among the hazel bushes on the +hillside to her right. She sank to the ground +and lay huddled there.</p> +</div> + + +<pb n='323'/><anchor id='Pg323'/> +<div rend='chapter'> +<index index='pdf' level1='XXV. KAMERAD'/> +<index index='toc' level1='XXV. KAMERAD'/> +<head>CHAPTER XXV<lb/><lb/> +KAMERAD</head> + +<p>Down the slope, through the thicket, came a +man. She could see his legs only. He wore +dust-coloured breeches and tan puttees, like +Sticky Smith's and Kid Glenn's, only he wore +no big, clanking Mexican spurs.</p> + +<p>The man passed in front of her, his burly +body barely visible through the leaves, but +not his features.</p> + +<p>She rose, turned, ran over the moss, hurried +through the ferns of the warren, retracing +her steps, and arrived breathless at the <hi rend='italic'>lavoir</hi>. +And scarcely had she dropped to her knees +and seized soap and paddle, than a squat, +bronzed, powerfully built young man appeared +on the opposite bank of the stream, stepping +briskly out of the bushes.</p> + +<p>He did not notice her at first. He looked<pb n='324'/><anchor id='Pg324'/> +about for a place to jump, found one, leaped +safely across, and came on at a swinging stride +across the meadow.</p> + +<p>The girl, bending above the water, suddenly +struck sharply with her paddle.</p> + +<p>Instantly the man halted in his tracks, knee +deep in clover.</p> + +<p>Maryette, apparently unconscious of his presence, +continued to soap and scrub and slap her +wash, singing in her clear, untrained voice of +a child the chansonette she had made that +morning. But out of the corner of her eyes +she kept him in view—saw him come sauntering +forward as though reassured, became +aware that he had approached very near, was +standing behind her.</p> + +<p>Turning presently, where she knelt, to pick +up another soiled garment, she suddenly encountered +his dark gaze; and her start and +slight exclamation were entirely genuine.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Mon Dieu!</hi>" she said, with offended emphasis, +"one does not approach people that way, +without a word!"</p> + +<p>"Did I frighten mademoiselle?" he asked, +in recognizable French, but with an accent<pb n='325'/><anchor id='Pg325'/> +unpleasantly familiar to her. "If I did, I am +very sorry and I offer mademoiselle a thousand +excuses and apologies."</p> + +<p>The girl, kneeling there in the clover, +flashed a smile at him over her shoulder. +The quick colour reddened his face and powerful +neck. The girl had been right; her +smile had been an answer that he was not +going to ignore.</p> + +<p>"What a pretty spot for a <hi rend='italic'>lavoir</hi>," he said, +stepping to the edge of the pool; "and what +a pretty girl to adorn it!"</p> + +<p>Maryette tossed her head:</p> + +<p>"Be pleased to pass your way, monsieur. +Do you not perceive that I am busy?"</p> + +<p>"It is not impossible to exchange a polite +word or two when people are busy, is it, +mademoiselle?" he asked, laughing and showing +a white and perfect set of teeth under a +short, dark mustache.</p> + +<p>She continued to wring out her wash; but +there was now a slight smile on her lips.</p> + +<p>"May I not say who I am?" he asked persuasively. +"May I not venture to speak?"</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Mon dieu</hi>, monsieur, there is liberty of<pb n='326'/><anchor id='Pg326'/> +speech for all in France. That blackbird +might be glad to know your name if you +choose to tell him."</p> + +<p>"But I ask <hi rend='italic'>your</hi> permission to speak to +<hi rend='italic'>you</hi>!" There seemed to be no sense of humour +in this young man.</p> + +<p>She laughed:</p> + +<p>"I am not curious to hear who you are!... +But if it affords you any relief to explain +to the west wind what your name may +be—" She ended with a disdainful shrug. +After a moment she lifted her pretty eyes +to his—lovely, provocative, tormenting eyes. +But they were studying the stranger closely.</p> + +<p>He was a powerfully built, dark-skinned +young man in the familiar khaki of the American +muleteers, wearing their insignia, their +cap, their holster and belt, and an extra +pouch or wallet, loaded evidently with something +heavy.</p> + +<p>She said, coolly:</p> + +<p>"You must be one of the new Yankee muleteers +who came with that beautiful new herd +of mules."</p> + +<p>He laughed:<pb n='327'/><anchor id='Pg327'/></p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm an American muleteer. My name +is Charles Braun. I came over in the last +transport."</p> + +<p>"You know Steek?"</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"Steek! Monsieur Steekee Smeete?"</p> + +<p>"Sticky Smith?"</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Mais oui?</hi>"</p> + +<p>"I've met him," he replied curtly.</p> + +<p>"And Monsieur Keed Glenn?"</p> + +<p>"I've met Kid Glenn, too. Why?"</p> + +<p>"They are friends of mine—very intimate +friends. Of course," she added, nose up-tilted, +"if they are not also <hi rend='italic'>your</hi> friends, any +acquaintance with me will be very difficult +for <hi rend='italic'>you</hi>, Monsieur Braun."</p> + +<p>He laughed easily and seated himself on +the grass beside her; and, as he sat down, a +metallic clinking sounded in his wallet.</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Tenez</hi>," she remarked, "you carry old iron +and bottles about with you, I notice."</p> + +<p>"Snaffles, curbs and stirrup irons," he replied +carelessly. And in the girl's heart there +leaped the swift, fierce flame of certainty in +suspicion.<pb n='328'/><anchor id='Pg328'/></p> + +<p>"Why do you bring all that ironmongery +down here?" she inquired, with frankly childish +curiosity, leisurely wringing out her linen.</p> + +<p>"A mule got away from the corral. I've +been wandering around in the bushes trying +to find him," he explained, so naturally and +in such a friendly voice that she raised her +eyes to look again at this young gallant who +lingered here at the <hi rend='italic'>lavoir</hi> for the sake of her +<hi rend='italic'>beaux yeux</hi>.</p> + +<p>Could this dark-eyed, smiling youth be a +Hun spy? His smooth, boyish features, his +crisp short hair and tiny mustache shading +lips a trifle too red and overfull did not displease +her. In his way he was handsome.</p> + +<p>His voice, too, was attractive, gaily persuasive, +but it was his pronunciation of the +letters c and d which had instantly set her +on her guard.</p> + +<p>Seated on the bank near her, his roving +eyes full of bold curiosity bent on her from +time to time, his idle fingers plaiting a little +wreath out of long-stemmed clover and <hi rend='italic'>boutons +d'or</hi>, he appeared merely an intrusive, +irresponsible young fellow willing to amuse<pb n='329'/><anchor id='Pg329'/> +himself with a few moments' rustic courtship +here before he continued on his way.</p> + +<p>"You are exceedingly pretty," he said. +"Will you tell me your name in exchange for +mine?"</p> + +<p>"Maryette Courtray."</p> + +<p>"Oh," he exclaimed in quick recognition; +"you are bell-mistress in Sainte Lesse, then! +<hi rend='italic'>You</hi> are the celebrated carillonnette! I have +heard about you. I suspected that you might +be the little mistress of Sainte Lesse bells, because +you wear the Legion—" He nodded his +handsome head toward the decoration on her +blouse.