The Girl Philippa
So Warner gave the Sister of Charity the message from Madame de Moidrey,
and offered to sit beside Gray until the Countess arrived.
When Sister Eila had retired, Gray said, rather wistfully:
"I shan't know how to thank these people for taking me in. It's really
a beastly imposition----"
"Nonsense, my dear fellow. They like it. All women adore a hero. How
do you feel, anyway?"
"Much fitter, thanks. I don't know what medicine they're giving me, but
it is evidently what I needed.... And do you know that the Countess de
Moidrey has been kind enough to visit me and read to me, and even write
a letter to Halkett for me? I sent it to London. They'll get into
touch with him there." His sunken eyes rested on the window through
which, far away over Ausone Fort, the flicker and flare of the guns
lighted up the misty darkness, throwing a wavering red glare over the
clouds.
Boom--boom--rumble--rumble--boom! came the dull thundering out of the
north. Every window was shaking and humming.
"A devil of a row," remarked Gray, restlessly.
"You've heard that the German shells are already falling on Ausone,
haven't you?"
"No. Are they?"
Warner drew a brief picture of what he had seen that afternoon in
Ausone, and the Englishman listened, intensely interested.
"And I don't know," he ended, "what is to prevent the Germans from
battering the Ausone Fort to pieces if they have silenced those big
Belgian fortresses around Namur. In that case, we'll have their
charming Uhlans here in another forty-eight hours----"
He checked himself as Madame de Moidrey knocked and entered, followed by
a maid with Gray's dinner on a tray.
"Thank you, Jim; you may go and dress now. Mr. Gray, you are to dine a
little earlier, if you don't mind--Suzanne, place the tray on this
tabouret. Now, shall I help you, Mr. Gray?"
"Thanks, so much; but I am detaining you from dinner----"
"No, indeed. Let me help you a little----" arranging a napkin for him
and uncovering his cup of fragrant broth.
Warner and the maid, Suzanne, lingered, looking on, thinking they might
be needed.
But realizing presently that neither the Countess nor her patient was
paying the slightest attention to them, they looked at each other very
gravely and quietly walked out.
That night at dinner Sister Eila was absent.
Certain prescribed devotions made Sister Eila's attendance at any meal
an uncertainty. The private chapel in the east wing had now become a
retreat for her at intervals during the day; the kitchen knew her when
Gray's broth was to be prepared; she gently directed the servants who
had been setting up the hospital cots in the east wing, and she showed
them how to equip the beds, how to place the tables, how to garnish the
basins of running water with necessaries, where to pile towels, where to
assemble the hospital stores which had arrived with the cots in cases
and kegs and boxes.
Besides this she had not forgotten to give Gray his medicine and to
change his bandages.
It had been a busy day for Sister Eila.
And now, in the little chapel whither she had crept on tired feet to her
devotions, she had fallen asleep on her knees, the rosary still clinging
to her fingers, her white-bonneted head resting against the pillar
beside which she had knelt.
Warner, wandering at hazard after dinner, discovered her there and
thought it best to awaken her.
As he touched her sleeve, she murmured drowsily:
"I have need of prayer, Mr. Halkett.... Let me pray--for us--both----"
For a long while Warner stood motionless, not daring to stir. Then,
moving cautiously, he left her there asleep on her knees, her white
cheek against the pillar, the wooden prayer beads hanging from her
half-closed hand.
*CHAPTER XXIX*
The first streak of tarnished silver in the east aroused the sleeping
batteries beyond Ausone. Warner, already dressed and out of doors, felt
the dim world around him begin to shake again, as one by one the distant
guns awoke and spoke to the ruined fort of doom. There was not a soul
astir in the Chateau or about the grounds. Over shrubbery and woods
thin films of night mist drooped, sagging like dew-laden spiders' webs;
in the demi-light the great house loomed spectral and huge amid its
phantom trees, and the wet lawns spread away and vanished under the
pallid pall that bathed them.
Warner had slept badly. What might be transpiring in the north had
haunted his troubled slumber, had broken it continually, and finally had
driven him from his hot and tumbled pillows to dress and go out into the
dark obscurity.
To see for himself, to try to form some conclusion concerning the
approaching situation of the people in the Chateau des Oiseaux, was his
object.
The first grey tint in the east woke up the guns; from the northern
terrace he could see the fog all rosy over Ausone; pale flashes leaped
and sparkled far beyond as the deep waves of sound came rolling and
tumbling toward him, breaking in thunderous waves across the misty
darkness.
Now and then a heavier concussion set the ground shaking, and a redder
glare lighted the north and played shakily over the clouds. Ausone was
still replying.
On the other side of the Recollette there was a hill terraced to the
summit with vineyards. From its western slope he knew that part of
Ausone town was visible, and from there he believed that with his field
glasses he could see for himself how much of the town was really on
fire; how near to it and to the fort were those paler flashes reflected
on the clouds which ringed the northern sky.
Nobody was astir in the house as he left it; nobody in the roadway.
At the lodge he rapped on the dark window until the old man peered out
at him through the diamond panes, yawning and blinking under his Yvetot
nightcap, a candle trembling in his hand.
Outside the wall he crossed the road, climbed the hedge stile and struck
across a field of stubble.
