Chambers Robert William
The Girl Philippa

CHAPTER XXX

It was still very early as Warner walked up to the Golden Peach, but Magda and Linette were astir and a delicious aroma of coffee floated through the hallway.

Warner surveyed his most recent acquisition with a humorous and slightly disgusted air. As it appeared impossible to get rid of Asticot, there seemed nothing to do but to feed him.

So he called out Linette and asked her to give some breakfast to the young voyou; and Linette showed Asticot into the bar and served breakfast with a scorn and aloofness which fascinated Asticot and also awed him.

None of the leering impudence, none of the easy effrontery of the outer boulevards, aided Asticot to assert himself or helped him toward any attempt at playfulness toward this wholesome, capable, business-like young woman.

She served him with a detached and supercilious air, placed cover and food with all the nonchalance of serving a house cat with its morning milk. And Asticot dared not even look at her until her back was turned; then only did he venture to lift his mousy eyes to study the contemptuous girl who had provided him with what he spoke of as the "quoi d'boulotter."

As for Warner, he had sauntered into the kitchen, where Madame Arlon greeted him heartily, and was prettily confused and flattered when he seated himself and insisted on having breakfast with her.

Over their café-au-lait they discussed the menace of invasion very quietly, and the stout, cheery landlady told him that she had concluded to keep the inn open in any event.

"What else is there for me to do?" she asked. "To leave my house is to invite robbery; perhaps even destruction, if the Prussians arrive. I had rather remain and protect my property if I can. At any rate, it will not be for long, God willing!"

"I do not believe it will last very long, this headlong rush of the Germans into France," he said thoughtfully. "It seems to me as though they had the start of us, but nothing more serious. I'm very much afraid we are going to see them here in the Récollette Valley before they are driven back across the frontier."

Linette's cheeks grew very red.

"I had even rather serve that frightful voyou in there than be forced to set food before a Prussian," she said in a low voice.

"Wait a bit longer," said Warner. " – A little patience, perhaps a little more humiliation, but, sooner or later, surely, surely the liberation of the Vosges – the return of her lost children to France, the driving out of German oppression, arrogance, and half-cooked civilization forever… It's worth waiting for, worth endurance and patience and sacrifice."

"It is worth dying for," said Magda simply.

"If," added Linette, "one only knew how best to serve France by offering one's life."

"It is best to live if that can be accomplished honorably," said Madame Arlon. "France is in great need of all her children."

The three women spoke thoughtfully, naturally, with no idea of heroics, expressing themselves without any self-consciousness whatever.

After a silence Warner said to Linette with a smile:

"So you don't admire my new assistant, Monsieur Asticot?"

"Monsieur Warner! That dreadful voyou in yourservice!"

Warner laughed:

"It seems so. I didn't invite him. But I can't get rid of him. He sticks like a lost dog."

"Send him about his business – which doubtless is to pick pockets!" cried Linette. "Monsieur has merely to whisper 'Gendarmes!' to him, and he does not stop running until he sights the Eiffel Tower!"

Madame Arlon smiled:

"He really is a dreadful type," she said. "The perfume of Paris gutters clings to him. Monsieur Warner had better get rid of him before articles begin to be missed."

"Oh, well," remarked Warner, "he'll probably scuttle away like a scared rabbit when the Germans come through Saïs. I'm not worrying. Meanwhile, he carries my field kit and washes brushes – if I ever can make up my mind to begin painting again… That heavy, steady thunder from the north seems to take all ambition out of me."

"It affects me like real thunder," nodded Madame Arlon. "The air is lifeless and dead; one's feet drag and one's head grows heavy. It is like the languor which comes over one before a storm.

"Do the guns seem any louder to you since last night?"

"I was wondering… Well, God's will be done… But I do not believe it is in His heart to turn the glory of His face from France… Magda, if we are to make the preserves today, it will be necessary for you to gather plums this morning. Linette, is that type still eating?"

"He stuffs himself without pause," replied the girl scornfully. "Only a guinea pig can eat like that!"

She went into the bar café and bent a pair of pretty but hostile eyes upon Asticot, who stared at her with his mouth full, then, still staring, buttered another slice of bread.

"Voyons," she said impatiently, "do you imagine yourself to be at dinner, young man? Permit me to remind you that this is breakfast – café-au-lait – not a banquet at the Hôtel de Ville!"

"I am hungry," said Asticot simply.

