THE DISCOVERY
A little more than an hour later Sally and Jean started forth upon their
mysterious pilgrimage.
To have been spared the ordeal of this morning's visit to the French
chateau Sally would have given a great deal. On other occasions she had
been nervous and fearful, but never to the extent to which the recent
conversation with her sister had reduced her.
More than once within the hour of waiting before she and Jean could slip
away, Sally concluded to abandon her plan and never go near the chateau
again, regardless of results. Then she remembered that she had given her
word and that upon this visit many things were to be explained and
arranged. Having endured so much of struggle, strain and suspicion, one
must not fail in the end. And in spite of Sally's apparent indolence and
softness, failure had no part in her mental make-up.
Yet in being compelled to spend an hour of watching before daring to
make her escape there was a sense of humiliation, almost of degradation.
Nevertheless, what else could she do except wait until Alice was again
absorbed in her teaching and until there was no one about the farm house
or in the yard who would pay any especial attention to her actions?
Sally's final misfortune was in encountering Yvonne as she passed
through the hall downstairs.
It may have been her imagination, due to her conversation with her
sister. Sally felt almost convinced that Yvonne shrank away from her as
she passed, almost as if she were drawing her skirts aside. In return
Sally suffered a wave of indignation and the conviction that she would
never be able to forgive Yvonne. She even had an impulse some day to
avenge the other girl's injustice.
She and Jean did not immediately move off in the direction of the
chateau. She and old Jean took an entirely opposite direction, until in
a field about half a mile away, altering their course, they walked
rapidly toward the chateau. Sally never ceased to gaze behind them every
few moments, fearing they might be followed.
Small wonder that with the unaccustomed walks and the burden of a
serious responsibility Sally Ashton had altered in the past few weeks!
Indeed, her only solace had been the loyal faith and allegiance which
the old French peasant, Jean, had given to her cause and to her.
From the first day, when in halting and broken French she had begged him
to accompany her to the chateau to assist in the care of a wounded
soldier, he had not asked a question or refused his services.
When it was impossible for him to escape Miss Patricia's vigilance at
the hour Sally asked, she always found that he had managed to make the
trip sometime later, during the day or night, and accomplished what was
necessary. What he may have thought of the situation, what questions he
may have asked himself behind the inscrutability of his weather-beaten
countenance with its misty, coal-black eyes, Sally never inquired. There
were enough problems to meet without this. The important fact was that
Jean never failed her and that he made an otherwise impossible task
possible.
[Illustration: She and Old Jean Took an Entirely Opposite Direction.]
After discovering the serious illness of the wounded soldier in hiding,
Sally Ashton had continued the amazing task of caring for him at the
chateau.
She did not come to this decision immediately; indeed, it had grown so
slowly that at times it did not appear as a decision at all. Nor did
Sally attempt to justify herself. She felt compelled to take a
courageous attitude with her sister, but she never had been convinced of
her own patriotism or good sense. Even up to the present time she was
not sure of the nationality of her patient, although it had been a
relief that during his delirium he had spoken occasionally in French.
The truth is that as the days passed on and Sally's responsibility
increased her attitude toward the soldier changed. At first she had been
annoyed, bored with the entire adventure and with the circumstances
resulting from it. But as the young man's illness became more alarming
and Sally's anxiety increased, a new characteristic awoke in her. Sally
Ashton belonged to the type of girl who is essentially maternal. She
would be one of the large group of women who love, marry and bring up a
family and are nearly always adored by their husbands, but feel no
passionate affection until the coming of their children.
So unconsciously the wounded soldier's dependence upon her for food and
attention, for life itself, aroused Sally's motherly instinct, although
she did not dream of the fact and would have been angry at the
suggestion.
One convincing proof. In the beginning she had been both physically and
mentally repelled by the soiled and blood-stained soldier and by his
confused confession. She had not surrendered him to justice because she
did not feel called upon to appear as the arbiter of any human being's
fate and because she had not the dramatic instinct of most girls. But
Sally had presumed the soldier would be arrested later and was not
particularly concerned with his future one way or the other.
Now her point of view had completely altered. At first her idea was
merely that the soldier should recover with no other nursing save that
which she and old Jean could bestow upon him. But now that he was
recovering, she was equally determined he should be saved from whatever
enemy he had feared before being delivered into her hands.
