A MATTER OF GALLANTRY
After Helen had left the room, Henriette staring at the closed door
suddenly swept toward it and swung it half open, only to shut it with a
bang. Doubtfully she turned, then sprang to the window as if to call
Helen back. She had a glimpse of her sister on the path, but again her
impulse was arrested.
Now she sat down on the edge of the bed, pressed her fingers to her
temples, and for a while was motionless except for the restless tapping
of her foot on the floor. At length her hands dropped to her side, the
tapping ceased and, with a shrug of her shoulders, she rose, turned on
the lights and looked at herself in the mirror, where she had always
found the solution of the few problems that had ever vexed her. As
reassuring this in her present mood as for the miser to find his gold
still there when he opens his strong box upon returning from a journey.
She smiled at the mirror and the mirror smiled back, and she allowed
herself a prolonged, luxurious sigh.
In the cup of valley where the chateau was hidden, surrounded by walls
of trees, the sound of the distant artillery duel was inaudible; but
the sharp blasts of the _soixante-quinze_ from behind the clump of
woods prevented any second sigh. She flew to the window. Outside the
silence of the night and again that unmistakable sound. She leaned
against the casement for support, trembling.
Madame Ribot, also looking into a mirror, had also sprung to the window
and also leaned against the casement in a convulsion of trembling. At
almost the same instant mother and daughter, such was their likeness of
nature, recovered their volition in the demand for companionship in
danger. Even with men it is largely the herd instinct which makes
armies brave. The two women met on the landing and involuntarily
clasped each other's hands, and the fact of being together took the
tremor out of their limbs. Madame Ribot became articulate. It was her
duty as the elder, the parent, to show initiative.
"Where is Cousin Phil?" she asked.
"Out in the grounds."
"And Helen?"
"With him."
There was reassurance to her strictly feminine mind in the utterance of
that masculine pronoun. The guns were silent for the time being; out
of doors was only the moist stillness of night.
"We must find them," said Madame Ribot, starting down the stairs.
As they reached the sitting-room the battery began a vicious spasm of
drum-head fire. Madame Ribot grasped the nearest thing to steady
herself, which was the table. She broke into a petulant rage which
defied her fears with the truth of her heart.
"Truckleford! That's it! There's no war in England. Truckleford and
the bore of an old parson and his wife! I have nothing to do with this
beastly war. Why couldn't they keep it away from Mervaux?"
"Yes, Truckleford!" assented Henriette.
"If we can get there," continued her mother. "We don't know what may
happen. The Germans are blowing chateaux and villages to pieces. If
we can get there! Why doesn't Helen come? Doesn't that cousin know we
are here alone? He probably thinks all this is another spectacle for
an American tourist."
The firing ceased as suddenly as it had begun, her words sounding
shrewish in the silence and uttered in the face of Phil and Helen as
they entered together. Phil was smiling in a way that was helpful and
Helen's manner was that of the elation of a great experience.
"It must have been awful for you, not knowing what it all meant and
coming so suddenly!" she said, at sight of her mother's drawn features.
Briefly she told what the battery commander had said; and then
naturally, for the first time in her life, became the family leader.
"The thing is for everybody to pack," she added, "and I'll find out
about the trains and getting a cart to the station."
"Yes, the government takes all the horses and the trains and even then
they can't stop the Germans!" Madame Ribot complained.
"At least you will let me look up the starting time," Phil urged. "I
know enough French for that."
"You could not ask without alarming the village," she replied. "I know
whom to go to for a conveyance."
Further concern on this score was abated by the arrival of two
gallants, neck and neck, for Count de la Grange and General Rousseau,
breathless, reached the chateau together. They addressed themselves to
Madame Ribot in characteristic fashion; the General as became a
soldier, the Count as became the old noblesse come to the succour of a
lady in distress.
"The French army will hold," said the General. "We are only drawing
the Germans on; but being in the sphere of operations, it will not be
comfortable for you here and, though you are in no danger, I think an
early departure advisable."
"The government has left Paris," said the Count, not failing to appear
important, "as I have just learned through trustworthy sources." (The
station master had told him.)
"Politicians! Cravens!" growled the General.
"What does one expect from a republic?" demanded the Count.
"I have served both the republic and the empire, but I always served
France!" replied the General. "The army will hold. Madame Ribot, pack
such things as you need. Rest perfectly assured. I am at your
service."
