TWO OFFICERS
A week later two young officers were guests at the farm house on the
Aisne, one of them an American aerial lieutenant, the other a lieutenant
in the French cavalry.
Following his telegram within a few days, Lieutenant Ralph Marshall had
arrived to spend a short furlough, ostensibly with the entire group of
American Camp Fire girls, although in reality his visit was to Peggy
Webster. Notwithstanding the fact that he and Peggy were not supposed to
be engaged, chiefly because of Peggy's youth, they shared a different
conviction from their families.
The other young officer was none other than "Sally's soldier." Absurd as
the title appeared, particularly to Sally herself, nevertheless under
this name he was discussed secretly and at length in the Camp Fire
household.
Toward late afternoon on the day after Sally's enforced confession,
accompanied only by Old Jean, Miss Patricia Lord had tramped across the
fields to the French chateau and had there interviewed its inmate with a
directness and a searchlight quality worthy of a public prosecutor.
As a result she had received more valuable information than Sally Ashton
had acquired in the hour of their mutual and confused avowal. Among
other things Miss Patricia had learned that the wounded officer's
extraordinary outfit was due to the fact that he believed it would make
his escape more feasible.
But whatever the details of his story, he was able to inspire Miss
Patricia with sufficient interest and faith to admit him as a temporary
guest at the farm house in spite of the absence of Mrs. Burton.
However, although undoubtedly a guest, he was a guest according to rules
and restrictions laid down and adhered to by Miss Patricia and her
household.
In the first place, until he had completely recovered he was to remain
in his room at the farm house, cared for only by old Jean with
occasional visits from Miss Patricia. Under no circumstances was he to
see or meet for the present a single one of the Camp Fire girls. This
rule was particularly to be observed with regard to Sally Ashton.
Miss Patricia made no effort to conceal her intention of making a
thorough investigation of the account of his life the French officer had
imparted to her. She knew it would not be so difficult to verify his
statements. It was possible to communicate with the commander of his
regiment and also his friends, as he claimed to have lived in the French
country not many miles away from their neighborhood in the valley of the
Aisne. After his recovery doubtless he would be able to find a number of
his former acquaintances by returning to his old home.
It was in his favor that the French officer entirely agreed with Miss
Patricia's attitude in every particular save one. But he was wise enough
not to argue with her concerning this. In truth, thirty-six hours after
his installation at the farm house, the young Frenchman and Miss
Patricia had become surprisingly intimate friends. One could explain
this by stating that the officer had a delightful sense of humor and a
valuable appreciation of character. Miss Patricia announced that no
friendship could have been possible between them if Lieutenant Fleury's
mother had not had the good sense to have him taught English by an
English governess when he was a small boy. His accent Miss Patricia
considered as peculiar as her own French one, nevertheless they were
able to understand each other amazingly well.
One brilliant morning Miss Patricia entered the French officer's room
bearing a cup of bouillon to find him staring out a window which he had
just opened in order to let in the air and for another purpose which
Miss Patricia instantly suspected.
"Breaking parole," she commented tersely.
The young officer had not heard her entrance. In return he swung round
and laughed.
"Is that fair, Miss Lord? A cat may look at a king, _comme ca_ why
not at a number of queens? Besides, don't you realize it is a miracle
for a French soldier to be able to dream that these devastated fields of
France are soon to become green and fruitful again? Having lost
everything in the early days of the German invasion, my family, home, my
small fortune, nevertheless I rejoice that for other French soldiers
there may be a happier future when they return to their former homes,
thanks to the great hearts of the American people!"
The young officer's deep feeling and his quiet self-contained manner
caused a lump to rise in Miss Patricia's throat and a mist before her
eyes. Therefore her manner became more belligerent than ever.
"Here, sit down and drink this," she commanded. "I suppose you consider
that you have entirely recovered your strength and that I am the veriest
old termagant not to permit you to enjoy your convalescence with a group
of more or less charming American girls. But as a matter of fact I am
really protecting you as well as the girls. We have lived without
masculine society, unless you wish to count old Jean, ever since our
arrival at the farm house. So whatever your impression, I am afraid you
would soon be overpowered with attention once I allowed you to leave
this room."
