Part 9 (2/2)

There seemed to be no end to the fruit season that summer. The lengthy table in the servants' hall was literally covered with gla.s.ses containing jam and jelly of every description, awaiting their paper lids. Nini said there were over five hundred--to me it seemed thousands, and I was heartily glad of a lull before the hospital should open. And I remember distinctly that the last thing I prepared was some thirty quarts of black currant brandy; that is to say, I had poured the raw alcohol on to the fruit and set the jars aside to await completion six months later! Shortly afterwards I received word by a roundabout route from Soissons that I might expect my trained nurses and supplies at any moment. In the meantime I was without word from H. since that eventful meeting a week before.

Sat.u.r.day, the fifteenth of August, was as little like a religious fete day as one can imagine. At an early hour the winnowing machine rumbled up the road to the square beside the chateau. Under the circ.u.mstances each one must take his turn at getting in his wheat and oats, and there was no choice of day or hour. Besides, the village had already been called on to furnish grain and fodder for the army, and the harvest must be measured and declared at once. This only half concerned me, for my hay was already in the lofts before the war began, and two elderly men who had applied for work as bunchers, had been engaged for the last week in August.

After service at Charly, I walked across to the post office. The post mistress and telegraph operator, a delightful provincial maiden lady, always welcomes me most cordially, and at present I fancied she might have some news that had not yet reached Villiers. (Mind you, since the second of August we had had but two newspapers, and those obtained with what difficulty!) The _bureau_ now belonged to the army, and for a fortnight Mademoiselle Maupoix and her two young girl a.s.sistants had hardly had time to sleep, so busy were they transmitting ciphered dispatches, pa.s.sing on orders, etc. It was to this physical exhaustion that I attributed the swollen countenance of my little friend when she opened the door to her private sitting-room. It was evident she had something to tell, but her exquisite breeding forbade that she go headlong into her subject, before having graciously inquired for my health, my husband and news of us both since last we met.

”And the war, Mademoiselle, do you know anything about what has happened?”

Two great tears swelled to Mademoiselle's eyes, which, however, bore a triumphant expression.

”Madame--the French flag is flying over Mulhouse--but it cost fifteen thousand lives! That is official news. I cannot give you further details nor say how I obtained what I have told you.”

Then the armies had met and war was now a b.l.o.o.d.y reality!

I shuddered. Here was news of a victory and all we could do was weep!

Once again the sons of France had generously shed their blood to reconquer their righteous belongings!

I left Mademoiselle and rode home in silence. Should I tell the villagers? Why not? But how?

The question answered itself, for as we approached the town hall I saw the school master and a number of elderly men seated on the bench beside the chain. When we pulled up to give Cesar breathing spell, they all came cl.u.s.tering around the carriage. Did I know anything? Had I heard anything?

”Gentlemen,” I said, with a decided huskiness in my throat, ”the French flag flies over, Mulhouse, but fifteen thousand men are _hors de combat!_”

Joy, followed almost instantaneously by an expression of sorrow, literally transfigured all their faces. Tears sprang to the eyes of several, falling silently down their furrowed cheeks, and without uttering a word, as one man they all uncovered! The respect for the glorious dead immediately abolished any desire for boisterous triumph.

There was no necessity to add any comment, so I continued my route to the chateau.

One night towards the end of the following week, I was awakened by the banging of doors and the shattering of window panes. A violent storm had suddenly blown up and the wind was working havoc with unfastened blinds and shutters. There was no use thinking of holding a candle or a lamp. Besides, the lightning flashed so brightly that I was able to grope my way through the long line of empty rooms, tighten the fastenings, and shut the windows. I had reached the second story without mishap and without hearing the slightest footstep within doors.

All my little servants were so exhausted that even the thunder had not roused them. Presently, however, the sound of the gate bell broke on my ears.

”Pooh,” thought I. ”Some tree or branch has fallen on the wire. Catch me getting wet going out to see what it is.”

The ringing continued, but more violently. And at regular intervals. I went down to the middle window and stuck my head out. At the same moment, my dogs made one wild rush towards the gate and a woman's voice called, ”_Madame Huard, ouvrez, s'il vous plait!_”

By the light of another flash, I could distinguish a dripping figure in white. ”Bah! someone is ill or dying and wants me to telephone for a doctor!”

So I pulled the bell communicating with the servants' quarters, threw on a few warmer clothes, and went below. At the foot of the stairs I came upon George and Leon much disheveled, but wide awake.

”There is someone in distress at the gate,” I hurriedly explained. ”Call off the dogs and go and see who it is. I'll light up in the refectory and wait for you there.”

They obeyed, and in the course of three or four minutes returned, bringing with them a much-bedraggled but smiling woman on whose coat was pinned the Red Cross medal.

”I'm the trained nurse. Madame Macherez sent me here to help with your hospital.”

”Oh! I'm sure you're welcome, Madame--”

”Guix is my name. I received my orders to join you here three days ago, and communications are so bad that I've come most of the way on foot. I humbly apologize for arriving at such an hour and in such a state.”

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