</p> + +<p>"And to think," he added effusively, "that +it is just a mere slip of a girl who was decorated +for bravery by France!"</p> + +<p>She smiled at him with all the beguilingly +<hi rend='italic'>bête</hi> innocence of the young when flattered:</p> + +<p>"You are too amiable, monsieur. I really +do not understand why they gave me the +Legion. To encourage all French children, +perhaps—because I really am a dreadful coward." +She tapped the holster on her thigh +and gazed at him quite guilelessly out of wide<pb n='330'/><anchor id='Pg330'/> +and trustful eyes. "You see? I dare not +even come here to wash my clothes unless I +carry this—in case some Boche comes prowling."</p> + +<p>"Whose pistol is it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"The weapon belongs to Monsieur Steek. +When I come to wash here I borrow it."</p> + +<p>"Are you the sweetheart of Monsieur +Steek?" he inquired, mimicking her pronunciation +of "Stick," and at the same time fixing +his dark eyes boldly and expressively on hers.</p> + +<p>"Does a young girl of my age have sweethearts?" +she demanded scornfully.</p> + +<p>"If she hasn't had one, it's time," he returned, +staring hard at her with a persistent +and fixed smile that had become almost +offensive.</p> + +<p>"Oh, la!" she exclaimed with a shrug of her +youthful shoulders. "Perhaps you think I +have time for such foolishness—what with +housework to do and washing, and caring for +my father, and my duties in the belfry every +day!"</p> + +<p>"Youth passes swiftly, belle Maryette."<pb n='331'/><anchor id='Pg331'/></p> + +<p>"Imitate him, beau monsieur, and swiftly +pass your way!"</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>L'amour est doux, petite Marie!</hi>"</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Je m'en moque!</hi>"</p> + +<p>He rose, smiling confidently, dropped on his +knees beside her, and rolled back his cuffs.</p> + +<p>"Come," he said, "I'll help you wash. We +two should finish quickly."</p> + +<p>"I am in no haste."</p> + +<p>"But it will give you an hour's leisure, belle +Maryette."</p> + +<p>"Why should I wish for leisure, beau monsieur?"</p> + +<p>"I shall try to instruct you why, when we +have our hour together."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to pay court to me?"</p> + +<p>"I am doing that now. My ardent courtship +will already be accomplished, so that we +need not waste our hour together!" He began +to laugh and wring out the linen.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur," she expostulated smilingly, +"your apropos disturbs me. Have you the +assurance to believe that you already appeal +to my heart?"<pb n='332'/><anchor id='Pg332'/></p> + +<p>"Have I not appealed to it a little, Maryette?"</p> + +<p>The girl averted her head coquettishly. +For a few minutes they scrubbed away there +together, side by side on their knees above +the rim of the pool. Then, without warning, +his hot, red lips burned her neck. Her +swift recoil was also a shudder; her face +flushed.</p> + +<p>"Don't do that!" she said sharply, straightening +up in the grass where she was kneeling.</p> + +<p>"You are so adorable!" he pleaded in a low, +tense voice.</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. She had moved +aside and away from him on her knees; her +head remained turned, too, and her features +were set as though carven out of rosy marble.</p> + +<p>She was summoning every atom of resolution, +every particle of courage to do what she +must do. Every fibre in her revolted with +the effort; but she steeled herself, and at last +the forced smile was stamped on her lips, and +she dared turn her head and meet his burning +gaze.</p> + +<p>"You frighten me," she said—and her un<pb n='333'/><anchor id='Pg333'/>steady +voice was convincing. "A young girl +is not courted so abruptly."</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," he murmured. "I could not +help myself—your neck is so fragrant, so +childlike——"</p> + +<p>"Then you should treat me as you would a +child!" she retorted pettishly. "Amuse me, +if you aspire to any comradeship with me. +Your behaviour does not amuse me at all."</p> + +<p>"We shall become comrades," he said confidently, +"and you shall be sufficiently amused."</p> + +<p>"It requires time for two people to become +comrades."</p> + +<p>"Will you give me an hour this evening?"</p> + +<p>"What? A rendezvous?" she exclaimed, +laughing.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You mean somewhere alone with you?"</p> + +<p>"Will you, Maryette?"</p> + +<p>"But why? I am not yet old enough for +such foolishness. It would not amuse me at +all to be alone with you for an hour." She +pouted and shrugged and absently plucked a +hollow stem from the sedge.</p> + +<p>"It would amuse me much more to sit here<pb n='334'/><anchor id='Pg334'/> +and blow bubbles," she added, clearing the +stem with a quick breath and soaping the +end of it.</p> + +<p>Then, with tormenting malice, she let her +eyes rest sideways on him while she plunged +the hollow stem into the water, withdrew it, +dripping, and deliberately blew an enormous +golden bubble from the end.</p> + +<p>"Look!" she cried, detaching the bubble, apparently +enchanted to see it float upward. "Is +it not beautiful, my fairy balloon?"</p> + +<p>On her knees there beside the basin she +blew bubble after bubble, detaching each with +a slight movement of her wrist, and laughing +delightedly to see them mount into the sunshine.</p> + +<p>"You <hi rend='italic'>are</hi> a child," he said, worrying his red +underlip with his teeth. "You're a baby, after +all."</p> + +<p>She said:</p> + +<p>"Very well, then, children require toys to +amuse them, not sighs and kisses and bold, +brown eyes to frighten and perplex them. +Have you any toys to amuse me if I give you +an hour with me?"<pb n='335'/><anchor id='Pg335'/></p> + +<p>"Maryette, I can easily teach you——"</p> + +<p>"No! Will you bring me a toy to amuse +me?—a clay pipe to blow bubbles? I adore +bubbles."</p> + +<p>"If I promise to amuse you, will you give +me an hour?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"How can I?" she demanded with sudden +caprice. "I have my wash to finish; then I +have to see that my father has his soup; then +I must attend to customers at the inn, go up +to the belfry, oil the machinery, play the +carillon later, wind the drum for the +night——"</p> + +<p>"I shall come to you in the tower after the +angelus," he said eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I shall be too busy——"</p> + +<p>"After the carillon, then! Promise, Maryette!"</p> + +<p>"And sit up there alone with you in the +dark for an hour? <hi rend='italic'>Ma foi!</hi> How amusing!" +She laughed in pretty derision. "I shall not +even be able to blow bubbles!"</p> + +<p>Watching her pouting face intently, he said:</p> + +<p>"Suppose I bring some toy balloons for you<pb n='336'/><anchor id='Pg336'/> +to fly from the clock tower? Would that +amuse you—you beautiful, perverse child?"</p> + +<p>"Little toy balloons!" she echoed, enchanted. +"What pleasure to set them afloat from the +belfry! Do you really promise to bring me +some little toy balloons to fly?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But <hi rend='italic'>you</hi> must promise not to speak +about it to anybody."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because the gendarmes wouldn't let us fly +any balloons."