Lieutenant Fleury finished his bouillon with a proper degree of
gratitude and enthusiasm before replying.
Afterwards he gazed at Miss Patricia for several moments in silence as
if carefully considering a number of important matters.
The young French officer was of more than medium height, had dark eyes
and hair, and except when he was talking, his expression was grave and
sad. His arm remained bandaged.
"Miss Patricia, I do not wish to meet _all_ your Camp Fire girls. I
agree with you I am not strong enough to make myself agreeable to them.
But I do wish to see _one_ of them again. You are aware that I mean
Miss Ashton. If ever a man had cause to be grateful to a girl-----"
"Nonsense!" Miss Patricia interrupted, picking up the empty cup as if
she were intending to leave the room immediately. "Sally was a goose and
ran the risk of being the death of you instead of saving your life as
you like to think. Besides, she has not the slightest desire to see you;
she told me this herself. She feels now that she was ridiculous. She
should never have paid any attention to the disjointed tale of an ill
man, or to the promise which you seem to have exacted of the poor child
in your original interview. As for being grateful to Sally, that is also
a waste of energy when you have none too much to spare. The one dream of
every girl in the world these days is to be allowed the privilege of
caring for a good-looking soldier. Sally had her opportunity under
particularly romantic and nonsensical circumstances. Besides, men will
always be grateful to Sally Ashton for something or other as long as she
lives, grateful because she is pretty and soft and selfish and, dear me,
I suppose she is what one calls essentially feminine! I confess I have
rather a tender feeling toward the child myself."
And without further answer to his request Miss Patricia hurriedly
departed.
Outdoors at the same time Sally was occupied in the garden digging in a
desultory fashion. As soon as there was no further danger of the ground
freezing the Camp Fire girls were planning to plant a garden.
Sally was alone at her task and alone because she preferred solitude.
After her fantastic escapade had been disclosed to the other Camp Fire
girls, those of them who had been particularly annoyed by her mysterious
behavior were frankly regretful of their condemnation. They did not
whole-heartedly approve of what she had done, but no one doubted Sally's
good intention or the unselfishness of her motive. Aside from Yvonne,
whose attitude continued puzzled and distrustful, each girl individually
had approached Sally with a carefully veiled apology. However, Sally,
who was not in a friendly state of mind toward the world at present,
received their advances coldly.
The only two persons whose opinion she really valued were Aunt
Patricia's and Mrs. Burton's. Aunt Patricia had been kinder and more
understanding than any human being could have dreamed possible. Mrs.
Burton had not yet returned from her journey into southern France.
Indeed, no word had been heard from her in a number of days, so that not
alone did Aunt Patricia suffer from uneasiness. The great German drive
so long expected was fanning the long line of the French battlefront
into fiercer and more terrorizing flames. At any hour the greatest
struggle in human history would once more burst upon the world.
An hour later Sally Ashton knocked shyly upon Lieutenant Fleury's closed
door. She did not do this in accordance with her own wishes, but because
of an urgent appeal made by Miss Patricia.
As a matter of fact, for some days Miss Patricia had been haunted by the
story of his life, since the outbreak of the war, which the young French
officer had recounted to her. He was not conscious of asking for
sympathy, nor did he consider his story unusual. Nevertheless it
occurred to Miss Patricia this morning that she was unwilling to add
loneliness to the difficulties which he must face during the hours of
his return to health. Up to the present time he had been too engaged
with his soldiering to allow much opportunity for reflection.
Miss Patricia was also convinced of the truth of what Lieutenant Fleury
had told her of himself, although she had no thought of not adding the
necessary proof to her instinctive conviction. But in the meantime if he
really earnestly desired to see and talk to Sally Ashton and to express
his gratitude, what possible harm could come of allowing them an
interview? Their acquaintance had been achieved under such remarkable
circumstances, to meet in a more ordinary and formal fashion would
doubtless be best for them both. Afterwards they would not develop
fantastic and untruthful ideas concerning each other.