"And I shall have my trap here to take you to the first train. It goes
at seven," said the Count, with a side glance of triumph at the
General, who had no conveyance. "I have some influence and I shall see
that you have a place--and I shall drive you myself."
Madame Ribot, completely reassured, gratified that she had not taken
down her hair for the night and not unconscious that a dressing-gown
became her well, smiled at the Count with a charming gratitude.
"You take it all so calmly, Madame, as I knew you would," he said.
"Like a true Frenchwoman. It is women who are brave, not men."
The General was tugging at his moustache. Thanks to one dilapidated
old trap, he who had led charges in '70 and fought from Gravelotte to
Paris was holding a small hand; but he was still a strategist, who now
had a Napoleonic flash of initiative.
"Madame, while as a soldier I think there is no danger," he said, "I
feel it my duty to remain at the chateau overnight, so that you will
know I am near in case there should be an unexpected crisis which in
time of war only a soldier knows how to face. I shall take forty winks
on the sofa here as I have done many times in my tent on campaign. Ah,
those days! And you will find me here in the morning," he concluded,
turning triumphantly to the Count.
Ever impartial, Madame Ribot now bestowed her smile on the General.
"But Madame is not afraid," put in the Count. "I fear she will take
your offer, General, as an indication that she is."
"On the contrary," said Madame Ribot, "it takes crises like this to
prove what good neighbours one has. You have assured my reaching the
station"--with a smile to the Count--"and you have assured that some
one is on guard," with a smile to the General.
"But you will have to pack, you forget that, _mon general_!" the
_noblesse_ remarked to the army, with extreme politeness.
"I pack! I go!" the General snorted. "I shall not let the Germans
drive me from my house!" he said. "I remain! I know that the army
will hold!"
"And I shall see Madame safely to Paris, feeling that a Frenchman can
serve France best not with the Germans but with the French," remarked
the Count pithily.
"Sometimes a soldier too old to fight can serve in other ways," replied
the General.
"Madame, I am sorry that it is to be at such an early hour," the Count
concluded, as he kissed Madame Ribot's hand and withdrew. The General
also kissed it; and Madame Ribot, quite stately, ascended to her room.
"We also must pack," said Henriette to Helen.
They, too, went upstairs and left America and the French army together.
"A fine woman, Madame Ribot!" said the General. "Ah, our guns! Hear
them! Our guns--and I a gouty old man--a bag of bones! But this old
heart," he placed his hand over it, "has all the desire it ever had."
"You can see the guns from the upper terrace," suggested Phil.
"Come on, then, Monsieur," exclaimed the General. "You will forgive
me," he added, as they started up the path, "for intruding myself when
there was already a man here, a young, self-reliant man, as I see you
are. But that pestiferous Count!" he exclaimed belligerently; then he
chuckled philosophically. "Ah, he and I play a game which pleases
Madame and pleases us, we who live on memory--though she need not if
she were not so selfish. I do not like to allow the Count to score--it
makes him so jealous when you score off him. Then, one must be amused
in the country when time hangs idle on the hands and one grows old."
The great main road was now dark with transport and infantry under the
moonlight, and across the fields squadron of cavalry could be seen
going at the trot. Every gun-flash near and far, every movement, had
its message for General Rousseau. He talked of '70, ran on in
reminiscence as he stared out into the night; and finally was silent,
as if a great weight had been laid on his heart. Phil understood that
the signs which the old soldier read were not good.
"They are the lucky ones, our officers and men who are fighting," he
said. "It's so simple--fighting! You forget everything. You do your
all for France. I was twice wounded, Monsieur. All night I crawled
and hid in a barn till I got stronger; and then I worked my way through
the German lines and fought till I was too weak to stand in the siege.
Yes, that was good--so simple!"
Was it to be '70 over again? His army, his France to submit to the old
fate? A second and final tragedy coming?
"Yes, yes--and," said the General, a new note in his voice, as if an
inspiration had come to him, "and I may still serve not only France,
but you in America--all democracy, all civilisation. Monsieur, you
will tell Madame Ribot if she does not see me again that I had to look
after an important affair. I am going to locate some commander of ours
who will pass me onto the staff. Yes, tell Madame that I kiss her
hand."
His old legs seemed to have found new life as he parted from Phil.