Part 38 (2/2)

”It's impossible,” exclaimed Farnow, throwing himself on to the sofa; ”there must be some mistake Russ-Hersbach is almost on the frontier. Jean would not desert--he is in love; he must be at Alsheim--he must at least have wanted to see Odile again. I must find out.”

”Hermann,” he called, rapping with his knuckles on the mahogany table.

The orderly, a stolid German, opened the door.

”Saddle my horse and yours immediately.”

Farnow was soon ready; he hastened downstairs, found the horses waiting, crossed Strasburg, and once past the fortifications, spurred his horse to a sharp trot.

As he neared Alsheim, Jean's desertion seemed to him more credible.

Every detail of his conversation with Madame Oberle came back to him, and other reasons as well for believing the calamity against which his imperious will was fighting desperately. ”He does not understand Germany; he was glorying in it at Councillor Brausig's.

And then his disunited family--a disunion increased by my engagement. But then he is himself engaged, or almost; and characters like his, French characters, must be dominated by love.

No; I shall find him there--or have news of him.”

It was warm; the long dusty road stretched from village to village, without shade, a thin line between the fields, now bare of their crops. The sky hung over them like bra.s.s, on the horizon banks of motionless clouds rose above the Vosges, throwing out rays of light.

The horses, covered with sweat, continued to gallop. Under the scattered walnut-trees, among the stubble, children raised their switches and shouted as the riders pa.s.sed them.

”Is the lieutenant crazy?” thought Hermann; ”he is going faster and faster.”

Farnow's anguish increased as he drew nearer his destination. ”If I do not find him,” he murmured, ”supposing he has----”

Obernai was pa.s.sed on the right. A sign-post at the cross roads pointed to Alsheim, and soon the blue roof of the Oberles' house appeared among the green.

”Lucienne, Lucienne, Lucienne!”

The house seemed to slumber in the heavy heat of the autumn day, the silence being broken only by a feeble, monotonous voice. Seated near grandfather Oberle's chair, in the room which the invalid could never hope to leave, Madame Oberle was reading aloud the _Journal d'Alsace_, which the postman had just delivered.

Through the open window her voice could be heard murmuring as though engaged in the rhythmic recital of the rosary. In the billiard-room above, that which was still called Jean's room, M. Joseph Oberle was dozing behind the curtain, on his knees lay several letters, and a copy of the _Strasburger Post_. At the end of the room Lucienne could be seen writing at a Louis XVI. desk.

”Monsieur? Monsieur Oberle?”

Joseph Oberle jumped up and threw open the door, which was ajar, meeting the concierge running towards him.

”Why do you call me; you know I don't like----”

He remained speaking with the man for a minute, and returned smiling.

”My Lucienne, Herr von Farnow is waiting for you at the park gate.”

She rose, blus.h.i.+ng.

”Why doesn't he come in?”

”It appears that he is on horseback, and in a great hurry. Perhaps he dares not. Go and fetch him, my darling; tell him from me that there shall be no disturbance, that I will prevent any further scenes.”

With a gesture he implied that he would bolt all the doors sooner, especially that of the room whence came the monotonous voice reading the paper.

<script>