"Really?" she retorted, exasperated. "One might almost guess as much, what with the tartines and tranches you swallow as though you had nothing else to do. Come, stand up on what I suppose you call your feet. Your master is out in the road already, and I don't suppose that even you have the effrontery to keep him waiting."

Asticot arose; a gorged sigh escaped him. He stretched himself with the satisfaction of repletion, shuffled his feet, peeped cunningly and sideways out of his mousy eyes at Linette.

"Allons," she said coldly, "it's paid for. Fichez-moi le camp!"

There was a vase of flowers on the bar. Asticot shuffled over, sniffed at them, extracted the largest and gaudiest blossom – a yellow dahlia – and, with a half bold, half scared smirk, laid it on the table as an offering to Linette.

The girl was too much astonished and incensed to utter a word, and Asticot left so hurriedly that when she had recovered her power of speech he was already slouching along down the road a few paces behind Warner.

The latter had hastened his steps because ahead of him walked Sister Eila; and he meant to overtake and escort her as far as the school, and then back to the Château, if she were returning.

As he joined her and they exchanged grave but friendly greetings, he suddenly remembered her as he had last seen her, kneeling asleep by the chapel pillar.

And then he recollected what she had murmured, still drowsy with dreams; and the memory of it perplexed him and left his face flushed and troubled.

"How is your patient, Sister?" he inquired, dropping into step beside her.

"Much better, Mr. Warner. A little care is all he needs. But I wish his mind were at rest." She glanced behind her at Asticot, plainly wondering who he might be.

"What worries Gray?" inquired Warner.

"The prospect of being taken prisoner, I suppose."

"Of course. If the Germans break through from the north they'll take him along. That would be pretty hard luck, wouldn't it? – To be taken before one has even a taste of battle!"

Sister Eila nodded:

"He says nothing, but I know that is what troubles him. When I came in this morning, I found him up and trying to walk. I sent him back to bed. But he tells me he does not need to use his legs in his branch of the British service, and that if he could only get to Chalons he would be fit for duty. I think, from things he has said, that both he and Mr. Halkett belong to the Flying Corps."

Warner was immensely interested. Sister Eila told him briefly why she suspected this to be true, then, casting another perplexed glance behind her, she asked in a low voice who might be the extremely unprepossessing individual shuffling along the road behind them. And Warner told her, humorously; but she did not smile.

Watching her downcast eyes and grave lips in the transparent shadow of her white coiffe, he thought he had never seen a human face so pure, so tender – with such infinite capacity for charity.

She said very gently:

"My duties have led me more than once into the Faubourgs. There is nothing sadder to me than Paris… Always I have believed that sin and degradation among the poor should be treated as diseases of the mind… Poor things – they have no doctor, no medicines, no hospital to aid them in their illness – the most terrible illness in the world, which they inherit at birth – poverty! Poverty sickens the body, and at last the mind; and from a diseased mind all evil in the world is born… They are not to blame who daily crucify Christ; for they know not what they do."

He walked silently beside her. She spoke again of crippled minds, and of the responsibility of civilization, then looked up at his gloomy visage with a faint smile, excusing herself for any lack of cheerfulness and courage.

"Indeed," she said almost gayly, "God is best served with a light heart, I think. There is no palladin like good humor to subdue terror and slay despair; no ally of Christ so powerful as he who laughs when evil threatens. Sin is most easily slain with a smile, I think; its germs die under it as bacilli die in the sunlight. Tenez, Monsieur Warner, what do you think of my theories of medicine, moral, spiritual, and mundane? Is it likely that the Academy will award me palms?"

He laughed and assured her that her views were sound in theory and in practice. A moment later they came in sight of the school.

"It is necessary that I make some little arrangements with Sister Félicité for my absence," she explained. "I scarcely know what she is going to do all alone here, if the children are to remain."

They went into the schoolroom, where exercises had already begun, and the droning, minor singsong of children filled the heavy air.

Sister Félicité greeted Warner, then, dismissing the children to their desks, withdrew to a corner of the schoolroom with Sister Eila.

Their low-voiced consultation lasted for a few minutes only; the little girls, hands solemnly folded, watched out of wide, serious eyes.

On the doorstep outside, Asticot sat and occasionally scratched his large ears with a sort of bored embarrassment.

Warner went out to the doorstep presently and looked up at the sky, which threatened rain. As he stood there, silent, preoccupied, Sister Eila came out with Sister Félicité, nodding to Warner that she was ready to leave. And, at the same instant, two horsemen in grey uniforms rode around the corner of the school, pistols lifted, lances without pennons slanting backward from their armslings.