</p> + +<p>"You mean that they might think me a +spy?" she inquired naïvely.</p> + +<p>"Or me," he rejoined with a light laugh. +"So we shall have to be very discreet and go +cautiously about our sport. And it ought to +be great fun, Maryette, to sail balloons out +over the German trenches. We'll tie a message +to every one! Shall we, little comrade?"</p> + +<p>She clapped her hands.</p> + +<p>"That <hi rend='italic'>will</hi> enrage the Boches!" she cried, +"You won't forget to bring the balloons?"</p> + +<p>"After the carillon," he nodded, staring at +her intently.</p> + +<p>"Half past ten," she said; "not one minute<pb n='337'/><anchor id='Pg337'/> +earlier. I cannot be disturbed when playing. +Do you understand? Do you promise?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I promise not to bother +you before half past ten."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Now let me do my washing +here in peace."</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>She was still scrubbing her linen when he +went reluctantly away across the meadow +toward Sainte Lesse. And when she finally +stood up, swung the basket to her head, and +left the meadow, the sun hung low behind +Sainte Lesse Wood and a rose and violet glow +possessed the world.</p> + +<p>At the White Doe Inn she flew feverishly +about her duties, aiding the ancient peasant +woman with the simple preparations for dinner, +giving her father his soup and helping +him to bed, swallowing a mouthful herself as +she hastened to finish her household tasks.</p> + +<p>Kid Glenn came in as usual for an <hi rend='italic'>aperitif</hi> +while she was gathering up her wooden +gloves.</p> + +<p>"Did a mule stray today from your corral?" +she asked, filling his glass for him.<pb n='338'/><anchor id='Pg338'/></p> + +<p>"No," he said.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"Dead certain. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Do you know one of the new muleteers +named Braun?"</p> + +<p>"I know him by sight."</p> + +<p>"Keed!" she said, going up to him and placing +both hands on his broad shoulders; "I +play the carillon after the angelus. Bring +Steek to the bell-tower half an hour after you +hear the carillon end. You will hear it end; +you will hear the quarter hour strike presently. +Half an hour later, after the third +quarter hour strikes, you shall arrive. Bring +pistols. Do you promise?"</p> + +<p>"Sure! What's the row, Maryette?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know yet. I <hi rend='italic'>think</hi> we shall find a +spy in the tower."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"In the belfry, <hi rend='italic'>parbleu</hi>! And you and +Steek shall come up the stairs and you shall +wait in the dark, there where the keyboard +is, and where you see all the wires leading +upward. You shall listen attentively, and +I will be on the landing above, among my<pb n='339'/><anchor id='Pg339'/> +bells. And when you hear me cry out to you, +then you shall come running with pistols!"</p> + +<p>"For heaven's sake——"</p> + +<p>"Is it understood? Give me your word, +Keed!"</p> + +<p>"Sure!——"</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Allons! Assez!</hi>" she whispered excitedly. +"Make prisoner any man you see there!—<hi rend='italic'>any</hi> +man! You understand?"</p> + +<p>"You bet!"</p> + +<p>"<hi rend='italic'>Any man!</hi>" she repeated slowly, "even if +he wears the same uniform <hi rend='italic'>you</hi> wear."</p> + +<p>There was a silence. Then:</p> + +<p>"By God!" said Glenn under his breath.</p> + +<p>"You suspect?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And if it <hi rend='italic'>is</hi> one of our German-American +muleteers, we'll lynch him!" he +whispered in a white rage.</p> + +<p>But Maryette shook her head.</p> + +<p>"No," she said in a dull, even voice, "let the +gendarmerie take him in charge. Spy or suspect, +he must have his chance. That is the +law in France."</p> + +<p>"You don't give rats a chance, do you?"<pb n='340'/><anchor id='Pg340'/></p> + +<p>"I give everything its chance," she said +simply. "And so does my country."</p> + +<p>She drew the automatic pistol from her +holster, examined it, raised her eyes gravely +to the American beside her:</p> + +<p>"This is terrible for me," she added, in a +low but steady voice. "If it were not for +my country—" She made a grave gesture, +turned, and went slowly out through the +arched stone passage into the main street of +the town. A few minutes later the angelus +sounded sweetly over the woods and meadows +of Sainte Lesse.</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>At ten, as the last stroke of the hour ended, +there came a charming, intimate little murmur +of awakening bells; it grew sweeter, +clearer, filling the starry sky, growing, exquisitely +increasing in limpid, transparent volume, +sweeping through the high, dim belfry +like a great wind from Paradise carrying +Heaven's own music out over the darkened +earth.</p> + +<p>All Sainte Lesse came to its doorways to +listen to the playing of their beloved Carillon<pb n='341'/><anchor id='Pg341'/>nette; +the bell-music ebbed and swelled under +the stars; the ancient Flemish masterpiece, +written by some carillonneur whose bones had +long been dust, became magnificently vital +again under the enchanted hands of the little +mistress of the bells.</p> + +<p>In fifteen minutes the carillon ended; a +slight pause followed, then the quarter hour +struck.</p> + +<p>With the last stroke of the bell, the girl +drew off her wooden gloves, laid them on the +keyboard, turned slowly in her seat, listening. +A slight sound coming from the spiral staircase +of stone set her heart beating violently. +Had the suspected man violated his word? +She drew the automatic pistol from her holster, +rose, and stole up to the stone platform +overhead, where, rising tier on tier into the +darkness, the great carillon of Sainte Lesse +loomed overhead.</p> + +<p>She listened uneasily. Had the man lied? +It seemed to her as though her hammering +heart must burst from her bosom with the +terrible suspense of the moment.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a shadowy form appeared at the<pb n='342'/><anchor id='Pg342'/> +head of the stairs, reaching the platform at +one bound. And her heart seemed to stop as +she realized that this man had arrived too +early for her friends to be of any use to her. +He had lied to her. And now she must take +him unaided, or kill him there in the starlight +under the looming bells.</p> + +<p>"Maryette!" he called. She did not stir.</p> + +<p>"Maryette!" he whispered. "Where are +you, little sweetheart? Forgive me, I could +not wait any longer. I adore you——"</p> + +<p>All at once he discovered her standing motionless +in the shadow of the great bell Bayard—sprang +toward her, eager, ardent, triumphant.</p> + +<p>"Maryette," he whispered, "I love you! I +shall teach you what a lover is——"</p> + +<p>Suddenly he caught a glimpse of her face; +the terrible expression in her eyes checked +him.</p> + +<p>"What has happened?" he asked, bewildered. +And then he caught sight of the pistol +in her hand.</p> + +<p>"What's that for?" he demanded harshly. +"Are you afraid to love me? Do you think<pb n='343'/><anchor id='Pg343'/> +I'm the kind of lover to stop for a thing like +that——"</p> + +<p>She said, in a low, distinct voice:</p> + +<p>"Don't move! Put up both hands instantly!"