At the moment of Sally's arrival Lieutenant Fleury was despondent. It
was true he had managed to escape from the Germans and could
congratulate himself that he was not a prisoner and might hope within a
reasonable length of time to return to his own regiment. Nevertheless
what an extraordinarily stupid adventure he had stumbled into in his
sub-conscious effort to seek the neighborhood of his former home!
He had come out of the experience a thousand times better than he had
any right to hope, yet had he not involved an American girl in what must
have been an extremely disagreeable and ungrateful task?
At this moment of her entrance into the invalid's room Sally Ashton did
not appear to have been seriously affected by her experience.
Her hour of working in the garden in the warm late winter sun had given
her cheeks the color they frequently lacked, or else it was her
embarrassment at meeting the young officer. Sally's hair was also
curling in the delicious and irresponsible fashion it often assumed,
breaking into small rings on her forehead and at the back of her neck in
the fashion of which she at least pretended to disapprove.
"Miss Patricia said you wished to speak to me. I am glad you are so much
better," she began in a reserved and ceremonious fashion as if she and
the lieutenant had met on but one previous occasion before today.
In truth it seemed impossible to Sally that the French officer whom she
was facing at present had been the ill and disheveled boy she had found
in hiding at the chateau and nursed back to comparative health.
In announcing that Sally did not desire to see the young French officer
again, Miss Patricia had been correct. Sally considered that she had
made a grave and foolish mistake and preferred, as most of us do, that
her mistake be ignored and forgotten.
Yet Lieutenant Fleury had no idea either of ignoring or forgetting
Sally's effort in his behalf.
Immediately in reply to her knock he had risen. His serious expression
had now changed to one of boyish gratitude and good humor.
"Yes, I did wish to speak to you; you are kind to have come," he
returned, although in reality surprised by Sally's extremely youthful
appearance. He had only a confused memory of her face bending above him
during his delirium. They had enjoyed but one conversation when he was
entirely himself. On that occasion he had supposed his rescuer a young
woman of some years and dignity, and Sally at present looked like a
school girl. Indeed, she was a school girl when at home in her own part
of the world if one can count college and school as one and the same
thing.
After coming in from the garden this morning she had hastily changed her
everyday Camp Fire dress for a white flannel of which she was especially
fond, and without observing that the skirt had shrunk until it was
extremely short.
"I wished to tell you once again how more than grateful I am to you for
your great kindness," the officer continued, smiling in spite of his
serious state of mind at the unexpectedness of Sally's appearance.
Looking at her now, it was hard to believe that she had ever assumed the
arduous burden of nursing a wounded soldier under more than trying
conditions. Yet if Sally had not been immature, she would have never
have shouldered such a responsibility!
She was smiling now and dimpling in an irresistible fashion.
"Will you make me a promise?" she demanded. "It is the one thing I ask
of you. If you are really under the impression that I was good to you
when I was merely risking your life, then promise never to refer to what
I did for you as long as you live and never mention the story to anybody
who could have the faintest chance of knowing me. You see," Sally
continued, her manner becoming more confidential, "I realize now that
from every point of view I was foolish. It is kind of you to have turned
out to be some one whom Miss Patricia and all of us are able to know,
for you might have been a most impossible person."
The young French officer laughed. As he recalled their last meeting and
this one his benefactress struck him as a person who had the gift of
provoking laughter.
"I think this a good deal to require of me," he returned. "I will do
what you ask only on condition that you-----"
"That I promise to allow you to do a favor for me some day?" Sally
completed the unfinished sentence. "I suppose that is what you were
about to say, wasn't it? Of course you can do whatever kindness you like
if you have the chance. But it does not seem probable. After you go away
from the farm I can't imagine any reason why we should ever see each
other again. Besides, you would do whatever you could for me whether I
gave you permission or not." Here Sally smiled a second time.
For an instant the French officer stared, nonplussed.
But he was not the first person whom Sally had puzzled. She was so
matter of fact and so sure of herself one could not tell whether she was
extremely simple or correspondingly subtle.
Since her companion regarded her as a child, he could have but one
impression.
When finally he held out his hand, Sally hesitated an instant before
placing her own inside his. His exhibition of French courtesy and
gratitude at their last meeting had been slightly embarrassing. But this
time the lieutenant only held her hand gravely.