Before parting on the previous afternoon Sally had agreed with her
patient that they discuss his situation on her next visit to the
chateau.
As the old man and girl crept cautiously inside the opening between the
arch of walls, they could see their soldier lying asleep upon his
mattress, but between clean sheets and covered with blankets which Sally
had managed to secure from the supply at the farm.
The half-dismantled room was cold but fragrant with the odors of the
woods and fields. Perhaps the fresh air which had at all times flooded
the odd sick-room had been in a measure responsible for the ill man's
recovery, having taken the place of other comforts he had been obliged
to forego.
He opened his eyes at the approach of his two friends and looked a
little wistfully at Sally.
"You have come at last! I was afraid you would not be able to manage.
How kind you have been!"
Sally made no reply except to offer him a glass of milk and to stand
silently by until he had finished drinking it.
She looked very sweet. Today her walk and the excitement of her morning
had tired her so that she was paler than usual; yet her lips were full
and crimson and her brown hair had a charming fashion of curling in
little brown rings on her forehead as if she were a tiny child.
The soldier no longer wore any look of mental confusion except that his
expression was puzzled and questioning.
"You are much better. I am glad," Sally said at last. "You see I do not
know how often I can come to the chateau after today, unless you should
become very ill again and then I would come in any case."
Sally's direct fashion of speaking had its value amid the complexities
of human relations.
Old Jean had disappeared to bring fresh water and to accomplish other
tasks so that Sally and the soldier were alone for a little time.
As a matter of fact, Jean's had been the really difficult nursing. Night
after night when the soldier's condition had been most critical Jean had
made no pretence of going to bed, but had hobbled over at bedtime to
remain until dawn by the ill man's side.
"Perhaps you will sit down for a little so that I can ask you a great
many questions," the soldier suggested. "Now that I am getting back my
senses, you can scarcely imagine what a mystery my present situation
is."
Nodding agreement, Sally drew a beautiful French chair across the
strange drawing-room and seated herself within a few feet of her
patient's bed. It was odd that she had never felt any fear of the old
walls tumbling down upon her from the hour she had begun her nursing,
although before that time she had believed nothing could force her to
trust herself inside the ruins.
"I would like to ask you to begin at the beginning. In what condition
and how long ago did you find me here? If I could only guess the time!
But I am under the impression I have not been myself for several weeks
until these last few days. Yet I have a vague recollection of finding my
way to this old house and of seeing you standing one day framed in that
open arch. After that I have no memory of anything else until I became
conscious of your face and of old Jean's bending over me and then of
this extraordinary place. If I have been ill, why have I not been cared
for in a hospital?
"I remember escaping from the Germans who had taken me prisoner and then
wandering, wandering about in a country where there were no trees, no
grass, no houses, nothing but the upturned earth and exploded shells.
Afterwards I was not sure I had reached the French country. I know I
used to hide in the day time and prowl around at night. I think I must
have become ill soon after my escape, because I have an indistinct
impression that I was trying to find my old home, the chateau where I
lived before the outbreak of the war. I suppose that is one reason why I
hid myself in here. But nothing I can remember explains _you_."
Sally sighed.
"I do not understand what you are talking about, at least not exactly. I
am not even convinced you do. But if you really are a French soldier and
managed to escape from the Germans, I am glad. I know you will think me
stupid, but still how could I have been expected to understand that you
were a French soldier when you seemed so horribly afraid of being
discovered? You were in your own country and among your own people!
Personally there is very little for me to tell about myself.
"I am an American girl, I don't suppose you consider me French, and I am
living at a farm house not far away with some American friends. One day
I was taking a walk and just from curiosity slipped over here to look
more closely at the chateau. It frightened me when I discovered you were
hiding in here. You can never guess how you startled me! At our first
meeting you told me some mixed-up story and asked me to bring you some
food. I thought you were an escaped prisoner and I did not want to have
anything to do with you. But you insisted if you were caught you would
be hung. The next day when I arrived with the food you were too ill to
recognize me. There is nothing more to tell."
"That is all," the soldier repeated. "But that sounds more like the
beginning, does it not? You were not even sure of my nationality and yet
you have been coming here every day to care for me. Suppose I had been
your enemy?"