</p> + +<p>"What!" he snapped out, like the crack of +a lash.</p> + +<p>"I know who you are. You're a Boche and +no Yankee! Turn your back and raise your +arms!"</p> + +<p>For a moment they looked at each other.</p> + +<p>"I think," she said, steadily, "you had better +explain your gas cylinders and balloons +to the gendarmes at the Poste."</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I'll explain them to you, +<hi rend='italic'>now</hi>!——"</p> + +<p>"If you touch your pistol, I fire!——"</p> + +<p>But already he had whipped out his pistol; +and she fired instantly, smashing his right +hand to pulp.</p> + +<p>"You damned hell-cat!" he screamed, +stretching out his shattered hand in an agony +of impotent fury. Blood rained from it on +the stone flags. Suddenly he started toward +her.<pb n='344'/><anchor id='Pg344'/></p> + +<p>"Don't stir!" she whispered. "Turn your +back and raise both arms!"</p> + +<p>His face became ghastly.</p> + +<p>"Let me go, in God's name!" he burst out +in a strangled voice. "Don't send me before +a firing squad! Listen to me, little comrade—I +surrender myself to your mercy——"</p> + +<p>"Then keep away from me! Keep your +distance!" she cried, retreating. He followed, +fawning:</p> + +<p>"Listen! We were such good comrades——"</p> + +<p>"Don't come any nearer to me!" she called +out sharply; but he still shuffled toward her, +whimpering, drenched in blood, both hands +uplifted.</p> + +<p>"Kamerad!" he whined, "Kamerad—" and +suddenly launched a kick at her.</p> + +<p>She just avoided it, springing behind the +bell Bayard; and he rushed at her and struck +with both uplifted arms, showering her with +blood, but not quite reaching her.</p> + +<p>In the darkness among the beams and the +deep shadows of the bells she could hear him +hunting for her, breathing heavily and mak<pb n='345'/><anchor id='Pg345'/>ing +ferocious, inarticulate noises, as she +swung herself up onto the first beam above +and continued to crawl upward.</p> + +<p>"Where are you, little fool?" he cried at +length. "I have business with you before I +cut your throat—that smooth, white throat of +yours that I kissed down there by the <hi rend='italic'>lavoir</hi>!" +There was no sound from her.</p> + +<p>He went back toward the stairs and began +hunting about in the starlight for his pistol; +but there was no parapet on the bell platform, +and he probably concluded that it had fallen +over the edge of the tower into the street.</p> + +<p>Supporting his wounded hand, he stood +glaring blankly about him, and his bloodshot +eyes presently fell on the door to the stairs. +But he must have realized that flight would +be useless for him if he left this girl alive in +her bell-tower, ready to alarm the town the +moment he ran for the stairs.</p> + +<p>With his left hand he fumbled under his +tunic and disengaged a heavy trench knife +from its sheath. The loss of blood was making +his legs a trifle unsteady, but he pulled +himself together and moved stealthily under<pb n='346'/><anchor id='Pg346'/> +the shadows of beam and bell until he came +to the spot he selected. And there he lay +down, the hilt of the knife in his left hand, +the blade concealed by his opened tunic.</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>His heavy groans at last had their effect +on the girl, who had climbed high up into the +darkness, creeping from beam to beam and +mounting from one tier of bells to another.</p> + +<p>Standing on the lowest beam, she cautiously +looked out through an oubliette and saw him +lying on his back near the sheer edge of the +roof.</p> + +<p>Evidently he, also, could see her head silhouetted +against the stars, for he called up +to her in a plaintive voice that he was bleeding +to death and unable to move.</p> + +<p>After a few moments, opening his eyes +again, he saw her standing on the roof beside +him, looking down at him. And he whispered +his appeal in the name of Christ. And in +His name the little bell-mistress responded.</p> + +<p>When she had used the blue kerchief at her +neck for a tourniquet and had checked the +hemorrhage, he was still patiently awaiting a<pb n='347'/><anchor id='Pg347'/> +better opportunity to employ his knife. It +would not do to bungle the affair. And he +thought he knew how it could be properly +done—if he could get her head in the crook +of his muscular elbow.</p> + +<p>"Lift me, dear ministering angel," he whispered +weakly.</p> + +<p>She stooped impulsively, hesitated, then, +suddenly terrified at the blazing ferocity in +his eyes, she shrank back at the same instant +that his broad knife flashed in her very face.</p> + +<p>He was on his feet at a bound, and, as she +raised her voice in a startled cry for help, +he plunged heavily at her, but slipped and fell +in his own blood. Then the clattering jingle +of spurred boots on the stone stairs below +caught his ear. He was trapped, and he +realized it. He slowly got to his feet.</p> + +<p>As Smith and Glenn appeared, springing +out of the low-arched door, the muleteer +Braun turned and faced them.</p> + +<p>There was a silence, then Glenn said, +bitterly:</p> + +<p>"It's you, is it, you dirty Dutchman!"</p> + +<p>"Hands up!" said Smith quietly. "Come<pb n='348'/><anchor id='Pg348'/> +on, now; it's a case of 'Kamerad' for yours."</p> + +<p>Braun did not move to comply with the +demand. Gradually it dawned on them that +the man was game.</p> + +<p>"Maryette!" he called; "where are you?"</p> + +<p>Smith said curiously:</p> + +<p>"What do you want with her, Braun?"</p> + +<p>"I want to speak to her."</p> + +<p>"Come over here, Maryette," said Glenn +sullenly.</p> + +<p>The girl crept out of the shadows. Her +face was ghastly.</p> + +<p>Braun looked at her with pallid scorn:</p> + +<p>"You little, ignorant fool," he said, "I'd have +made you a better lover than you'll ever have +now!"</p> + +<p>He shrugged his square shoulders in contempt, +turned without a glance at Smith and +Glenn, and stepped outward into space. And +as he fell there between sky and earth, hurtling +downward under the stars, Glenn's pistol +flashed twice, killing his quarry in midair +while falling.</p> + +<p>"Can you beat it?" he demanded hoarsely, +turning on Smith. "Ain't that me all over<pb n='349'/><anchor id='Pg349'/>!—soft-hearted +enough to do that skunk a kindness +thataway!"</p> + +<p>But his youthful voice was shaking, and he +stared at the edge of the abyss, listening to +the far tumult now arising from the street +below.</p> + +<p>"Did you shoot?" he inquired, controlling +his nervous voice with an effort.</p> + +<p>"Naw," said Smith disgustedly. "... Now, +Maryette, put one arm around my neck, and +me and the Kid will take you down them +stairs, because you look tired—kind o' peeked +and fussed, what with all this funny business +going on——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Steek! Steek!" she sobbed. "Oh, <hi rend='italic'>mon +ami</hi>, Steek!"</p> + +<p>She began to cry bitterly. Smith picked +her up in his arms.</p> + +<p>"What you need is sleep," he said very +gently.</p> + +<p>But she shook her head: she had business +to transact on her knees that night—business +with the Mother of God that would take all +night long—and many, many other sleepless +nights; and many candles.