Part 37 (1/2)

Marie-Louise found herself involuntarily doing the same--staring at the little punch-holes along the bottom edge of the card that the doctor on the s.h.i.+p had put there, one for each day. And there was her name written there at the top--”Marie-Louise Bernier.” And underneath it, ”Paris”--for she had given that as her last residence, because in this new country none was to know that she had come from Bernay-sur-Mer.

For who could tell what these people here might not do? They might write to Bernay-sur-Mer, and then all her efforts would have been in vain, for some one in Bernay-sur-Mer would write to Father Anton, and--the card dropped from her fingers, and dangled by its string from the b.u.t.ton of her blouse.

The hot, scalding tears were in her eyes again. Memories! Always memories!

On the faces of those around her, so many of them anxious now, was written the question that lips in so many different languages were whispering to each other.

”Will they let me in? What will they do? Will they let me in? Will they let me in?”

Liberty--for them! Yes, they would go in, as she would go in--and some of them, perhaps many of them, would find what they had sought. But she--even here in this strange country, where she could understand no single word that was spoken, where, surely, now that Jean was gone again, there would be nothing, no familiar scenes to come to her to revive those memories--could she find liberty in some day learning to forget?

It did not seem so now, for it seemed as though all her strength, her resistance had gone out from her that night in her struggle to send Jean away, and that it had not come back again. Why--oh, why had the _bon Dieu_ sent Jean upon that s.h.i.+p? It had been so cruelly hard before! It did not change anything that he was in the same country, for he would not stay long, and the country was so many times bigger than France that they were utterly separated, but it was making it so hard to be brave now---so much harder--so much harder! And then suddenly she lifted her head proudly, even though the lips would still quiver, and though the lashes of her eyes were still wet. What was it, that old and simple faith, that her Uncle Gaston in his rugged, honest way had taught her? Yes, the words came back, and they came now like a benediction to send her on her way with hope and comfort--”to love G.o.d and be never afraid.”

She kept repeating that to herself all the rest of the way--until she was leaving the barge again, and, with the hundreds of her fellow-pa.s.sengers, still so curious a sight to her in their many costumes, began to file in through the doorway of a huge building that was red-roofed and had towers. And here, once inside, they went very slowly at first, for they must pa.s.s between railings one at a time, while the doctors looked at each in turn. This frightened her a little, but they did nothing more to her than to stamp her card; and then, after that, there was a big, broad staircase--and then, as she climbed to the top, the vast hall was before her, with its many rows of benches, and its two great flags hanging out from the balcony, that the man had told her about.

What a buzz of noise--so many voices; the constant, shuffling tread of feet; the cry of an infant; the stir and movement of such a crowd of people! And the sounds, floating upward, seemed to form themselves into a strange, humming echo that was forever swirling around and around at the roof of the hall over the gallery. It bewildered her. A man in uniform--there were so many men in uniform!--spoke to her. She did not understand; but somehow, nevertheless, she found herself seated on one of the long benches that ran nearly the whole length of the hall.

For a little while she remained quiet, staring down at her bundle that she had placed upon the floor. And then, as her confusion and bewilderment gradually pa.s.sed away, she began to look around her. She had never imagined that any hall could be so big--it was bigger even than that place with the marble staircase where she had seen the great reception to Jean. How many hundreds would it hold? Still the people who had been with her on the s.h.i.+p kept coming up the stairs, and still the benches were not nearly filled!

She turned and looked in the other direction, to where, quite close to her, for she was almost at the head of the line, an officer sat at a high desk, with one of the pa.s.sengers standing before him. And there were many of these desks, each with an officer seated at it, just as many as there were rows of benches, for there was one at the head of every line; and behind these there was an open s.p.a.ce beneath the gallery; and against the wall of the building there were some little railed-off enclosures; and doors that were constantly opening and shutting, one of which, at least, seemed to lead into a corridor; and, too, there was another wide stairway, down which some of those who had come with her were already pa.s.sing.

Her eyes came back to the inspector at the head of her own line, and she watched him eagerly, as he kept writing all the time he talked to the man who stood in front of him. It would be her turn in a moment.

What was he doing? What was he saying? And then, as she watched, the man in front of the inspector swung a large, ungainly valise to his shoulder, and pa.s.sed behind the desk, and crossed the open s.p.a.ce beyond, and went down the stairs.

There was only one more now before her--another man. Her heart began to pound rapidly. She was not afraid of the inspector at the desk; she was not afraid that he would refuse to let her through--why should she be? It was not that--it was only that the moment had come now when she was to go out into this new land, and face new conditions where even the language was unknown to her, and--and begin her life over again.

It was only that this moment seemed so big with finality--the threshold between the future and the past.

It was her turn now. Mechanically she took up her bundle, and stepped to the desk. ”To love G.o.d and be never afraid”--she was saying that to herself again.

”Your name?” demanded the inspector. He spoke in French, in quick appreciation of her nationality.

”Marie-Louise Bernier,” she answered in a low voice, her eyes on the bundle in her arms.

”Your age? And”--he added kindly--”do not be nervous.”

She raised her eyes to smile gratefully back at him--and then, with a cry that rang and rang again through the immense hall and stilled all else to silence, she flung herself madly past the desk, and ran across the open s.p.a.ce behind it.

”_Jean! Jean! Jean!_”

A figure, grimy, dirty, disreputable, whose hands were manacled, rose, with an answering cry, from within one of the railed-off enclosures.

”Jean! Jean!”--she had reached him now, and was sobbing, clinging to him. ”Jean--you--here! These things on your wrists! And your face is so white, Jean! Jean, Jean, what does it mean? Jean--”

And then she was conscious of a rush of men, and hands were upon her trying to tear her away--and then, with a strength that was greater, that seemed to mock at the strength of all these hands that s.n.a.t.c.hed at her, she was whirled off her feet, and Jean, towering there in all his great might, snarling like some beast at bay, was between her and the others.

”_Let her alone_!”--Jean's steel-locked wrists and clenched hands were raised above his head. ”Let her alone!”--his voice was hoa.r.s.e, low with a murderous fury. ”I'll kill, do you understand--with these”--he shook the steel bracelets on his wrists--”I'll kill--the first man--that tries to take her away!”

Before the white, livid face, the pa.s.sion in the mighty, quivering form, they fell back instinctively; and for an instant that tense, bated silence fell again upon the hall--and then a child cried peevishly--and then a voice spoke authoritatively.

She did not understand what was said; but she was clinging to Jean again, and the crowd of men in uniform were going away, leaving only one or two near them.

”What was it? What did he say?” she asked wildly.