Part 25 (1/2)
The girl drove with loose and careless rein and in silence; and beside her sat Burley, his troubled gaze always reverting to the despondent form beside him.
”Too bad, little girl,” he said. ”But another time our wounded shall listen to your carillon.”
”Never at Nivelle.... The belfry is being destroyed.... The sweetest carillon in France--the oldest, the most beautiful.... Fifty-six bells, Djack--a wondrous wilderness of bells rising above where one stands in the belfry, tier on tier, tier on tier, until one's gaze is lost amid the heavenly company aloft.... Oh, Djack! And the great bell, Clovis! He hangs there--through hundreds of years he has spoken with his great voice of G.o.d!--so that they heard him for miles and miles across the land----”
”Maryette--I am so sorry for you----”
”Oh! Oh! My carillon of Nivelle! My beloved carillon!”
”Maryette, dear! My little Carillonnette----”
”No--my heart is broken----”
”Vooz ates tray, tray belle----”
The sudden cras.h.i.+ng of heavy feet in the bushes checked him; but it was too late to heed it now--too late to reach for his holster. For all around them swarmed the men in sea-grey, jerking the donkey off his forelegs, blocking the little wheels with great, dirty fists, seizing Burley from behind and dragging him violently out of the cart.
A near-sighted officer, thin and spare as Death, was talking in a loud, nasal voice and squinting at Burley where he still struggled, red and exasperated, in the clutches of four soldiers:
”Also! That is no uniform known to us or to any nation at war with us.
That is not regulation in England--that collar insignia. This is a case of a franc-tireur! Now, then, you there in your costume de fantasie! What have you to say, eh?”
There was a silence; Burley ceased struggling.
”Answer, do you hear? What are you?”
”American.”
”Pig-dog!” shouted the gaunt officer. ”So you are one of those Yankee muleteers in your uniform, and armed! It is sufficient that you are American. If it had not been for America this war would be ended! But it is not enough, apparently, that you come here with munitions and food, that you insult us at sea, that you lie about us and slander us and send your sh.e.l.ls and cartridges to England to slay our people! No! Also you must come to insult us in your clown's uniform and with your pistol--” The man began to choke with fury, unable to continue, except by gesture.
But the jerky gestures were terribly significant: soldiers were already pus.h.i.+ng Burley across the road toward a great oak tree; six men fell out and lined up.
”M-my Government--” stammered the young fellow--but was given no opportunity to speak. Very white, the chill sweat standing on his forehead and under his eyes, he stood against the oak, lips compressed, grey eyes watching what was happening to him.
Suddenly he understood it was all over.
”Djack!”
He turned his gaze toward Maryette, where she struggled toward him, held by two soldiers.
”Maryette--Carillonnette--” His voice suddenly became steady, perfectly clear. ”_Je vous aime_, Carillonnette.”
”Oh, Djack! Djack!” she cried in terror.
He heard the orders; was aware of the levelled rifles; but his reckless greyish eyes were now fixed on her, and he began to laugh almost mischievously.
”Vooz etes tray belle,” he said, ”--tray, tray chick----”