<pb n='350'/><anchor id='Pg350'/></p> + +<p>She put her left arm around Smith's neck +and hid her tear-wet face on his shoulder. +And, as he bore her out of the high tower +and descended the unlighted, interminable +stairs of stone, he heard her weeping against +his breast and softly asking intercession in +behalf of a dead young man who had tried +to be to her a "Kamerad"—as he understood +it—including the entire gamut, from amorous +beast to fiend.</p> +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 25%'/> +<p>There was a single candle lighted in the bar +of the White Doe. On the "zinc," side by side, +like birds on a rail, sat the two muleteers. +In each big, sunburnt fist was an empty glass; +their spurred feet dangled; they leaned forward +where they sat, hunched up over their +knees, heads slightly turned, as though intently +listening. A haze of cigarette smoke +dimmed the candle flame.</p> + +<p>The drone of an aëroplane high in the midnight +sky came to them at intervals. At last +the sound died away under the far stars.</p> + +<p>By the smoky candle flame Kid Glenn un<pb n='351'/><anchor id='Pg351'/>folded +and once more read the letter that +kept them there:</p> + +<quote rend='display'> +<p>—I ought to get to Sainte Lesse somewhere around midnight. Don't +say a word to Maryette.</p> + +<lg rend='right'> +<l>Jack.</l> +</lg> +</quote> + +<p>Sticky Smith, reading over his shoulder, +slowly rolled another cigarette.</p> + +<p>"When Jack comes," he drawled, "it's +a-goin' to he'p a lot. That Maryette girl's +plumb done in."</p> + +<p>"Sure she's done in," nodded Kid Glenn. +"Wouldn't it do in anybody to shoot up a +young man an' then see him step off the top +of a skyscraper?"</p> + +<p>Smith admitted that he himself had felt +"kind er squeamish." He added: "Gawd, how +he spread when he hit them flags! You +didn't look at him, did you, Kid?"</p> + +<p>"Naw. Say, d'ya think Maryette has gone +to bed?"</p> + +<p>"I dunno. When we left her up there in +her room, I turned and took a peek to see +she was comfy, but she was down onto both +knees before that china virgin on the niche +over her bed."<pb n='352'/><anchor id='Pg352'/></p> + +<p>"She oughter be in bed. You gotta sleep +off a thing like that, or you feel punk next +day," remarked Glenn, meditatively twirling +the last drops of eau-de-vie around in his +tumbler. Then he swallowed them and +smacked his lips. "She'll come around all +O. K. when she sees Jack," he added.</p> + +<p>"Goin' to let him wake her up?"</p> + +<p>"Can you see us stoppin' him? He'd kick +the pants off us——"</p> + +<p>"Sh-h-h!" motioned Smith; "there's a automobile! +By gum! It's stopped!——"</p> + +<p>The two muleteers set their glasses on the +bar, slid to the floor, and marched, clanking, +into the covered way that led to the street. +Smith undid the bolts. A young man stood +outside in the starlight.</p> + +<p>"Well, Jack Burley, you old son of a gun!" +drawled Glenn. "Gawd! You look fit for a +dead one!"</p> + +<p>"We ain't told her!" whispered Smith. +"She an' us done in a Fritz this evening, an' +it sorter turned Maryette's stomach——"</p> + +<p>"Not that she ain't well," explained Glenn +hastily; "only a girl feels different. Stick<pb n='353'/><anchor id='Pg353'/> +an' me, we just took a few drinks, but Maryette, +soon as she got home, she just flopped +down on her knees and asked that china virgin +of hers to go easy on that there Fritz——"</p> + +<p>They had conducted Burley to the bar; both +their arms were draped around his shoulders; +both talked to him at the same time.</p> + +<p>"This here Fritz," began Glenn—but Burley +freed himself from their embrace.</p> + +<p>"Where's Maryette?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>Smith jerked a silent thumb toward the +ceiling.</p> + +<p>"In bed?"</p> + +<p>"Or prayin'."</p> + +<p>Burley flushed, hesitated.</p> + +<p>"G'wan up, anyway," said Glenn. "I reckon +it'll do her a heap o' good to lamp you, you +old son of a gun!"</p> + +<p>Burley turned, went up the short flight of +stairs to her closed door. There was candle-light +shining through the transom. He +knocked with a trembling hand. There was +no answer. He knocked again; heard her +uncertain step; stepped back as her door +opened.</p> + +<p>The girl, a drooping figure in her night +robe, stood listlessly on the threshold. Which +of the muleteers it was who had come to her +door she did not notice. She said:</p> + +<p>"I am very tired. Death is a dreadful +thing. I can't put it from my mind. I am +trying to pray——"</p> + +<p>She lifted her weary eyes and found herself +looking into the face of her own lover. +She turned very white, lovely eyes dilated.</p> + +<p>"Is—is it thou, Djack?"</p> + +<p>"C'est moi, ma ploo belle!"</p> + +<p>She melted into his tightening arms with a +faint cry. Very high overhead, under the +lustrous stars, an aëroplane droned its uncharted +way across a blood-soaked world.</p> + +</div> +</body> + +<back> + +<div rend='advertisement'> +<index index='toc' level1='Advertisement' /> +<index index='pdf' level1='Advertisement' /> +<head>Popular Copyright Novels<lb/><lb/> +AT MODERATE PRICES</head> + +<p>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<lb/> +A. L. Burt Company's Popular Copyright Fiction</p> + +<lg> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Abner Daniel.</hi> By Will N. Harben.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Adventures of Gerard.</hi> By A. Conan Doyle.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Adventures of a Modest Man.</hi> By Robert W. Chambers.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.</hi> By A. Conan Doyle.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The.</hi> By Frank L. Packard.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>After House, The.</hi> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Alisa Paige.</hi> By Robert W. Chambers.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Alton of Somasco.</hi> By Harold Bindloss.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>A Man's Man.</hi> By Ian Hay.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Amateur Gentleman, The.</hi> By Jeffery Farnol.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Andrew The Glad.</hi> By Maria Thompson Daviess.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Ann Boyd.</hi> By Will N. Harben.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Anna the Adventuress.</hi> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Another Man's Shoes.</hi> By Victor Bridges.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Ariadne of Allan Water.</hi> By Sidney McCall.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Armchair at the Inn, The.</hi> By F. Hopkinson Smith.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Around Old Chester.</hi> By Margaret Deland.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Athalie.</hi> By Robert W. Chambers.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>At the Mercy of Tiberius.</hi> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Auction Block, The.</hi> By Rex Beach.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Aunt Jane.</hi> By Jeanette Lee.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Aunt Jane of Kentucky.</hi> By Eliza C. Hall.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Awakening of Helena Richie.</hi> By Margaret Deland.</l> +</lg> + +<lg> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Bambi.