A CHOICE OF BILLETS
With the French guns withdrawn from range, nothing interfered with the
remorselessly steady tramp of the column of infantry passing the gate;
and out on the main road an unending stream of men, guns, and transport
flowed, eyes on the goal of Paris. The chateau and its grounds were an
island in the green advancing tide planning to overflow the world.
The three had little appetite for dinner, which Jacqueline prepared
earlier than usual. They had finished when one of the green units
detached itself from the procession of armed power.
"We billet here to-night," he said in French to Phil, who met him at
the door. "How many of you are there? Three? Keep to your bedrooms
and leave the rest of the house to us. And you, are you English?"
"No, American."
"And what are you doing here?"
"I am here with my cousins," he answered. "We managed to get their
mother away to Paris."
"Keep to your rooms!" was the warning.
A few minutes later a dozen dusty officers with baggage and orderlies
arrived. Their guttural voices seemed to fill the rooms. When they
wanted to occupy the kitchen Jacqueline was inclined to show fight, but
Phil dissuaded her and after her first temperamental outburst she
yielded to Caesar and put her saucepans at the service of Caesar's
minions, who were already rummaging among the preserves and the wines.
It was war, a matter of course. Jacqueline being bred of a military
race accommodated herself to the fact, with a deadly hate in her heart.
By the wish of the two girls, who plainly preferred not to be alone,
they all made Henriette's bedroom a sitting-room. There they sat,
listening to the heavy footsteps below, the loud talk with references
to Paris, the clinking of glasses and toasts of exultant militarism.
Phil's anger was hard to control. He was not of a military race.
These men were highwaymen and burglars to him, outraging a home.
A brigadier-general slept in Madame Ribot's room; captains had the
sofas and lieutenants the floor. Not until there was silence below did
the three separate. Before dawn they were aroused by the harsh
gutturals and the noise of packing and hurried breakfasts, before the
officers again took their places with their commands and the green
river moved on after the few hours' rest which even German discipline
had to concede to the limitations of the human machine. Half-empty
preserve jars and wine bottles were on the tables and sausage grease
had been ground into the floors. In the littered kitchen industrious
Jacqueline had already begun putting things to rights and in due course
prepared the morning coffee as usual.
"I feel as if the house had been tainted!" she said.
"They have taken what they wanted," said the cure, who came to tell
them that the mayor was made hostage for the good behaviour of the
villagers, which meant that all must remain indoors. "I fear, I fear!"
he said, as he went away. "They are very strong, these barbarians!"
At breakfast the cousins spoke only in monosyllables. A pall was over
their thoughts. They could hear the steady tramp of men or the creak
of gun-carriages and caissons passing, like a march of fate that would
never end. Something was gone from their hearts and minds, from the
house, the garden, the air, the world--which was still with them as
long as a French soldier stood between them and the enemy. There was
nothing to do but stay indoors. The chateau and its grounds became a
prison.
Helen took a chair out behind a bush by the gate, where she could look
through an opening, and began sketching. Henriette tried to read a
novel. Phil walked in the grounds. What were the old father and
mother in Longfield thinking had become of him? How long should he be
here? He had turned to go into the house when steps on the walk, with
the jingle of spurs, arrested him and he looked around to see a young
officer of distinctly Prussian pattern approaching.
Lieutenant von Eichborn, aide to Lieutenant-General von Stein, division
commander, was probably four and twenty. From the peak of his helmet
to his spurs he thought well of himself and poorly of everybody else in
the world who was not Prussian and of his caste. This person in front
of him was a civilian. Since August first civilians had been of no
account on the continent of Europe. Besides, it was a nuisance to have
the owner of a chateau about.
"Do you live here?" he asked.
"Yes, for the present," Phil replied.
"English?" von Eichborn shot at him and in English.
"American!" Phil politely gave monosyllable for monosyllable. He did
not like von Eichborn.
"I am going to look over the chateau with a view to making it staff
headquarters," said von Eichborn, starting toward the door past Phil.
"Evidently," said Phil.
Von Eichborn wheeled on him.
"Take care!" he said. "I am an officer."
"I judged that you were," Phil replied, with studied politeness.
Von Eichborn stared, frowned. Phil neither stared nor frowned; he
smiled.
"What else am I to say?" he added. "I am not used to military customs."
Von Eichborn strolled on into the hall.
"Pleasant place. I think it will do--the best in this neighbourhood,
anyway. But I'll go through it."
Henriette rose from her chair as he entered the sitting-room and the
aide of General von Stein who thought so well of himself, startled, put
up his eye-glass, dropped it, and made a low bow.
"The chateau belongs to Mademoiselle Ribot's mother," Phil explained.
"Most charming place, most charming!" said von Eichborn, speaking
French now, while he was looking into Henriette's eyes and smiling.
"We think so," Henriette replied, and she smiled, partly in response to
his admiration, perhaps, as well as for policy's sake.
"Madame, your mother is not here?"
"No. She succeeded in getting away on the last train to Paris."
"Perhaps I shall see her there," von Eichborn remarked.
"You are quite sure?" Henriette flashed.
Her spirit seemed to please him; at least, he smiled again. A
straight, fine figure of militarism he made, his head inclined toward
her; but the thickish lips, the rather outstanding ears with heavy
lobes, and the straight line from neck to crown marked him as a brute.
"Then you are quite alone here?" he continued.
"My sister and Cousin Phil are here."
"Oh!" He glanced back at Phil casually.
"I hope that we may be disturbed as little as possible," she ventured.
"We are not such barbarians as you think," he said, with a laugh. "As
a matter of fact, I do not see why you should be disturbed at all.
There is another chateau on the list which belongs to the Count de la
Grange, and as I have the say for my uncle, the General, I do not see
why that will not serve as well."
"Yes, the Count is away!" put in Henriette quickly. "Thank you very
much!" This with a gracious smile as a livelier expression of her
acknowledgment of his courtesy.
"Done!" he answered promptly, smiling back at her. "I shall see that
you are quite undisturbed, I promise you, unless some one has to billet
here. We may be crowded and may be here some time if your scepticism
about our taking of Paris is well-grounded." He made the bow of a
Berlin salon, his heels clicking together, as he withdrew.
Phil went into the grounds with him.
"It's very good of you," he managed to say.
"Don't mention it!" replied von Eichborn. "A very charming cousin.
She speaks French like a Frenchwoman and looks like one. And you are
an American?"
"A distant cousin;" and Phil tried to explain a situation whose
awkwardness von Eichborn only emphasised the more by one or two subtle
remarks. Phil bit his lip and reminded himself that he was in the
presence of Prussian force.
"A peculiar position for an American," von Eichborn observed. "I hope
your papers are all right."
"Quite!"
"That is fortunate. You may be interrogated. The secret service is
very watchful, you know. Good-morning!"
Phil watched the ramrod form to the tune of the jingling spurs
disappear past the gate-post. He was disgusted and thoughtful.
"I am very glad that you are here with us," said Henriette soberly,
when he returned to the house. She, too, had been thinking.