HELEN ASKS A FAVOUR
The glow of satisfaction which Madame Ribot had enjoyed during the
gallantries of the General and the Count soon passed when she was
behind the scenes. Between directions to the maid and continual
changes of mind as to what she would and would not have packed, she
scolded the war.
"Why couldn't the _prefect_ or the army authorities have told us in
time, so we could have got away like Christians?" she grumbled.
"Wasn't it their business to know that the Germans were coming? It's
shameful, indecent, barbarous! Well?"--this last irritably in answer
to a rap at her door. "Come in!"
When she saw that it was Helen her frown deepened. It was a petulant
frown which would have surprised the Count and the General; yet,
perhaps it would not. They were wise old men, particularly the General.
"More bad news?" exclaimed Madame Ribot. She had been used to
regarding Helen as a harbinger of bad news since her birth. "It must
be! You look as if you regarded the whole thing as a lark. Of course
you would. Everything goes by contraries with you!" she continued.
"Well?"
Helen was elate, despite the scene with Henriette; elate with decision.
"I came to ask a favour," she said. It was hardly a diplomatic
beginning, considering her mother's state of mind.
"A favour! At this time! That is like you, too."
"Some one ought to look after the house while we are gone," Helen went
on hurriedly.
"Jacqueline--and the mayor and the cure. What do we have officials and
priests for?"
"I meant myself, too."
"You? I should not call that a favour. You mean to be here alone when
the Germans come?"
"I don't think they will harm me," said Helen soberly.
Madame Ribot gave her daughter a sweeping look, which was cuttingly
significant.
"No, not you!" she exclaimed; and noting the two red spots which
appeared in Helen's cheeks she added: "You know how to look after
yourself."
Her mother's thought so quickly comprehended had cut deep, but only for
an instant. Then it gave urgency to her desire. Her words came
panting, as if she were striving for a goal.
"Mother, it's my chance--the chance that comes only once! You see, I
am what I am and this is the thing that I want to do. I'll see real
war and the soldiers and the villagers in the midst of it--and the
Germans, too! Oh, how I can draw! I'll not need to be clever, the
subject is so great." The daughter's intensity communicated its
directness to the mother. "It will not be necessary to say a word to
Henriette or Cousin Phil, or anybody about the plan," she went on.
"You see, I shall start to walk to the station. You will all be
aboard, the train will go and I shall be left behind."
But Helen's self-reliant precision was too valuable. Madame Ribot did
not like to part with it in such a crisis.
"And desert me when I need you! What kind of a mother do you think I
am to permit such an arrangement as this?"
"The Count will see you safely on the train to Paris and I can finish
packing all your things and put them in the garret under lock and key,
and you will return to find nothing disturbed."
Madame Ribot's glance followed Helen's around the litter of clothing on
the floor.
"Really, one of us ought to stay and look after the things!" Helen
urged. "Please!"
"Very well. Do, my dear!" her mother agreed.
She breathed a sigh of relief, and Helen drew a deep breath which
filled the depths of her eyes with the triumph of freedom from the
memory of the scene under the tree and of more things than her mind
could catalogue. Even Madame Ribot was susceptible to the glory of
those eyes. It occurred to her that Helen did have moments when she
was not plain.
"Thank you, mother!" she said. "I--I----" and she caught her mother's
hands in hers and kissed her on the forehead. "And not a word to
anybody!"
The desire for movement which always came to her when she was happy
called for the open. She did not know where she should go, but
somewhere out into the night under the stars, in sight of the
gun-flashes. Below, she found Phil and Jacqueline gathering
bric-a-brac and china and wrapping it in papers and putting it in a
chest.
"You're through packing?" Phil asked.
"Quite ready," said Helen. He was the one person she did not want to
meet.
"Then sleep for you! No telling whether you'll get any to-morrow."
"I could not--not to-night!" The joy of her decision still remained in
her eyes and her exclamation sounded a vitality that seemed to live on
itself.
"In that case, Jacqueline and I will welcome an assistant," said he.
She could hardly go moon-gazing when there was something to do, so she
joined in their task. They rolled up rugs; they took down Henriette's
pictures and put all in a closet, which was locked when it was full to
overflowing. It was strange doing this when she would be there
to-morrow, and stranger still working with him in view of what had
happened. At length it became oppressive, even torturing in its
fellowship of talk and laughter. For she found herself laughing a
number of times when their glances met as he passed her something and
she relied on his masculine strength and he on her deftness of fingers
in their work.
"Enough! There's little left that the Germans can harm. I really
believe I could sleep now!" she exclaimed.
"We can lie down for a couple of hours, anyway," he said.
They went upstairs together and parted at the landing.
"Good-night--or is it good-morning?" he said.
"Good-morning!" she answered. For an instant of silence both seemed
arrested as they looked at each other; then Helen turned abruptly
toward her room.