Part 29 (1/2)

”Look at him volplane--motor at full speed, too!”

The pilot was young Etzel, who, as Lanstron had observed, would charge a church tower if he were bidden. He was taking no risks in missing. His ego had no cosmos except that huge, oblong gas-bag. He drove for it as a hawk goes for its prey. One life for a number of lives--the sacrifice of a single aeroplane for a costly dirigible--that was an exchange in favor of the Browns. And Etzel had taken an oath in his heart--not standing on a cafe table--that he would never let any dirigible that he attacked escape.

”Into it! Making sure! Oh, splen--O!” cried the artillery commander.

A ball of lightning shot forth sheets of flame. Dirigible and plane were hidden in an ugly swirl of yellowish smoke, rolling out into a purple cloud that spread into prismatic mist over the descent of cavorting human bodies and broken machinery and twisted braces, flying pieces of tattered or burning cloth. David has taken Goliath down with him in a death grip.

An aeroplane following the dirigible as a screen, hoping to get home with information if the dirigible were lost, had escaped the sharpshooters in the church tower by flying around the town. However, it ran within range of the automatic and the sharpshooters on top of the castle tower. They failed of the bull's-eye, but their bullets, r.i.m.m.i.n.g the target, crippling the motor, and cutting braces, brought the crumpling wings about the helpless pilot. The watching gunners uttered ”Ahs!” of horror and triumph as they saw him fall, gliding this way and that, in the agony of slow descent.

”Come, now!” called the artillery commander. ”We are wasting precious time.”

Entering the grounds of the Galland house, Marta had to pa.s.s to one side of the path, now blocked by army wagons and engineers' materials and tools. Soldiers carrying sand-bags were taking the shortest cut, trampling the flowers on their way.

”Do you know whose property this is?” she demanded in a burst of anger.

”Ours--the nation's!” answered one, perspiring freely at his work.

”Sorry!” he added on second thought.

Already parts of the first terrace were shoulder-high with sand-bags and one automatic had been set in place, Marta observed as she turned to the veranda. There her mother sat in her favorite chair, hands relaxed as they rested on its arms, while she looked out over the valley in the supertranquillity that comes to some women under a strain--as soldiers who have been on sieges can tell you--that some psychologists interpret one way and some another, none knowing even their own wives.

”Marta, did any of the children come?” Mrs. Galland asked in her usual pleasant tone. So far as she was concerned, the activity on the terrace did not exist. She seemed oblivious of the fact of war.

”Yes, seven.”

”And did you hold your session?”

”Yes.”

Marta's monosyllables absently answering the questions were expressive of her wonder at her mother. Most girls do not know their mothers much better than psychologists know their wives.

”I am glad of that, Marta. I am glad you went and sorry that I opposed your going, because, Marta, whatever happens one should go regularly about what he considers his duty,” said Mrs. Galland. ”They have been as considerate as they could, evidently by Colonel Lanstron's orders,” she proceeded, nodding toward the industrious engineers. ”And they've packed all the paintings and works of art and put them in the cellar, where they will be safe.”

The captain of engineers in command, seeing Marta, hurried toward her.

”Miss Galland, isn't it?” he asked. ”I have been waiting for you.

I--I--well, I found that I could not make the situation clear to your mother.”

”He thinks me in my second childhood or out of my head,” Mrs. Galland explained with a shade of tartness. ”And he has been so polite in trying to conceal his opinion, too,” she added with a comprehending smile.

The captain flushed in embarra.s.sment.

”I--I can't speak too strongly,” he declared when he had regained his composure. ”Though everything seems safe here now, it may not be in an hour. You must go, all of you. This house will be in an inferno as soon as the 53d falls back, and I can't possibly get your mother to appreciate the fact, Miss Galland.”

”But I said that I did appreciate it and that the Gallands have been in infernos before--perhaps not as bad as the one that is coming--but, then, the Gallands must keep abreast of the times,” replied Mrs.

Galland. ”I have asked Minna and she prefers to remain. I am glad of that. I am glad now that we kept her, Marta. She is as loyal as my old maid and the butler and the cook were to your grandmother in the last war. Ah, the Gallands had many servants then!”

”This isn't like the old war. This place will be sh.e.l.led, enfiladed! And you two--” the captain protested desperately.

”I became a Galland when I married,” said Mrs. Galland, ”and the Galland women have always remained with their property in time of war.

Naturally, I shall remain!”