Asticot, paralyzed, gaped at them; Warner, as shocked as he, stood motionless as four more Uhlans came trotting up and coolly drew bridle before the school.

Already three of the Uhlans had dismounted, stacked lances, abandoning their bridles to the three who remained on their horses.

As they came striding across the road toward the school, spurs and carbines clinking and rattling, a child in the schoolroom caught sight of them and screamed.

Instantly the room was filled with the terrified cries of little girls: Sister Eila and Sister Félicité, pale but calm, backed slowly away before the advancing Uhlans, their arms outstretched in protection in front of the shrieking, huddling herd of children. Behind them the terrified little girls crouched under desks, hid behind the stove, or knelt clinging hysterically to the grey-blue habits of the Sisters, who continued to interpose themselves between the Uhlans and their panic-stricken pupils.

The Uhlans glanced contemptuously at Asticot as they mounted the door steps, looked more closely at Warner; then one of them walked, clanking, into the schoolroom, lifting his gloved hand to his helmet in salute.

Sister Félicité tried vainly to quiet the screaming children; Sister Eila, her head high, confronted the Uhlans, both arms extended.

"Stop where you are!" she said coolly. "What do you wish, gentlemen? Don't you see that you are frightening our children? If you desire to speak to us we will go outside."

An Uhlan clumsily tried to reassure and make friends with a little girl who had hidden herself behind the stove. She fled from him, sobbing, and threw herself on her knees behind Sister Eila, hanging to her skirts.

"Pas méchant," repeated the big cavalryman, with a good-natured grin; "moi, père de famille! Beaucoup enfants à moi. Pas peur de moi. Vous est bon Français."

Another Uhlan pointed inquiringly at Warner, who had placed himself beside Sister Félicité.

"Anglais?" he demanded.

"American," said Sister Eila calmly.

"Oh," he exclaimed with a wry grin. "Americans are our friends. Frenchmen have our respect. We salute them as brave enemies. But not the English! Therefore, do not be afraid. We Germans mean no harm to peaceful people. You shall see; we are not barbarians! Tell your children we are not ogres."

He stood tall and erect in his grey, close-fitting uniform, looking curiously about him. The plastron of the tunic, or ulanka, was piped with yellow, and bore the galons and the heraldic buttons of a Feldwebel. The shoulder strap bore the number 3; the boots and belt were of tan-colored leather; all metal work was mat-silver; spurs, saber, were oxidized; and the oddly shaped helmet, surmounted by the mortar board, was covered with a brown holland slip bearing the regimental number.

The children had become deathly silent, staring with wide and frightened eyes upon these tall intruders; the Sisters of Charity stood motionless, calm, level-eyed; Warner, wondering why the Uhlans had entered the school, had drawn Sister Eila's arm through his, and remained beside her watching the Germans with undisturbed curiosity and professional interest. Afterward his well-known picture of the incident was bought by the French Government.

The Wachtmeister in charge of the peloton turned to him with a sort of insolent civility.

"Wie viel Kilometer ist es bis Ausone?" he inquired.

Warner made no reply.

"Wie heisst dieser Ort?" The Wachtmeister had raised his voice insolently.

"Saïs," replied Warner carelessly.

"Sind hier deutsche Truppen durchmarschiert?"

Warner remained silent.

"Sind deutsche Truppen im Walde?"

"There is no use asking an American for information," said Warner bluntly. "You'll get none from me."

Instantly the man's face changed.

"So! Eh, bien! Qui cherche à s'esquiver sera fusillé!" he said in excellent French. "Unlock every door in the house. If there are any dogs tie them up. If they bark, you will be held responsible. Don't move! Keep those children where they are until we have finished!"

He nodded to a trooper behind him. The Uhlan instantly drew a short hammer and a cold chisel from his pouch, knelt down, and with incredible rapidity ripped up a plank from the hardwood floor, laying bare to view the solid concrete underneath.

"Sound it!"

The trooper sounded the concrete with the heavy butt of his chisel.

"All right!" The non-com touched his schapska in salute to the Sisters of Charity. "Take your children away before noon. We need this place. German troops will occupy it in half an hour." Then he swung around and shot an ugly glance at Warner.

"If you are as neutral as you pretend to be, see that you are equally reticent toward the French when we let you go… You may be American, but you behave like an Englishman. You annoy me; do you understand?"

