Part 30 (2/2)
”But _I_ ask it--of _myself_. Do you understand, monsieur?”
”Perfectly.” He glanced mechanically at his useless wrist watch, then inquired the time. She went to her room, returned, wearing a little jacket and carrying a pair of big, wooden gloves.
”It is after eleven o'clock,” she said. ”I brought my jacket because it is cold in all belfries. It will be cold in Nivelle, up there in the tower under Clovis.”
”You really mean to go with me?”
She did not even trouble to reply to the question. So he picked up his packet and his sack of bombs, and they went out, side by side, under the tunnelled wall.
Infantry from Nivelle trenches were still plodding along the dark street under the trees; dull gleams came from their helmets and bayonets in the obscure light of the stars.
The girl stood watching them for a few moments, then her hand sought the airman's arm:
”If there is to be a battle in the street here, my father cannot remain.”
The airman nodded, went out into the street and spoke to a pa.s.sing officer. He, in turn, signalled the driver of a motor omnibus to halt.
The little bell-mistress entered the tavern, followed by two soldiers. In a few moments they came out bearing, chair-fas.h.i.+on between them, the crippled innkeeper.
The old man was much alarmed, but his daughter followed beside him to the omnibus, in which were several lamed soldiers.
”_Et toi?_” he quavered as they lifted him in. ”What of thee, Maryette?”
”I follow,” she called out cheerily. ”I rejoin thee--” the bus moved on--”G.o.d knows when or where!” she added under her breath.
The airman was whispering to a fat staff officer when she rejoined him.
All three looked up in silence at the belfry of Sainte Lesse, looming above them, a monstrous shadow athwart the stars. A moment later an automobile, arriving from the south, drew up in front of the inn.
”_Bonne chance_,” said the fat officer abruptly; he turned and waddled swiftly away in the darkness. They saw him mount his horse. His legs stuck out sideways.
”Now,” whispered the airman, with a nod to the chauffeur.
The little bell-mistress entered the car, her wooden gloves tucked under one arm. The airman followed with his packet and his sack of bombs. The chauffeur started his engine.
The middle of the road was free to him; the edges were occupied by the retreating infantry. As the car started, very slowly, cautiously feeling its way out of Sainte Lesse, the fat staff officer turned his horse and trotted up alongside. The car stopped, the engine still running.
”It's understood?” asked the officer in a low voice. ”It's to be when we hear 'La Brabanconne'?”
”When you hear 'La Brabanconne.'”
”Understood,” said the staff officer crisply, saluted and drew bridle. And the car moved out into the starlit night along an endless column of retreating soldiers, who were laughing, smoking, and chatting as though not in the least depressed by their withdrawal from the dry and cosy trenches of Nivelle which they were abandoning.
CHAPTER XX
”LA BRABANcONNE”
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