By this time the soldier was sitting up and intently studying the face
of the girl before him. He was wearing a faded dark blue shirt which
Jean had generously bestowed upon him the day before, this being the
first occasion for which he had made an effort to dress himself.
"Strange human beings, women! I wonder if we men will ever understand
you? I have no doubt you would blow up the united armies of the Central
Empires if it were possible without a qualm and yet you would make any
sacrifice to save the life of one prisoner."
"But I was never convinced about you," Sally apologized. "Then after you
became so seriously ill I never thought. But I am sure I beg your
pardon. As you are a Frenchman of course you would have been infinitely
better cared for in a hospital. If anything had happened to you it would
have been my fault. But really I did not know what was done to prisoners
who ran away from their captors and you suggested such an uncomfortable
fate for yourself.
"Now you are better I don't think I will come back to the chateau again.
You see you made me promise not to tell anyone that you were hiding
here, and my sister and friends think it strange because I have been
spending so much time away from the farm recently. I don't suppose I
shall ever be able to make anyone understand. It is hard, isn't it, to
be blamed for things and then find they have been of no use? Jean will
do whatever is necessary for you until you are entirely well. He can
bring me news of you and he will take a message to anyone you care to
see if you do not feel strong enough to be moved to a hospital
immediately."
Sally rose as if she meant to leave at once, then something in her
companion's expression made her sink down into her chair.
"No, you must not come to see me again," he answered, "although I shall
wish to see no one else. Perhaps it will not be long before I am able to
call upon your friends if you will allow me. I am stronger than you
realize; but you have not told me what you are doing in this
neighborhood."
Unexpectedly Sally had a remarkable sensation. It was as if suddenly her
position and the soldier's changed and as if he had begun to think of
her welfare rather than to have her devote herself to his.
"Oh, we are doing reclamation work," Sally returned; "that is, my sister
and friends are. I have not accomplished anything that is important. I
told you I was stupid."
All at once Sally's soldier broke into a peal of clear boyish laughter
which was of more benefit to him than either of them appreciated.
"No, you have done nothing except save my life. It is not kind of you
under the circumstances to announce you consider it unimportant. Some
day when I am able to rejoin my regiment perhaps I may be able to prove
your work worth while. Thanks to you, perhaps I shall again serve France
as I have never served her before! The enemy has taken from me
everything else, my mother, my sister, my little brother and my home. I
made up my mind that they should not hold me a prisoner whatever might
befall me. If I had to give up my life I meant to die in the open."
Then more excited and exhausted than either he or Sally had appreciated,
the soldier lay down again, closing his eyes.
It was a part of Sally's recent training which made her continue sitting
quietly beside him for the next few moments without speaking or moving.
In the interval she studied the soldier's face.
For the first time he was appearing to her as a man. Up until now he had
simply been a human being who must be cared for, allowed to suffer as
little as possible and at last be restored to health.
In considering him at present Sally did not particularly admire his
appearance. She thought his nose was rather too large and his lips too
thin and in spite of Jean's devotion, his services as a barber left a
good deal to be desired.
"Your arm is nearly well, still I think I should like to bandage it once
more before I go," Sally suggested. "You do not realize it, of course,
but I have learned a great deal about nursing since I began to look
after you. I don't like sick people, else I suppose I could become a Red
Cross nurse after more training if I wished. But I don't think I should
like the work."
As Sally talked she was accomplishing her task, certainly with a good
deal more skill than she had shown several weeks before.
However, her patient was not conscious of the fact. At present he was
not thinking of his wound but of his nurse.
There was something about her so deliciously frank and ingenuous. At
least she seemed ingenuous to him, although it was difficult always to
be sure concerning Sally.
When she had finished the young Frenchman took one of her hands and
touched it lightly with his lips.
"Will you tell me your name, please, and where to find you before you
say farewell? I am Lieutenant Robert Fleury of the French-cuirassiers."
Ten minutes later Sally was walking back home alone to the farm house,
having left Jean to continue to care for their patient.
She was not to go back to the chateau again and she was to tell her
friends exactly what had taken place in the past few weeks. She seemed
to have promised this to her patient.
Yet Sally was not sure when she would tell her story. She had no desire
to make a confession to Alice, and Aunt Patricia was not to be
considered. If only she might arrange to wait until Mrs. Burton's return
from her journey into southern France.