</hi> By Marjorie Benton Cooke.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Bandbox, The.</hi> By Louis Joseph Vance.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Barbara of the Snows.</hi> By Harry Irving Green.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Bar 20.</hi> By Clarence E. Mulford.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Bar 20 Days.</hi> By Clarence E. Mulford.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Barrier, The.</hi> By Rex Beach.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Beasts of Tarzan, The.</hi> By Edgar Rice Burroughs.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Beechy.</hi> By Bettina Von Hutten.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Bella Donna.</hi> By Robert Hichens.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Beloved Vagabond, The.</hi> By Wm. J. Locke.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Beltane the Smith.</hi> By Jeffery Farnol.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Ben Blair.</hi> By Will Lillibridge.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Betrayal, The.</hi> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Better Man, The.</hi> By Cyrus Townsend Brady.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Beulah.</hi> (Ill. Ed.) By Augusta J. Evans.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Beyond the Frontier.</hi> By Randall Parrish.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Black Is White.</hi> By George Barr McCutcheon.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Blind Man's Eyes, The.</hi> By Wm. MacHarg & Edwin Balmer.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Bob Hampton of Placer.</hi> By Randall Parrish.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Bob, Son of Battle.</hi> By Alfred Ollivant.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Britton of the Seventh.</hi> By Cyrus Townsend Brady.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Broad Highway, The.</hi> By Jeffery Farnol.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Bronze Bell, The.</hi> By Louis Joseph Vance.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Bronze Eagle, The.</hi> By Baroness Orczy.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Buck Peters, Ranchman.</hi> By Clarence E. Mulford.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Business of Life, The.</hi> By Robert W. Chambers.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>By Right of Purchase.</hi> By Harold Bindloss.</l> +</lg> + +<lg> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Cabbages and Kings.</hi> By O. Henry.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Calling of Dan Matthews, The.</hi> By Harold Bell Wright.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Cape Cod Stories.</hi> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Cap'n Dan's Daughter.</hi> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Cap'n Eri.</hi> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Cap'n Warren's Wards.</hi> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Cardigan.</hi> By Robert W. Chambers.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Carpet From Bagdad, The.</hi> By Harold MacGrath.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Cease Firing.</hi> By Mary Johnson.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Chain of Evidence, A.</hi> By Carolyn Wells.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Chief Legatee, The.</hi> By Anna Katharine Green.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Cleek of Scotland Yard.</hi> By T. W. Hanshew.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Clipped Wings.</hi> By Rupert Hughes.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Coast of Adventure, The.</hi> By Harold Bindloss.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Colonial Free Lance, A.</hi> By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Coming of Cassidy, The.</hi> By Clarence E. Mulford.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Coming of the Law, The.</hi> By Chas. A. Seltzer.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Conquest of Canaan, The.</hi> By Booth Tarkington.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Conspirators, The.</hi> By Robt. W. Chambers.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Counsel for the Defense.</hi> By Leroy Scott.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Court of Inquiry, A.</hi> By Grace S. Richmond.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Crime Doctor, The.</hi> By E.W. Hornung</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure.</hi> By Rex Beach.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Cross Currents.</hi> By Eleanor H. Porter.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Cry in the Wilderness, A.</hi> By Mary E. Waller.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Cynthia of the Minute.</hi> By Louis Jos. Vance.</l> +</lg> + +<lg> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Dark Hollow, The.</hi> By Anna Katharine Green.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Dave's Daughter.</hi> By Patience Bevier Cole.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Day of Days, The.</hi> By Louis Joseph Vance.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Day of the Dog, The.</hi> By George Barr McCutcheon.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Depot Master, The.</hi> By Joseph C. Lincoln.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Desired Woman, The.</hi> By Will N. Harben.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Destroying Angel, The.</hi> By Louis Joseph Vance.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Dixie Hart.</hi> By Will N. Harben.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Double Traitor, The.</hi> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Drusilla With a Million.</hi> By Elizabeth Cooper.</l> +</lg> + +<lg> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Eagle of the Empire, The.</hi> By Cyrus Townsend Brady.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>El Dorado.</hi> By Baroness Orczy.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Elusive Isabel.</hi> By Jacques Futrelle.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Empty Pockets.</hi> By Rupert Hughes.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Enchanted Hat, The.</hi> By Harold MacGrath.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Eye of Dread, The.</hi> By Payne Erskine.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Eyes of the World, The.</hi> By Harold Bell Wright.</l> +</lg> + +<!-- FIXME: correction and bold in TXT --> +<!-- FIXME: lg cannot contain pgIf --> +<pgIf output='txt'> + <then> +<lg> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Felix O'Day.</hi> By F. Hopkinson Smith.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>54-40 or Fight.</hi> By Emerson Hough.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Fighting Chance, The.</hi> By Robert W. Chambers.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Financier, The.</hi> By Theodore Dreiser.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Flamsted Quarries.</hi> By Mary E. Waller.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Flying Mercury, The.</hi> By Eleanor M. Ingram.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>For a Maiden Brave.