Warner shrugged his shoulders.

"What do you mean by that gesture of disrespect?" demanded the Uhlan sharply.

"I mean that you ask improper questions and you know it!"

"I ask what I choose to ask!" he said angrily. "I think I shall take you with us, anyway, and not leave you here!"

"You'll only get into trouble with my Government and your own – "

"Take that man!" shouted the Uhlan in a passion. "I'll find out what he is – "

A shot rang loudly from the road outside; the Uhlans turned in astonishment, then ran for the door where their comrades flung them their bridles. They seized their lances and scrambled into their saddles, still disconcerted and apparently incredulous of any serious danger to themselves. Then another Uhlan who had cantered off down the road suddenly fired from his saddle; the others, bending forward, scanned the road intently for a moment; then the whole peloton swung their horses, spurred over the ditch and up the grassy bank, trotted in single file through the hedge gate, and, putting their horses to a gallop, headed straight across the meadow toward the river and the quarry bridge beyond.

They had reached the river willows and were already galloping through them when, far away toward the south end of the meadow, a horseman trotted into view, drew bridle, fired at the Uhlans, then launched his horse into a dead run toward them, disengaging his lance from which a pennon flew gayly.

After him, bending forward in their saddles, came two score riders in pale blue jackets, lances advanced, urging their wiry horses, spurring hard to intercept the Uhlans.

But the Germans, who had gained the bridge, were now galloping over it, and they disappeared amid a distant racket of shots.

To the spectators at the school door, it all looked like a pretty, harmless, unreal scene artistically composed and arranged for moving-picture purposes; the wide, flat green meadow was now swarming with the pale blue and white laced dolmans of French hussar lancers. Everywhere they were galloping, trotting, maneuvering; a section of a light battery appeared, drew rapidly nearer, went plunging across the meadow hub-deep in wild flowers, swung the guns and dropped them at the bridge, making the demi-tour at a gallop.

Back came the caissons, still at a gallop; the dark, distant figures of the cannoniers moved rapidly for a moment around each gun; a tiny figure held up one arm, dropped it; crack! echoed the report of the field-piece; up went the arm, down it jerked; crack! went the other.

From a front room overhead Warner and Sister Eila were leaning out and watching the lively spectacle along the river.

"It looks to me," he said, "as though the Germans were in the cement works… By George! They are! The yards and quarries are alive with their cavalry! Look! Did you see that shell hit the stone crusher? There goes another. The big chimney on the Esser Works is falling – look! – down it comes! Our gunners have knocked it into dust!"

Another section of artillery came plunging into view across the meadows, the drivers spurring and lashing, the powerful horses bounding forward, and the guns jumping and bouncing over the uneven ground.

It was like a picture book – exactly what the layman expects of a battle – a wide, unobstructed view over a flat green meadow, artillery at a gallop with officers spurring ahead; brilliantly uniformed cavalry arriving in ever-increasing squadrons, some dismounting and deploying, others drawn up here and there under serried thickets of lances. But there was no smoke, only a dusky, translucent haze clinging for a moment to the gun muzzles; no enemy in sight save for a scrambling dot here and there among the quarry hills where, from the cement works, a cloud of dust rose and widened, veiling the trees and hillsides.

For a while the lively rattle of the fusillade continued, but in a few minutes a six-gun battery arrived and went into ear-splitting action, almost instantly extinguishing the German fire from the quarry. A few more ragged volleys came, then only dropping shots from their carbines as the hussars rode forward and broke into a gallop across the quarry bridge.

More cavalry was arriving all the while, dragoons and chasseurs-à-cheval, all riding leisurely toward the quarry. More artillery was coming, too, clanking and bumping up the road, a great jolting column of field batteries, not in a hurry, paying little attention to the lively proceedings across the river, where the German cavalry was retreating over the rolling country toward the eastern hills and the blue hussars were riding after them.

The artillery passed the school and continued on toward Ausone. Behind them came infantry with their swinging, slouchy stride, route step, mildly interested in the doings of the cavalry in the meadow, more interested in the Sisters of Charity leaning from the schoolhouse windows and the excited children crowding at the open door.

Not very far beyond the school a regiment turned out into a stubble field and stacked arms. Other regiments swung out east and west along the Route de Saïs, stacked arms, let go sacks, and went to work with picks and spades.

More artillery rumbled by; then came some engineers and a pontoon train which turned out toward the river opposite the school after the engineers had opened a way through the hedge stile.

