Part 37 (2/2)
The chateau and its grounds were enclosed by a high iron fence and the little procession of carts stopped at the great central gate. A group of officers who had been sitting on the gra.s.s, reading a newspaper, came forward to meet them and John, to his amazement and delight, recognized the young prince, von Arnheim. It was impossible for him to regard von Arnheim as other than a friend, and springing impulsively from the cart he said:
”I had to leave you for a while. It had become irksome to be a prisoner, but you see I've come back.”
Von Arnheim stared, then recognition came.
”Ah, it's Scott, the American! I speak truth when I say that I'm sorry to see you here.”
”I'm sorry to come,” said John, ”but I'd rather be your prisoner than anybody else's, and I wish to ask your courtesy and kindness for the young lady, sitting in the rear of the cart, Mademoiselle Julie Lannes, the sister of that great French aviator of whom everybody has heard.”
”I'll do what I can, but you're mistaken in a.s.suming that I'm in command here. There's a higher personage--but pardon me, I must speak to the lieutenant.”
The officer in charge was saluting, obviously anxious to make his report and have done with an unpleasant duty. Von Arnheim gave him rapid directions in German and then asked Julie and the two Picards to dismount from the cart, while the others were carried through the gate and down a drive toward some distant out-buildings.
John saw von Arnheim's eyes gleam a little, when he noticed the beauty of young Julie, but the Prussian was a man of heart and manner. He lifted his helmet, and bowed with the greatest courtesy, saying:
”It's an unhappy chance for you, but not for us, that has made you our prisoner, Mademoiselle Lannes. In this chateau you must consider yourself a guest, and not a captive. It would not become us to treat otherwise the sister of one so famous as your brother.”
John noticed that he paid her no direct compliment. It was indirect, coming through her brother, and he liked von Arnheim better than ever, because the young captive was, in truth, very beautiful. The brown dress and the sober hood could not hide it as she stood there, the warm red light from the setting sun glancing across her rosy face and the tendrils of golden hair that fell from beneath the hood. She was beautiful beyond compare, John repeated to himself, but scarcely more than a child, and she had come into strange places. The stalwart Suzanne also took note, and she moved a little nearer, while her grim look deepened.
”We will give you the best hospitality the house affords,” continued von Arnheim. ”It's scarcely equipped for ladies, although the former owners left--”
He paused and reddened. John knew his embarra.s.sment was due to the fact that the house to which he was inviting Julie belonged to one of her own countrymen. But she did not seem to notice it. The manner and appearance of von Arnheim inspired confidence.
”We'll be put with the other prisoners, of course,” said John tentatively.
”I don't know,” replied von Arnheim. ”That rests with my superior, whom you shall soon see.”
They were walking along the gravel toward a heavy bronze door, that told little of what the house contained. Officers and soldiers saluted the young prince as he pa.s.sed. John saw discipline and attention everywhere.
The German note was discipline and obedience, obedience and discipline.
A nation, with wonderful powers of thinking, it was a nation that ceased to think when the call of the drill sergeant came. Discipline and obedience had made it terrible and unparalleled in war, to a certain point, but beyond that point the nations that did think in spite of their sergeants, could summon up reserves of strength and courage which the powers of the trained militarists could not create. At least John thought so.
The long windows of the house threw back the last rays of the setting sun, and it was twilight when von Arnheim and his four captives entered the chateau. A large man, middle-aged, heavy and bearded, wearing the uniform of a German general rose, and a staff of several officers rose with him. It was Auersperg, the medieval prince, and John's heart was troubled.
Von Arnheim saluted, bowing deeply. He stood not only in the presence of his general, but of royalty also. It was something in the German blood, even in one so brave and of such high rank as von Arnheim himself, that compelled humility, and John, like the fierce democrat he was, did not like it at all. The belief was too firmly imbedded in his mind ever to be removed that men like Auersperg and the mad power for which they stood had set the torch to Europe.
”Captain von Boehlen took some prisoners, Your Highness,” said von Arnheim, ”and as he was compelled to continue on his expedition he has sent them here under the escort of Lieutenant Puttkamer. The young lady is Mademoiselle Julie Lannes, the sister of the aviator, of whom we all know, the woman and the peasant are her servants, and the young man, whom we have seen before, is an American, John Scott in the French service.”
He spoke in French, with intention, John thought, and the heavy-lidded eyes of Auersperg dwelt an instant on the fresh and beautiful face of Julie. And that momentary glance was wholly medieval. John saw it and understood it. A rage against Auersperg that would never die flamed up in his heart. He already hated everything for which the man stood.
Auersperg's glance pa.s.sed on, and slowly measured the gigantic figure of Picard. Then he smiled in a slow and ugly fas.h.i.+on.
”Ah, a peasant in civilian's dress, captured fighting our brave armies!
Our orders are very strict upon that point. Von Arnheim, take this _franc tireur_ behind the chateau and have him shot at once.”
He too had spoken in French, and doubtless with intention also. John felt a thrill of horror, but Julie Lannes, turning white, sprang before Picard:
”No! No!” she cried to Auersperg. ”You cannot do such a thing! He is not a soldier! They would not take him because he is too old! He is my mother's servant! It would be barbarous to have him shot!”
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