Paulette, when she left her parents, threw a scarf about her
shoulders and ran across the courtyard to the gate house. She longed
for the sympathetic love of old Nanine, on whose bosom she had always
found consolation.
The long summer twilight was graying off into night, and the tall
black poplars above the garden wall showed black against the
darkening sky. From the low window, thrown open to the soft night
air, came a yellow shaft of lamp-light that lay in a square patch on
the neat gravel walk.
As Paulette's small heels crunched against the pebbles, a figure
suddenly started out of the shadows and a man's voice called softly:
"Who comes?"
The girl drew back, startled.
"It is I, Paulette," she answered. He came closer and Paulette
stared unbelievingly into his face.
"Jacques!" she cried.
"Yes, Mam'selle," answered the man, grinning broadly, "from
Belgium--from prison!"
The girl gave a quick gasp.
"Captain le Cerf--what of him?"
"I have news of him, Mam'selle, but I must report to the General
first!"
Paulette swayed, and put out her hand to steady herself against the
wall.
"Maurice!" she whispered the name under her breath as though half
afraid of what the news might be. "Tell me! Quick!" but Jacques
shook his head stolidly.
"First the General," he said, and turning on his heel, started toward
the house.
There was nothing for her to do but follow. At the door he stood
aside to let her pass.
"Will you tell your father I am here, Mam'selle?" he asked.
She looked at him piteously.
"Give me my news," she begged.
"What I have to say must be said to the General, Mam'selle," and
Paulette, the daughter of a soldier, knew he was right. But she was
trembling and breathless when she opened the salon door.
Her mother was still sitting as she had left her in the chair near
the table, her hands in her lap, the lamp-light accentuating the
silver of her hair. Her eyes were closed and there were weary
shadows under them.
The girl went softly to her side and laid a loving hand on her
shoulder. The knowledge that she soon was to have news of Maurice,
had softened her heart for a moment, and driven out the bitterness
she felt.
Madame opened her eyes with a start.
The girl's cheeks were flushed, the hand on her mother's shoulder
shook. Madame looked at her apprehensively.
"What is it!" she asked. These were days when the most insignificant
happenings might have the direst foreboding.
"Jacques is back! He is in the hall. He is waiting to see father!"
Madame rose hastily to her feet.
"Jacques? Is it possible?"
"It is, mother! He is here! He has news of Maurice!"
At the sound of her excited voice, the General opened the door of his
study.
Paulette waited for no more than the question in his eyes.
"Jacques is here," she cried, "he is waiting to see you! Oh, father,
ask him quickly his news from Maurice!"
The General looked from one to the other in surprise as the boy
entered and stood at attention.
The girl clung to her father's arm, and Madame smiled kindly.
"I understand you were a prisoner," began the General.
In the full light of the lamp, they could see how loosely the young
soldier's dusty uniform hung on his square shoulders. The skin
across his cheek-bones was tightly stretched, and there were lines
about his mouth that must have come from suffering. His chin was
blue with a week's growth of beard.
"I have a message from Captain le Cerf," he said.
Paulette clung to her father's arm, trembling with expectation.
"What is it?" asked the General patting the shaking hand reassuringly.
"It's a long story, Monsieur."
"Tell it in your own way, then," he said, motioning him to a chair.
Jacques seated himself stiffly, and began.
"We were prisoners in the same camp! It was just outside Liège.
Soon after I got there, I saw the Captain. He had been wounded."
Paulette, her eyes black and burning in her white face, followed
every word with pitiful eagerness.
"I was given permission to take care of him. There was an English
nurse there. She was very kind to the prisoners. She told us how it
would be possible for some of us to get away. We made our plans, and
yesterday, two others and myself got across the border. The Captain
would have come also if he had been strong enough, but he will be
here soon," he hastened to add, when he saw the look in the girl's
eyes, "and when it has all been arranged, a message will be sent to
Division Headquarters at St. Quentin, giving the name of the town and
the time when he will reach the frontier."
Paulette was shaking with emotion.
"Escape!" she breathed. "If he only can!"
What a vindication of her pride in Maurice this would be. To escape,
to show the Germans how futile their efforts were to hold him. Her
eyes sparkled and the blood surged to her cheeks. To trick the hated
enemy that held him, what a triumph!
Then she thought of his wound, and her momentary elation left her.
Fear returned.
"Is he better? Are you sure he is better?"
"Yes, Mam'selle, or I would not have left him!"
Madame rose.
"I must tell Nanine," she said, "that her son is here!" She rang,
and after a brief interval came the old woman's knock.
For a moment, the Breton peasant woman stood facing them, then with a
glad cry, she stumbled toward the young soldier.
"Jacques," she cried, and the joy and love in her voice brought a
lump into the boy's throat.