Sister Eila and Warner had returned from the upper story to stand on the doorstep among the children.

"One thing is certain," he said in her ear; "Sister Félicité will have to take the children away tonight. The infantry yonder are intrenching, and all these wagons and material that are passing mean that the valley is to be defended."

The young Sister nodded and whispered to Sister Félicité, who looked very grave.

Some odd-looking, long, flat motor trucks were lumbering by; the freight which they carried was carefully covered with brown canvas. Other trucks were piled high with sections of corrugated iron, hollow steel tubes, and bundles of matched boards and planking.

For these vehicles there was a dragoon escort.

"Aeroplanes and material for portable sheds," said Warner. "They intend to erect hangars. There is going to be trouble in the valley of the Récollette."

He turned and looked out and around him, and saw the valley already alive with soldiers. Across the river on the quarry road they were also moving now, cavalry and artillery; and, as far as he could follow eastward with his eye, red-legged soldiers were continuing the lines of trenches already begun on this side of the river.

An officer of hussars rode up, saluted the Sisters and Warner, glanced sharply at Asticot, who had flattened himself against the vines on the schoolhouse wall, and, leaning forward from his saddle, asked if the German cavalry had been there that morning.

"Six Uhlans, mon capitaine," said Warner. "They ripped up a plank from the floor; I can't imagine why. You can see it through the door from where you sit your saddle."

The officer rode up close to the steps and looked into the schoolroom.

"Thank you, Monsieur. You see what they've done, I suppose?"

"No, I didn't understand."

"It is simple. The Esser cement works across the river built this school two years ago. It's a German concern. While they were about it they laid down a few cement gun platforms – with an eye to this very moment which confronts us now."

He shrugged his shoulders:

"The Esser cement works over there are full of gun emplacements in cement, masquerading as pits, retaining walls, foundations, and other peaceful necessities. A British officer discovered all this only a few days ago – "

"Captain Halkett!" exclaimed Warner, inspired.

The Hussar glanced at him, surprised and smiling.

"Yes, Monsieur. Are you acquainted with Captain Halkett?"

"Indeed, I am! And," he turned to the Sisters of Charity, "he is a good friend of all of us."

"He is my friend, also," said the Hussar warmly. "He has told me about Saïs and how, masquerading as a quarry workman one evening, he discovered gun platforms along the Récollette and among the quarries. You understand they were very cunning, those Germans, and the cement works and quarries of Herr Heinrich von Esser are all ready to turn those hills yonder into a fortress. Which," he added, laughing, "we may find very convenient."

Sister Eila, standing beside the horse's head, stroked it, looking up at the officer out of grave eyes.

"Is Captain Halkett well?" she asked calmly.

"I think so, Sister. I saw him yesterday."

"If you see him again, would you say to him that Captain Gray is at the Château des Oiseaux recovering from an accident?"

"Yes, I will tell him, Sister; but he must be around here somewhere – "

"Here!" exclaimed Warner.

"Why, yes. Our aëroplanes have just passed through. A British Bristol biplane is among them in charge of a flight-lieutenant – Ferris, I think his name is. Captain Halkett ought to be somewhere about. Possibly he may be superintending the disembarkment and the erection of the sheds."

He pointed northwest, adding that he understood the sheds were to be erected on the level stretch of fields beyond the school.

"However, I shall give him your message, Sister, if I meet him," he said, saluted them ceremoniously in turn, cast another puzzled and slightly suspicious glance at Asticot, and rode away.

"I should like to find Halkett," said Warner. "I certainly should like to see him again. We had become friends, you see. Shall we walk back that way across the fields, Sister Eila?"

Sister Eila turned to Sister Félicité. Her color was high, but she spoke very calmly:

"Had I not better remain with you and help you close the school?"

Sister Félicité shook her head vigorously:

"I can attend to that if it becomes necessary. I shall not budge unless I am called to field duty."

"But the children? Had I not better take some of them home?"

"There's time enough. If there is going to be any danger to them, I can arrange all that."

Sister Eila hesitated, her lovely head lowered.

"If we could find Halkett on our way back," said Warner, "I think he would be very glad to hear from us that Gray is alive."

Sister Eila nodded in silence; Warner made his adieux; the Sisters of Charity consulted together a moment, then the American and Sister Eila went out through the rear door and through the little garden. And at their heels shuffled Asticot, furtively chewing a purloined apple.