Part 9 (1/2)
”True, true! But the Prussians are sure of victory, and one's heart aches when one sees them sweep over the land like a pestilence. I haven't told you one-tenth----”
”Why frighten these ladies needlessly? The gun-fire is bad enough. You and I are men, Monsieur Joos. We must try and save our women.”
The miller was spirited, and the implied taunt struck home.
”It's all very well talking in that way,” he cried; ”but what's going to happen to you if a German sees you? _Que diable!_ You look like an Aachen carriage-cleaner, don't you, with your officer air and commanding voice, and your dandy boots, and your fine clothes showing when the workman's smock opens! The lady, too, in a cheap shawl, wearing a blouse and skirt that cost hundreds of francs!--Leontine, take monsieur----”
”Dalroy.”
”Take Monsieur Dalroy to Jan Maertz's room, and let him put on Jan's oldest clothes and a pair of sabots. Jan's clogs will just about fit him. And give mademoiselle one of your old dresses.”
He whirled round on Dalroy. ”What became of Jan Maertz? Did the Germans really kill him? Tell us the truth. Leontine, there, had better know.”
”I think he is safe,” said Dalroy. ”I have already explained to your daughter how the accident came about which separated us. Maertz was pulled out of the driver's seat by the reins when the horses plunged and upset the wagon. He may arrive any hour.”
”The Germans didn't know, then, that you and the lady were in the cart?”
”No.”
”I hope Jan hasn't told them. That would be awkward. But what matter?
You talk like a true man, and I'll do my best for you. It's nothing but nonsense to think of getting away from Vise yet. You're a Liegeois whom I hired to do Jan's work while he went to Aix. Everybody in Vise knows he went there four days ago. I can't lift heavy sacks of grain at my age, and I must have a man's help. You see? Sharp, now. When that fat fellow gets his puff again he'll be here for more supplies. And mind you don't wash your face and hands. You're far too much of a gentleman as it is.”
”One moment,” interrupted Irene. ”I want your promise, Captain Dalroy, that you will not go away without telling me.”
She could not guess how completely old Joos's broken story of the day's events in Vise had changed Dalroy's intent.
”I would as soon think of cutting off my right hand,” he said.
Their eyes met and clashed. It was dark in the mill's kitchen, even at midday; but the girl felt that the tan of travel and exposure on her face was yielding to a deep crimson. ”Come, Leontine,” she cried almost gaily, ”show me how to wear one of your frocks. I'll do as much for you some day in London.”
”You be off, too,” growled Joos to Dalroy. ”When the Germans come they must see you about the place.”
The old man was shrewd in his way. The sooner these strangers became members of the household the less likely were they to attract attention.
Thus it came about that both Dalroy and Irene were back in the kitchen, and clothed in garments fully in keeping with their new roles, when a commissariat wagon entered the yard. A Bavarian corporal did not trouble to open the door in the ordinary way. He smashed the latch with his shoulder. ”Why is this door closed?” he demanded fiercely.
”Monsieur----” began Joos.
”Speak German, you swine!”
”I forgot the order, Herr Kaporal. As you see, it was only on the latch.”
”Don't let it happen again. Load the first wagon with hay and the second with flour. While you're at it, these women can cook us a meal. Where do you keep your wine?”
”Everything will be put on the table, _mons_--Herr Kaporal.”
”None of your lip!--Here, you, the pretty one, show me the wine-cupboard. I'll make my own selection. We Bavarians are famous judges of good wine and pretty women, let me tell you.”
The corporal's wit was highly appreciated by the squad of four men who accompanied him. They had all been drinking. It is a notable fact that during the early days of the invasion of Belgium and France--in effect, while wine and brandy were procurable by theft--the army which boasts the strictest discipline of any in the world was unquestionably the most drunken that has ever waged successful war.
Irene was ”the pretty one” chosen as guide by this hulking connoisseur, but she knew how to handle boors of his type.