Part 67 (1/2)
”Not that, please!” she broke in. ”I'm as foul and depraved as a dealer in subtle poisons in the Middle Ages! Oh, the shame of it, while I look into his eyes and feign admiration, feign everything which will draw out his plans! I can never forget the sight of him as he told me how two or three or four hundred thousand men were to be crowded into a ram, as he called it--a ram of human fles.h.!.+--and guns enough in support, he said, to tear any redoubts to pieces; guns enough to make their sh.e.l.ls as thick as the bullets from an automatic!”
”We'll meet ram with ram! We'll have some guns, too!” exclaimed Lanstron. ”We'll send as heavy a sh.e.l.l fire at their infantry as they send into our redoubts.”
”Yes; oh, yes!” she replied. ”Westerling couldn't say it any better!
What difference is there between you? Each at his desk is saying: 'This regiment will die here; that regiment will die there!' I bring you word of one human ram going to destruction in order that you may send another to destroy and be destroyed! And I'm worse than you. I am the go-between in the conspiracy of universal murder, sleeping in a good bed every night, in no danger--when I can sleep; but I can't. I go mad from thinking of my part, keying myself up deliriously to each fresh deceit!”
With every sentence her voice broke and it seemed that she would not be able to utter another. Yet she kept on in the alternation of taut, pitiful monotone and dry, coughing sobs.
”How have I ever been able to go as far as I have? How did I get through this last scene? When it seems as if I were about to collapse, something supports me. When the thing grows too horrible and I am about to cry out to Westerling that I am false, I hear his boast that he made the war as a last step in his ambition. And there is Dellarme's smile rising before me. He died so finely in defence of our garden! When my brain goes numb and I can't think what to say, can't act, Feller appears, prompting with ready word and facile change of expression, and I have my wits again. I go on! I go on!”
A racking sob, now, and silence; then, in the sudden effort of one who must change the subject to hold his sanity, she asked:
”How is Feller? Is he doing well?”
”Yes.”
”At least I have brought him happiness. Sometimes I think that is about all the good I have accomplished--I, his successor in carrying out your plans! Oh, I'm burned out, Lanny! I'm ashes. It doesn't seem that I can ever be sane or clean and human again. In order to forget I should have to find a new life, like Feller. Each morning when I look in the mirror I expect to see my hair turned white, like his.”
Lanstron felt her suffering as if it were his own. He had let his patriotic pa.s.sion overwhelm every other consideration. He had allowed her to be a spy; he had sacrificed her sensibilities along with the battalions he had sent into battle. She was right: he was only the inhuman head of a machine. And she and Feller--they were human. Destiny playing in the crux of war's inconsistencies had formed a bond between them.
”But, go on, Lanny. Play your part as you see it--as Westerling sees his and Feller his and I mine,” she said. ”That is the only logic clear to me; only I can't play any more. I haven't the strength.”
”Yes, I shall go on, Marta,” he replied, ”but you must not. Your work is over, and perhaps this last service may bring a quick end and save countless lives.”
”Don't. It's too like Westerling! It has become too trite!” she protested. ”The end! If I really were helping toward that and to save lives and our country to its people, what would my private feelings matter' My honor, my soul--what would anything matter? For that, any sacrifice. I'm only one human being--a weak, lunatic sort of one, just now!”
”Marta, don't suffer so! You are overwrought. You--”
”I can say all that for you, Lanny,” she interrupted with the faintest laugh. ”I've said it so many times to myself. Perhaps when I call you up again I shall not be so hysterical. Tell Feller how I have played his part, and, in the midst of all your responsibilities, remember to give him a chance.”
Lanstron was not thinking of war or war's combination when he hung up the receiver.
”Yes, it is Gustave!” he thought. ”I understand!” It was some moments before he returned to the staff room, and then he had mastered his emotion. He was the soldier again.
”They are clearing the wires for the chief of staff to speak to you, sir,” announced the telephone aide in Feller's eyrie artillery lookout.
Feller received the word with his clucking ”La, la, la!” and hummed a tune while the connection was being made. He had not spoken with Lanny since his own promotion to a colonelcy and Partow's death.
”My ear-drums split for joy at hearing your voice again!” Feller cried.
”A regiment of guns for yours truly! You've made me the happiest man in the world. And haven't I smacked the Grays in the tummy, not to mention in the nose and on the s.h.i.+ns! Well, I should say so! La, la, la!”
”You certainly have, you bully old boy!” said Lanstron. ”Miss Galland sends her congratulations and regards.”
”Eh, what? Her regards to me! The telephone still continues to work? Our own original trunk-tunnel private line? Eh? Tell me; tell me, quick!”
”Yes, she has performed the greatest service of the war--better than you could have done it, Gustave!”
”Whee-ee! Why not? Of course! I'm not surprised. She's the greatest woman in the world, I tell you, and I know! And she sends her regards to her old gardener? Think of that! If trouble never comes singly, why shouldn't joys come in a pour? Oh, it she could see me now, so cosey up here among the birds, chucking sh.e.l.ls about as cheerily as if I were tossing roses to the ladies in a ballroom!”
”She wants you to have every chance,” said Lanstron.