Part 11 (1/2)

The concierges and the servants began arranging chairs and camp stools around the furnace; the different tenants introduced themselves and their guests. Almost every one was still about when the signal was given, and this cellar where the electric lamps burned brightly soon took on the aspect of a drawing-room, in spite of all. One lone man, however, stood disconsolate, literally suffocating beneath a huge cavalry cape, hooked tight up to his throat. As the perspiration soon began rolling from his forehead, a friend seeking to put him at his ease, suggested he open up his cloak.

The gentleman addressed cast a glance over the a.s.sembled group, broadened out into a smile, and exclaimed--

”I can't. Only got my night s.h.i.+rt underneath.”

The hilarity was general, and the conversation presently became bright and sparkling with humorous anecdotes.

The officers held their audience spellbound with fear and admiration; the women talked hospital and dress, dress and hospital, finally jesting about the latest restrictions. One lady told the story of a friend who engaged a maid, on her looks and without a reference, the which maid shortly became a menace because of her propensity for dropping and breaking china.

One day, drawn towards the pantry by the sound of a noise more terrible than any yet experienced, she found the girl staring at a whole pile of plates--ten or a dozen--which had slipped from her fingers and lay in thousands of pieces on the floor.

The lady became indignant and scolded.

”Ah, if Madame were at the front, she'd see worse than that!” was the consoling response.

”But we're not at the front, I'll have you understand, and what's more neither you nor I have ever been there, my girl.”

”I beg Madame's pardon, but my last place was in a hospital at Verdun, as Madame will see when my papers arrive.”

General laughter was cut short by the sound of two explosions.

”They're here. They've arrived. It will soon be over now,” and like commentaries were added.

A servant popped the cork of a champagne bottle, and another pa.s.sed cakes and candied fruit.

An elderly man who wore a decoration, approached the officers.

”Gentlemen,” said he, ”excuse me for interrupting, but do any of you know the exact depth to which an aeroplane bomb can penetrate?”

The officers gave him a few details, which, however, did not seem to satisfy the old fellow. His anxiety became more and more visible.

”I wouldn't worry, sir, if I were you. There's absolutely no danger down here.”

”Thank you for your a.s.surance, Messieurs,” said he, ”but I'm not in the least anxious about my personal safety. It's my drawings and my collection of porcelains that are causing me such concern. I thought once that I'd box them all up and bring them down here. But you never can tell what dampness or change of temperature might do to a water colour or a gouache. Oh! my poor Fragonards! My poor Bouchers!

Gentlemen, never, never collect water colours or porcelains! Take it from me!”

At that moment the bugle sounded--”All's well,” and as we were preparing to mount the stairs, the old man accosted the officers anew, asking them for the t.i.tles of some books on artillery and fortification.

”That all depends to what use you wish to apply them.”

”Ah, it's about protecting my collection. I simply must do something!

I can't send them to storage, they wouldn't be any safer there, and even if they were I'd die of anxiety so far away from my precious belongings.”

”Good-nights” were said in the vestibule, and the gathering dispersed just as does any group of persons after a theatre or an ordinary reception. But once in the street, it was absolutely useless to even think of a taxi. People were pouring from every doorway, heads stuck out of every window.

”Where did they fall? Which way?”

In the total obscurity, the sound of feet all hurrying in the same direction, accompanied by shouts of recognition, even ripples of laughter, seemed strangely gruesome, as the caravan of curious hastened towards the scene of tragedy.