Part 18 (1/2)
The hat in question was a purchase, a wide-brimmed felt such as is common in Flanders. Its Apache slouch, in conjunction with Jan Maertz's oldest clothes and a week's stubble of beard, made Dalroy quite villainous-looking. Except in the details of height and physique, it would, indeed, be difficult for any stranger to a.s.sociate this loose-limbed Belgian labourer with the well-groomed cavalry officer who entered the Friedrich Stra.s.se Station in Berlin on the night of 3rd August. That was as it should be, though the alteration was none the less displeasing to its victim. Irene adopted a huge sun-bonnet, and compromised as to boots by wearing _sabots en cuir_, or clogs.
Singularly enough, white-haired Monsieur Garnier nearly brought matters to a climax as between these two.
On the Wednesday evening, when the last forts of Liege were crumbling, Madame Joos was reported convalescent and asleep, so both girls came to the little _salon_ for a supper of stewed veal.
Naturally the war was discussed first; but the priest was learning to agree with his English friend about its main features. In sheer dismay at the black outlook before his country, he suddenly turned the talk into a more intimate channel.
”What plans have you youngsters made?” he asked. ”Monsieur Joos and I can only look back through the years. The places we know and love are abodes of ghosts. The milestones are tombstones. We can surely count more friends dead than living. For you it is different. The world will go on, war or no war; but Verviers will not become your residence, I take it.”
”Jan and I mean to join our respective armies as soon as Monsieur Joos and the ladies are taken care of, and that means, I suppose, safely lodged in England,” said Dalroy.
”If Leontine likes to marry me first, I'm agreeable,” put in Maertz promptly.
It was a nave confession, and every one laughed except Joos.
”Leontine marries neither you nor any other hulking loafer while there is one German hoof left in Belgium,” vowed the little man warmly.
The priest smiled. He knew where the shoe pinched. Maertz, if no loafer, was not what is vulgarly described as ”a good catch.”
”I've lost my parish,” he said jestingly, ”and, being an inveterate match-maker, am on the _qui vive_ for a job. But if father says 'No' we must wait till mother has a word. Now for the other pair.--What of you?”
Irene blushed scarlet, and dropped her serviette; Dalroy, though flabbergasted, happily hit on a way out.
”I'm surprised at you, monsieur!” he cried. ”Look at mademoiselle, and then run your eye over me. Did ever pretty maid wed such a scarecrow?”
”I must refer that point to mademoiselle,” retorted the priest. ”I don't think either of you would choose a book by the cover.”
”Ah. At last I know the worst,” laughed Dalroy. ”Who would believe that I once posed as the Discobulus in a _tableau vivant_?”
”What's that?” demanded Joos.
Dalroy hesitated. Neither his French nor German was equal to the translation.
”A quoit-thrower,” suggested Irene.
”Quoits!” sniffed the miller. ”I'll take you on at that game any day you like for twenty francs every ringer.”
It was a safe offer. Old Joos was a noted player. He gave details of his prowess. Dalroy, though modestly declining a contest, led him on, and steered the conversation clear of rocks.
Thenceforth, for a whole day, Irene's manner stiffened perceptibly, and Dalroy was miserable. Inexperienced in the ways of the s.e.x, he little dreamed that Irene felt she had been literally thrown at his head.
But graver issues soon dispersed that small cloud. On Sat.u.r.day, 15th August, the thunder of the guns lessened and died down, being replaced by the far more distant and fitful barking of field batteries. But the rumble on the cobbles of the main road continued. What need to ask what had happened? Around Liege lay the silence of death.
Late that afternoon a woman brought a note to Dalroy. It bore no address. She merely handed it to him, and hurried off, with the furtive air of one afraid of being asked for an explanation. It ran:
”DEAR FRIEND,--Save yourself and the others. Lose not a moment.
I have seen a handbill. A big reward is offered. My advice is: go west separately. The messenger I employ is a Christian, but I doubt the faith of many. May G.o.d guard you! I shall accompany you in my thoughts and prayers.--E. G.”
Dalroy found Joos instantly.
”What is our cure's baptismal name?” he inquired.