</hi> By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Four Million, The.</hi> By O. Henry.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Four Pool's Mystery, The.</hi> By Jean Webster.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Fruitful Vine, The.</hi> By Robert Hichens.</l> +</lg> + </then> + <else> +<lg> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Felix O'Day.</hi> By F. Hopkinson Smith.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>54-40 or Fight.</hi> By Emerson Hough.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'><corr sic='50-40'>54-40</corr> or Fight.</hi> By Emerson Hough.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Fighting Chance, The.</hi> By Robert W. Chambers.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Financier, The.</hi> By Theodore Dreiser.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Flamsted Quarries.</hi> By Mary E. Waller.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Flying Mercury, The.</hi> By Eleanor M. Ingram.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>For a Maiden Brave.</hi> By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Four Million, The.</hi> By O. Henry.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Four Pool's Mystery, The.</hi> By Jean Webster.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Fruitful Vine, The.</hi> By Robert Hichens.</l> +</lg> + </else> +</pgIf> + + +<lg> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford.</hi> By George Randolph Chester.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Gilbert Neal.</hi> By Will N. Harben.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Girl From His Town, The.</hi> By Marie Van Vorst.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Girl of the Blue Ridge, A.</hi> By Payne Erskine.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Girl Who Lived in the Woods, The.</hi> By Marjorie Benton +Cook.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Girl Who Won, The.</hi> By Beth Ellis.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Glory of Clementina, The.</hi> By Wm. J. Locke.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Glory of the Conquered, The.</hi> By Susan Glaspell.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>God's Country and the Woman.</hi> By James Oliver Curwood.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>God's Good Man.</hi> By Marie Corelli.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Going Some.</hi> By Rex Beach.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Gold Bag, The.</hi> By Carolyn Wells.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Golden Slipper, The.</hi> By Anna Katharine Green.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Golden Web, The.</hi> By Anthony Partridge.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Gordon Craig.</hi> By Randall Parrish.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Greater Love Hath No Man.</hi> By Frank L. Packard.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Greyfriars Bobby.</hi> By Eleanor Atkinson.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Guests of Hercules, The.</hi> By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.</l> +</lg> + +<lg> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Halcyone.</hi> By Elinor Glyn.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Happy Island</hi> (Sequel to Uncle William). By Jeannette Lee.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Havoc.</hi> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Heart of Philura, The.</hi> By Florence Kingsley.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Heart of the Desert, The.</hi> By Honoré Willsie.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Heart of the Hills, The.</hi> By John Fox, Jr.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Heart of the Sunset.</hi> By Rex Beach.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Heart of Thunder Mountain, The.</hi> By Elfrid A. Bingham.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Heather-Moon, The.</hi> By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Her Weight in Gold.</hi> By Geo. B. McCutcheon.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Hidden Children, The.</hi> By Robert W. Chambers.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Hoosier Volunteer, The.</hi> By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Hopalong Cassidy.</hi> By Clarence E. Mulford.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>How Leslie Loved.</hi> By Anne Warner.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker.</hi> By S. Weir Mitchell, M.D.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Husbands of Edith, The.</hi> By George Barr McCutcheon</l> +</lg> + +<lg> +<l><hi rend='bold'>I Conquered.</hi> By Harold Titus.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Illustrious Prince, The.</hi> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Idols.</hi> By William J. Locke.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Indifference of Juliet, The.</hi> By Grace S. Richmond.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Inez.</hi> (Ill. Ed.) By Augusta J. Evans.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Infelice.</hi> By Augusta Evans Wilson.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>In Her Own Right.</hi> By John Reed Scott.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Initials Only.</hi> By Anna Katharine Green.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>In Another Girl's Shoes.</hi> By Berta Ruck.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Inner Law, The.</hi> By Will N. Harben.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Innocent.</hi> By Marie Corelli.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, The.</hi> By Sax Rohmer.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>In the Brooding Wild.</hi> By Ridgwell Cullum.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Intrigues, The.</hi> By Harold Bindloss.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Iron Trail, The.</hi> By Rex Beach.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Iron Woman, The.</hi> By Margaret Deland.</l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Ishmael.</hi> (Ill.) By Mrs. Southworth.</l> +</lg> +</div> + + +<div rend='dustjacket'> +<index index='pdf' level1='Jacket Flap Text'/> +<index index='toc' level1='Jacket Flap Text'/> +<head>BARBARIANS<lb/><lb/> +By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</head> + +<p>In this story Mr. Chambers deals +with the early years of the Great +War. Sickened by what seems to +them at that time indifference on the +part of the American Government, an +odd group of men meet on the decks +of a mule transport. They have been +drawn to this common rendezvous by +a desire to enter the war and purge +their souls in the fight for the freedom +of the world.</p> + +<p>There are twelve in the group, +eight Americans, three Frenchmen, +and a Belgian, and prominent among +them is Jim Neeland, whose earlier +experiences Mr. Chambers has related +in the "Dark Star."</p> + +<p>Barbarians records the adventures +of these men, not together, but singly +or in groups, along the whole western +battle front, from the Belgian coast +to the mountains of Alsace. It is +filled with unusual character sketches +of the lives of the men in the +Trenches, and of life in the little +towns just inside the lines of Battle. +Through it all there is great beauty +and wonderful sense of justice and +right that is indeed more precious +than peace.