Part 26 (2/2)

”You--I came to see what you were doing--yes, what you were doing here!” she said, between deep breaths. ”Why not?” She broke into laughter, that of the challenge across the table at Truckleford, that of even a more reckless humour.

”And your promise to stay in?” he asked.

”I made none!”

”And Henriette?”

”In the cellar.”

”Thank heaven! But why are we talking here?” he added.

”Yes, why?” she said, turning to go.

Sh.e.l.ls were still screaming far over the tree-tops.

”I think we are safe enough, for the German guns are firing over our heads at the French infantry,” he said. ”We are between the lines.”

Helen said nothing, but walked on rapidly.

”We were very lucky,” he continued. ”I had a glimpse of you before the burst. It was an awful moment of suspense.”

”If we had been a few yards further along or had started a few seconds sooner--how simple!” she added. ”I mean, some more people would have been killed in this war--I mean--well, here we are!” and she looked up, smiling.

”None came near the house?” he asked.

”One burst outside the dining-room just as I was leaving,” she answered, ”but it couldn't have hurt anybody in the cellar. You see the house is quite intact,” she added, as they came in sight of it.

”I'm sure that Henriette is safe--and I must add another cartoon to the history of the surviving Sanford, how he dodged the sh.e.l.ls!”

She gave him a full look this time which was all mischief. How could any woman be so cool after such a shock? But women can be cool even when their underlips are trembling, as Helen's was. In danger or out of danger, they keep to their parts. Phil could only feel that he had two wonderful cousins and that it was useless to speculate about anybody or anything. Splinters from the branches slashed by sh.e.l.ls still clung to Helen's hair; they were a kind of crown of glory for her.

”Now for Henriette!” he said as they entered the house.

A moaning sob from below ceased when he called, and the answer came back, ”All right!” an answer that was thick but genuine in its relief.

Henriette met him at the foot of the cellar stairs trembling.

”It was awful being here alone!” she said convulsively. ”One does like company. Do you think it's all over? And I was worried about Helen when that one burst so close and shook the whole house.”

”Helen had a close call, but here she is,” said Phil.

Jacqueline was in the dining-room. The wreckage of doors blown from their hinges by the explosion she had piled against the walls and was now engaged in sweeping up the earth and plaster.

”This is what a woman has to do when men go away to make war instead of staying at home and getting in the harvest!” she grumbled. ”Nice mess they have made. So there you are, you foolish girls! I have about lost patience with you both. As I told Mademoiselle Henriette when she was moaning so, she might have been in Paris if she hadn't----”

”I was not moaning!” said Henriette sharply.

”No, _ma chere_, you were not. Thank G.o.d, you are alive! Though I don't know but we'd all be better dead than having our homes beaten down about our ears. Look at that!” as the broom disclosed a gash in the oak from a sh.e.l.l-fragment. ”This floor I've been polis.h.i.+ng for years. And you,” she turned on Phil, ”I thought that you were going to look after these young ladies and keep them from showing off! But like all men you had to go out and make war and show how brave you were.”

”I give my word,” said Phil, ”that they will not escape again. If necessary I'll arm myself with one of your saucepans.”

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