"Mother," he said huskily, as she rocked him in her stout old arms,
"Mother!"
Nanine was oblivious of the presence of the others. She was the
first mother, the primeval woman with her child. The maternal love
that goes out alike from high and low, from civilized and savage, was
in her voice and eyes.
Presently she held him away from her.
"I knew they couldn't keep you," she said fondly. "I knew you'd find
your way back to me. Are you well? Did they give you enough to
eat?" she turned to the others. "He always wanted such a lot to eat!"
Jacques grinned sheepishly. His mates too, had found this out.
Paulette broke in eagerly.
"Tell me about Captain le Cerf, was he comfortable? Were they kind
to him?"
The old woman looked at her, surprised.
"What are you saying, Mam'selle? Did the good Lord bring them
together?"
Jacques nodded and turned to the General.
"We were all well treated. The hardest part was not getting any
news. They told us things were going against us, but we knew they
were lying."
His mother's eyes devoured him.
"How were you taken?" asked the General.
"Four others and myself were detailed one night to cut some barbed
wire. Their star-shells discovered us to the _Boches_. Three of our
men went down, the other and myself were captured and taken to a
prison camp in Belgium. Among the prisoners the men and officers are
kept separated, but one day when I was doing some of the work they
had set me at, I recognized Captain le Cerf as he passed near me with
a hospital orderly. I suppose you've heard that he was taken in the
first attack on Liège. He'd been in the hospital a long time when I
got there, as his wound had been serious. You will be glad to know,
my General, that in Belgium there is a band of men and women whose
good work it is to try and smuggle French prisoners and their own men
of military age, out of the country. There's an English nurse--one
of God's angels we call her--who is at the head of this band. She's
helped a lot of us. But you see, when it came to Captain le Cerf's
turn to be helped to escape, he was still so weak it was impossible
for him to make the attempt. I was next, so it was arranged that if
I got through the lines, I was to bring you word that you might
expect him. They're going to get him across as soon as they can!"
"When--where?" broke in Paulette.
"That I cannot tell, Mam'selle. The next man that is passed through
will know the exact time and place where Captain le Cerf will reach
our lines!"
"Good!" said the General. "Now tell us how you made your own
escape." And Jacques, a little nervously, though proud of his
momentary importance, launched into his story.
"This English nurse was to give me all the particulars, but so that I
could get near her, I had to be in the hospital, and I'm a pretty
healthy man," his shoulders squared a little. "I was given some
medicine and told to take it and pretend to be sick." He made a wry
face at the memory. "I didn't have to pretend. They got me to the
hospital, and while their doctor was near, my nurse was just like any
other nurse, but as soon as he left, she leaned over me and whispered
my instructions. You know, sir, that the nurses have to report all
deaths; well, I was to die--and when I came to again, she'd have a
_Boche_ driver's uniform ready for me. That night they smuggled me
out. As far as those _Boches_ know, I'm lying out under one of their
little crosses. I reported where I was told to, as an ambulance
driver. My uniform and accent were unquestioned, and I was put in
charge of an ambulance and detailed to pick up the wounded. A man
can feel as sorry for a wounded _Boche_ as for one of his own, and an
ambulance driver sees a lot of suffering. I had to make many trips
before the time came when our _Poilus_ came charging across No Man's
Land. I was in the front trench with my stretcher-bearer at the
time. When I saw our men coming, I pretended to be wounded, and
dropped. They took the trench. I tore off as much of the field gray
as I could and told them who I was. I was ordered to report to my
own regiment, and my commanding officer sent me here!" Jacques told
his story with the simple directness of the man whose life is action,
not words. Paulette had followed eagerly. Her mother's eyes were
wet as she listened. Old Nanine, her ample bosom rising and falling
with the breathless wonder that this son, who was still a child to
her, had come through so much, murmured half aloud, a little prayer
of thanks for his safety.
The General nodded his approval.
"Good!" he said. "Report yourself to Colonel Rambeau at St. Quentin.
Tell him when word comes from Captain le Cerf, that my orders are
that you are to bring it here immediately. Be careful with it, it is
important that it does not get into other hands."
Jacques saluted.
"I shall leave word that you may come directly to Mademoiselle,"
continued the General, smiling indulgently on his daughter. "That is
all."
"Nanine," said Madame, rising, "you must want to talk to your boy."
As the mother and son hurried along the path to the gate house, the
door opened, and Angéle appeared in the shaft of a light that poured
out.
For a moment she stood and watched them, and then with a cry, ran and
threw her arms wildly about the boy's neck.
Nanine turned with a sigh and went into the house, leaving the girl
to sob in her sweetheart's arms, and it was some time before she
called:
"Come in, Jacques is hungry!"