</p> + +<p>Other Books by Robert W. Chambers:</p> + +<!-- FIXME: corr and bold formatting in TXT mode --> +<!-- FIXME: lg cannot contain pgIf --> +<pgIf output='txt'> + <then> +<lg> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Adventures of a Modest Man</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Alisa Paige</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Athalie</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Business of Life, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Cardigan</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Conspirators, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Fighting Chance, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Hidden Children, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'><corr sic='The Girl Phillippa'>Girl Phillippa, The</corr></hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Red Republic, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Dark Star, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Who Goes There?</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Younger Set, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Japonette</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Streets of Ascalon</hi></l> +</lg> + </then> + <else> +<lg> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Adventures of a Modest Man</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'><corr sic='Ailsa'>Alisa</corr> Paige</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Athalie</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Business of Life, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Cardigan</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Conspirators, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Fighting Chance, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Hidden Children, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'><corr sic='The Girl Phillippa'>Girl Phillippa, The</corr></hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Red Republic, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Dark Star, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Who Goes There?</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Younger Set, The</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Japonette</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='bold'>Streets of Ascalon</hi></l> +</lg> + </else> +</pgIf> + +<lg> +<l>A. L. BURT COMPANY</l> +<l>Publishers,—New York</l> +</lg> +</div> + + +<div rend='advertisement'> +<index index='toc' level1='Advertisement' /> +<index index='pdf' level1='Advertisement' /> +<head>THE NEWEST BOOKS<lb/><lb/> +IN POPULAR REPRINT FICTION</head> + +<p>Only Books of Superior Merit and Popularity are Published in this List</p> + +<!-- FIXME: corr and bold formatting in TXT --> +<pgIf output='txt'> + <then> +<p><hi rend='bold'>TARZAN AND THE JEWELS OF OPAR.</hi> By Edgar Rice +Burroughs.</p> + </then> + <else> +<p><hi rend='bold'>TARZAN AND THE JEWELS OF OPAR<corr sic=','>.</corr></hi> By Edgar Rice +Burroughs.</p> + </else> +</pgIf> + +<p rend='i2'>The Tarzan books need no introduction. Thousands are waiting for this volume, +being further adventures of TARZAN OF THE APES, and volume five +of the series.</p> + +<p><hi rend='bold'>LONG LIVE THE KING.</hi> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.</p> + +<p rend='i2'>This is a story of love, intrigue and adventure in a European court. In this +story Mrs. Rinehart combines mystery, heart interest, and excitement of her past +successes into a story that will be hailed as the most interesting of all her +stories.</p> + +<p><hi rend='bold'>WE CAN'T HAVE EVERYTHING.</hi> By Rupert Hughes.</p> + +<p rend='i2'>A novel of metropolitan life, of a girl who had never had anything and of a +man who had always had everything, and of the manner in which his richness +and her poverty colored each other, and the lives of many other persons as well.</p> + +<p><hi rend='bold'>BARBARIANS.</hi> By Robert W. Chambers.</p> + +<p rend='i2'>Brave, reckless, idealistic chaps—careless of peril, unafraid of death—who deliberately +sought danger and the venturesome life as found during the war, over +there. The adventures will hold the reader breathless and the romance will +delight.</p> + +<p><hi rend='bold'>THE FORFEIT.</hi> By Ridgwell Cullum.</p> + +<p rend='i2'>A ranch story of Montana which centers around the fact that the leader of +the "Lightfoot Rustlers" and the likeable but devil-may-care brother of the hero +are one and the same. Cullum is a "big" western story writer.</p> + +<p><hi rend='bold'>UNDER HANDICAP.</hi> By Jackson Gregory.</p> + +<p rend='i2'>Here is a story which is a strong picture of the changing of a western desert +into a land of usefulness, by irrigation. The story has a pleasing romance, yet +exciting at times, with adventures of more than one kind. Every reader of +"The Outlaw" will want this book.</p> + +<p><hi rend='bold'>THE TRIUMPH.</hi> By Will N. Harben.</p> + +<p rend='i2'>Loyalty is the keynote of this story, loyalty of the hero to his patriotic duty, +loyalty of a daughter to her father, and loyalty of a lover to his sweetheart. +The followers, of Mr. Harben will enjoy another of his southern stories.</p> + +<p><hi rend='bold'>PIP.</hi> By Ian Hay (Capt. Ian Hay Beith), Author of "The First +Hundred Thousand."</p> + +<p rend='i2'>A story of English school boys, their pleasures and pains, their sports and escapades, +that might be called a modern "Tom Brown," but a Tom Brown brimming +with laughter and with the slang of the day.</p> + +<p><hi rend='bold'>MISS MILLION'S MAID.</hi> By Berta Ruck.</p> + +<p rend='i2'>Another ingenious Berta Ruck plot in which a high-spirited girl of twenty-three, +well-bred, but penniless, flies in the face of tradition, becoming a maid of a +newly-made heiress. So entangled grow the love affairs of mistress and maid +that the reader has a merry time with the author in steering the girls on the +road to happiness.</p> + +<p><hi rend='bold'>ENOCH CRANE.</hi> By F. Hopkinson and F. Berkeley Smith.</p> + +<p rend='i2'>A story of New York specially. The scene is Waverly Place, in one of the +characteristic old houses of that section. In this respect the story is very similar +to "Peter," Mr. Smith's most popular book.</p> + +<p><hi rend='bold'>PARTNERS OF THE NIGHT.</hi> By Leroy Scott.</p> + +<p rend='i2'>Although a detective story, it is one altogether different from those of the ordinary +detective story writer. It is a story of the plain-clothes men and criminals +of New York, with a splendid romance.</p> + + +<p>For sale by all booksellers.</p> + +<p>A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 East <corr sic='23d'>23rd</corr> Street, New York</p> +</div> + +<div> + <divGen type='pgfooter' /> +</div> +</back> +</text> +</TEI.2> diff --git a/25623-tei/images/frontis.jpg b/25623-tei/images/frontis.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2a00b85 --- /dev/null +++ b/25623-tei/images/frontis.jpg diff --git a/25623-tei/images/i001_1.jpg b/25623-tei/images/i001_1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..56b5ba1 --- /dev/null +++ b/25623-tei/images/i001_1.jpg |