Over the darker eastern hills a wet sky lowered; the Recollette ran
black under its ghostly cerements of vapor; lapwings were calling
somewhere from the foggy sky, and their mournful and faint complaint
seemed to harmonize sadly with the vague grey world around him.
A trodden path twisted through the grass down to the reedy shore where
the punt lay. Peering about for it, his foot struck the pole, where it
lay partly buried in the weeds; he picked it up and went down among the
rushes. But until he laid his hand on the boat he did not notice the
man asleep there. And not until the man sat up with a frightful yawn,
rubbing his sleep-swollen lids, did he recognize Asticot.
"What the devil----" he began, but Asticot stumbled to his large, flat
feet with a suppressed yelp of apprehension, as Warner's dreaded grasp
fell on his collar.
"_Mon Dieu_," moaned the young ruffian, "may I not even sleep without
offending M'sieu'----"
Warner shook him, not roughly.
"Now answer me once and for all! _Why_ are you hanging around Sais?"
The tiny, mousy eyes of Asticot became fixed; a grin of terror stiffened
the pasty features.
"Why do I still find you in Sais?" repeated Warner. "Tell me the truth!"
"I--I am too f-frightened to tell you----"
"Get over your fright. Listen, Asticot, I'm not going to hurt you. But
you've got to answer me. Come, compose yourself----" He relaxed his
grasp on the coat collar and stepped aside. "Come, Asticot; tell me why
I find you here in Sais?"
"M'sieu'----"
"Yes, go on. Just tell me the truth. I'm not going to beat you."
"M'sieu' will not believe me--God knows I do not know how to explain it
to myself--but since that frightful beating bestowed upon me I do not
know how to get along without the protection of M'sieu'----"
"What do you mean?"
"I am _afraid_! I do not know why. I desire to be taken under the
patronage of him I fear. C'est plus fort que moi. _Tenez_, M'sieu',
like a dog owned by nobody I once ran about at random, and not afraid,
until caught and nearly killed by M'sieu'. And now I desire to be his.
It is natural for me to follow him--even though I remain afraid of him,
even risking his anger and another beating----"
"Asticot!"
"M'sieu'?"
"Do you nourish any agreeable dreams that you may one day live to insert
your knife in my back?"
The sheer astonishment in the young ruffian's visage was sufficient
answer for Warner. He realized then that this yellow mongrel would
never again try to bite--that he might collapse and succumb under
violence, but never again would he twist and try to mangle the hand of
punishment which once had broken him so mercilessly.
"Get into the punt, anyway," said Warner, much perplexed.
Asticot turned and crept into the stern.
"Sit down!"
The young man squatted obediently. Warner shoved off, sprang aboard,
and sent the punt shooting out across the misty water.
"So you don't want to murder me any more?" he asked humorously.
"No," said Asticot, with sullen but profound conviction.
"What's become of your delightful friend, Squelette?"
Asticot looked up, bared every tooth.
"_Figurez-vous_, M'sieu', a dragoon patrol caught him yesterday stealing
a goose from a farm. Me, I hid in a willow tree. It's the Battalion of
Biribi for Squelette--his class having been called a year ago--and he
over the Belgian line with his fingers to his nose! He--he!" laughed
Asticot, writhing in the enjoyment of the prospect before his recent
comrade. "Me, I have done my time in Biribi!--And the scars of
it--God!--hot irons on the brain!--And the heart a cinder! Biribi! Is
there a priest's hell like it?" He spat fiercely into the river.
"And Squelette, who always mocked me for the time I did in Biribi!
_Tenez_, M'sieu', now they've caught him and he'll do a tour for himself
in that dear Biribi! He--he! C'est bien fait! Chacun a son tour! As
for me----" His voice suddenly relapsed into a whine. "I shall now be
well protected by M'sieu' and I shall be diligent and grateful in his
service, ready always with brush and black soap or with knife and
noose----"
"Thanks," said Warner dryly. "You may stick to the bowl of black soap
until your class is summoned."
Asticot looked at him earnestly.
"If I have to go with my class, will M'sieu' speak a word for me that it
shall be the line and not Biribi again?"
"Yes, if you behave yourself."
"A--a certificate of honest employment?--A few kind words that I have
diligently labored in the service of M'sieu'?"
"Yes, I'll do that."
Asticot squirmed with delight. And Warner, poling steadily up stream,
saw him making his toilet in the grey light, dipping his fists into the
water, scrubbing his battered features, carefully combing out _favoris_
and _rouflaquette_ and greasing both from the contents of a knotted
bandana handkerchief which he drew from the capacious pocket of the coat
which the charity of Warner had bestowed upon him.
He was as merry as a washer-raccoon over his ablutions; all care for the
future had fled, and an animal-like confidence in this terrible young
patron of his reigned undisturbed in the primitive brain of Asticot.
There was now only one impelling force in life for him--the instinctive
necessity of running rather close to Warner's heels, wherever that might
lead him. Anxiety for personal comfort and well-being he dismissed; he
would eat when his master thought best; he would find shelter and warmth
and clothing when and where it pleased the man after whom he tagged. He
was safe, he was comfortable. That dominating physical strength which
had nearly destroyed him, coupled with that awesome intellectual power
which now held him in dumb subjection, would in future look out for him
and his needs. Tant mieux! Let his master do the worrying.