A little breeze began blowing; the scarlet skirt of my turkey-girl
fluttered above her wooden shoes, and on her head the silk bow
quivered like a butterfly on a golden blossom.
"They say when the Lord fashioned the first maid of Alsace half the
angels cried themselves ill with jealousy," said I, looking up at
her.
"And the other half, monsieur?"
"The sterner half started for Alsace in a body. They were controlled
with difficulty, mademoiselle. That is why St. Peter was given a key
to lock them in, not to lock us poor devils out."
After a silence she said, musing: "It is a curious thing, but you
speak as though you had seen better days."
"No," I said, "I have never seen better days. I am slowly rising in
the world. Last year I was a lieutenant; I am now inspector."
"I meant," she said, scornfully, "that you had been well-born--a
gentleman."
"Are gentlemen scarce in the Imperial Military Police?"
"It is not a profession that honors a man."
"Of all people in the world," said I, "the police would be the most
gratified to believe that this violent world needs no police."
"Monsieur, there is another remedy for violence."
"And what may that remedy be, mademoiselle?"
"Non-resistance--absolute non-resistance," said the girl, earnestly,
bending her pretty head toward me.
"That is not human nature," I said, laughing.
"Is the justification of human nature our aim in this world?"
"Nor is it possible for mankind to submit to violence," I added.
"I believe otherwise," she said, gravely.
As we mounted the hill along a sandy road, bordered with pines and
with cool, green thickets of broom and gorse, I looked up at her and
said: "In spite of your theories, mademoiselle, you yourself refused
to accompany me."
"But I did not resist your violence," she replied, smiling.
After a moment's silence I said: "For a disciple of a stern and
colorless creed, you are very human. I am sorry that you believe it
necessary to reform the world."
She said, thoughtfully: "There is nothing joyless in my creed--above
all, nothing stern. If it be fanaticism to desire for all the world
that liberty of thought and speech and deed which I, for one, have
assumed, then I am, perhaps, a fanatic. If it be fanaticism to detest
violence and to deplore all resistance to violence, I am a very
guilty woman, monsieur, and deserve ill of the Emperor's Military
Police."
This she said with that faintly ironical smile hovering sometimes in
her eyes, sometimes on her lips, so that it was hard to face her and
feel quite comfortable.
I began, finally, an elaborate and logical argument, forgetting that
women reason only with their hearts, and she listened courteously. To
meet her eyes when I was speaking interrupted my train of thought, and
often I was constrained to look out across the hills at the heavy,
solid flanks of the mountains, which seemed to steady my logic and
bring rebellious thought and wandering wisdom to obedience.
I explained my theory of the acceptance of three things--human nature,
the past, and the present. Given these, the solution of future
problems must be a different solution from that which she proposed.
At moments the solemn absurdity of it all came over me--the
turkey-girl, with her golden head bent, her butterfly coiffe
a-flutter, discussing ethics with an irresponsible fly-by-night, who
happened at that period of his career to carry a commission in the
Imperial Police.
The lazy roadside butterflies flew up in clouds before the
slow-stepping horse; the hill rabbits, rising to their hindquarters,
wrinkled their whiskered noses at us; from every thicket speckled
hedge-birds peered at us as we went our way solemnly deciding those
eternal questions already ancient when the Talmud branded woman with
the name of Lilith.
At length, as we reached the summit of the sandy hill, "There is La
Trappe, monsieur," said my turkey-girl, and once more stretched out
her lovely arm.
There appeared to be nothing mysterious about the house or its
surroundings; indeed, a sunnier and more peaceful spot would be hard
to find in that land of hills, ravines, and rocky woodlands, outposts
of those cloudy summits soaring skyward in the south.
The house itself was visible through gates of wrought iron, swinging
wide between pillars of stone, where an avenue stretched away under
trees to a granite terrace, glittering in the sun. And under the
terrace a quiet pool lay reflecting tier on tier of stone steps which
mounted to the bright esplanade above.
There was no porter at the gate to welcome me or to warn me back; the
wet road lay straight in front, barred only by sunbeams.
"May we enter?" I asked, politely.
She did not answer, and I led the horse down that silent avenue of
trees towards the terrace and the glassy pool which mirrored the steps
of stone.
Masses of scarlet geraniums, beds of living coals, glowed above the
terrace. As we drew nearer, the water caught the blaze of color,
reflecting the splendor in subdued tints of smothered flame. And
always, in the pool, I saw the terrace steps, reversed, leading down
into depths of sombre fire.
"And here we dismount," said I, and offered my aid.
She laid her hands on my shoulders; I swung her to the ground, where
her sabots clicked and her silver neck-chains jingled in the silence.
I looked around. How intensely still was everything--the leaves, the
water! The silent blue peaks on the horizon seemed to be watching me;
the trees around me were so motionless that they also appeared to be
listening with every leaf.
This quarter of the world was too noiseless for me; there might have
been a bird-note, a breeze to whisper, a minute stirring of unseen
life--but there was not.
"Is that house empty?" I asked, turning brusquely on my companion.
"The Countess de Vassart will give you your answer," she replied.
"Kindly announce me, then," I said, grimly, and together we mounted
the broad flight of steps to the esplanade, above which rose the gray
mansion of La Trappe.