"You are right, Miss Ashton, whatever was possible to show my gratitude
to you I should do, with or without your permission. If I am spared when
the war is over I may even create the opportunity which you seem to
doubt my ever having. When the war began I had a sister who was, I think
perhaps only a few years older than you. If you can ever make up your
mind to regard me as she would have done, it would mean a great real to
me."
Sally was beginning to feel bored. She thought her companion was very
conventional and a little stupid.
She had not the faintest desire to adopt an unknown young man as a
brother. Sally knew herself sufficiently well to realize that the
sisterly attitude would make but little appeal to her as long as she
lived. And she hoped that her interview with the rescued officer might
be entertaining. Life was dull now at the farm with Mrs. Burton away and
her own occupation, which had been exciting even if fatiguing,
withdrawn.
"What happened to your sister?" Sally inquired politely, although
intending to make her escape as soon as possible should their
conversation continue on such sentimental lines.
"She was killed in the retreat when the Germans conquered this part of
France at the outbreak of the war. I had gone to the front to join my
regiment, so Yvonne and my mother were alone except for my little
brother and a few women servants. Our chateau was destroyed."
The French officer paused because Sally was looking at him with a
curious expression as if an idea which she may have had in her mind for
some time was now slowly crystalizing into a fact.
"Your sister's name was Yvonne Fleury and your chateau was not far from
here, was it not?" Sally demanded.
The young officer nodded. He did not care to discuss his past history
with Sally or with any one else in the world. There was nothing to be
gained by recalling the inevitable tragedies of the war.
Sally did not appear seriously distressed. Unless she happened to be an
actual witness to suffering it did not touch her deeply. Besides, at the
present time she was smiling oddly, as if she were pleased and
displeased at the same time.
"I don't think that you need adopt me as your sister," she remarked.
Until this moment they had both continued standing.
Now Sally made a little motion toward the invalid's chair which Miss
Patricia had removed from their sitting-room to bestow upon her patient.
"Suppose we both sit down," she suggested, taking the only other chair
at the same instant.
"There is something else I wish to talk to you about if you feel you are
strong enough to hear. It may prove to be good news. I suppose it seems
a strange coincidence, although some people would call it an act of
Providence, but I am sure I don't understand such things. It is just
barely possible your sister Yvonne Fleury was not killed. When we were
crossing to France from the United States we met a girl on shipboard
named Yvonne Fleury, whose home, the Chateau Yvonne, had been destroyed
in the early part of the war. As she believed her brother had been
killed at the front, she had gone to New York City, where she had been
living with some friends for several years. She told the entire family
tragedy to our chaperon, Mrs. Burton, who afterwards told the story to
us, hoping we might be especially kind to Yvonne because of her
unhappiness. The other girls have been, but Yvonne and I do not like
each other and she has been very disagreeable to me. Still, if she turns
out to be your sister, it does not matter. Under the circumstances I
suppose I ought to say nothing against her.
"I have been thinking of this for some time, ever since you told me your
name, but of course there may be nothing in it. I only thought if you
might like to meet this Yvonne Fleury--you see she came here to the farm
and is living with us--I will speak first to Aunt Patricia and together
you can decide."
In reality Sally was not so unsympathetic or so childish as at present
her words and manner suggested. During her long speech she had been
watching the young officer narrowly. She had arrived at her present
conclusion by putting certain facts together in a practical and
commonsense fashion. There was more than a possibility that she might be
wrong, so there was no reason for working oneself up into a state of
hysteria or of heroics. Moreover, Sally had been entirely frank. She
understood that the French officer would be overjoyed if Yvonne should
prove to be his sister, but Sally herself would have felt no enthusiasm
over the same discovery. As a matter of fact, she had no particular
interest in Yvonne's opportunity for happiness through her aid.
She was worried, however, because her former patient suddenly appeared
so white and shaken by her words, when only a few moments before he had
looked so remarkably well.
Sally moved slowly backwards toward the door.
"I'll go and find Aunt Patricia; perhaps I should have spoken to her
first of my idea. Then after you have talked with her if you would like
me to find Yvonne and ask her to come to you----"
With these words, having managed to reach the half closed door, Sally
disappeared.