The night was warm for October, and a late moon was just rising. The
garden seemed so peaceful, only the distant muttering of the guns
constantly reminded one that not far away the Red Dragon lay in wait,
its maw insatiable.
Must all the youth, the beauty of France, be offered up, before this
monster was satisfied? Would this home with its pleasant orchards,
its fertile gardens, be trampled under ruthless heels, laid waste as
so many others had? And when it was all over, and nothing remained
but smoking ruins and wasted fields, deep scars on the country's
breast that time itself could scarcely heal, when all the youth and
flower had become only a memory to be cherished in the bitter hearts
of a saddened people, what then? What would have been accomplished?
Could any price that might be paid to the victor, be great enough to
compensate for this?
Some such thoughts as these went through the General's mind as he
turned from the window to his son. This son, the very apple of his
eye, how much longer would that eye behold him?
Gerome came to the table.
"Well, sir?" he began.
The General led the way into his study.
"We can talk more freely here," he said.
They had scarcely entered, when the butler followed with a tray of
glasses and a decanter of wine.
"Anything else to-night, Monsieur?" he asked.
The General filled a glass.
"No, Antoine, that is all. You may close the windows. The Colonel
will see that the door is latched as he goes out."
The man busied himself with the fastenings.
"They are to meet here to-morrow," began Gerome, but his father, with
a lift of his eyebrow, indicated the butler who was just finishing
his task.
"Tst!" he said warningly, and then to the man, "That will do,
Antoine."
He bowed with that oddly quiet air of his.
"Very well, Monsieur, good-night," he said, and went out softly, but
whether by accident or design, the door he closed after him, failed
to catch and remained ever so slightly ajar.
Gerome was impatient to impart his information, and the man had
scarcely gone, when he began.
"I have been given orders to notify the commanding officers of all
the brigades of our division to meet here to-morrow," he said. "I
must leave for St. Quentin to-night."
"The others have been informed?"
"Yes!"
The General tapped his pursed lips with his forefinger as he always
did when thinking.
"H'm," he said, "by nine they should all be here."
"I have also been instructed to hand you this." Gerome took a folded
paper in a long blue cover from his pocket and put it into his
father's hand, much as though he were handing him the wealth of the
world. "It is the plan of location of our batteries."
"This is very important, my boy," said the General, as he took the
packet. "I wonder what their intelligence bureau would say if they
could get their hands on this? Let us study the situation."
He pulled open a drawer and took out a leather case. They drew up
chairs on either side of the table, and under the lamp light, the two
heads, father's and son's, bent over the maps which the General
unrolled.
The room was silent as they studied the drawings. Only the clock on
the mantel, ticking out the passing minutes and the occasional rustle
of the papers, broke the stillness. They were both too absorbed to
have heard the sound, if there had been a sound to hear, of the door
behind them, as it slowly opened the merest trifle, too intent on
their work to see the lean face of Antoine as it peered through, the
meekness gone from the watchful eyes, the humility from the thin,
hard lips.
"I hope we can make this blow a decisive one," said Gerome.
The General flattened his finger over a spot on the map and referred
to the papers his son had brought.
"It is about here, I would say," he began.
Gerome looked at him in astonishment.
"Isn't that one of the most strongly fortified parts of their line?"
he asked.
"And therefore, the place where attack will be least expected."
Gerome nodded, and the General went on.
"Our artillery is being heavily engaged along the whole line, but it
is at this point," and his finger tapped the map, "that the infantry
will be massed for the thrust."
"How many men will be used?" asked Gerome, leaning closer to study
the situation.
"About five corps with the necessary reserves."
The young Colonel leaned back in his chair.
"It seems logical," he said, "it should succeed."
The face behind them smiled evilly and melted into the darkness back
of it, and as quietly as it had opened, so quietly the door was
closed.
"It's a hard game we've been playing," said the General, "but we are
holding them now. They have taught us a great deal, but if this plan
results as we hope," the great head went up triumphantly, "it is the
beginning of the end!" His face lit up with a proud smile. "You
will be the youngest officer here to-morrow."
"I am honored to be present at a conference that may decide the fate
of France," said Gerome earnestly, as he rose.
His father pushed back the maps, rose to his feet, and laid a hand on
his shoulder.
"My boy," he said, and his voice was full of love, the love that a
fine father gives to a fine son, "I believe you are worthy of the
honor. Now go and kiss your pretty wife good-night. You have a long
ride before you. I am going into the garden to smoke."
Gerome looked into the kindly old eyes.
"Good-night, sir!" he said, his shoulders squared to meet the trust
he saw there. "Good-night."
For a moment after his son had gone, the General stood under the
lamp-light looking over the papers, his shaggy brows were pulled down
over his eyes, his lower lip pursed out. There was a wordless prayer
in his heart, that this might be the end. Soldier though he was,
born and bred to the sword, the red flood that was sweeping the world
was nauseating, sickening. He, like many others, as bravely
fighting, as unflinchingly facing the storm of war, longed for the
peace that must come.
He started to roll the paper with his maps in their case, but
suddenly he stopped, reconsidering, and shaking his head, placed the
case carefully in his pocket. This was of too much importance to be
trusted away from his keeping. From the humidor on the table he
carefully selected a cigar, bit off the end, and lit it leisurely,
then opening one of the long windows, strolled out into the garden to
think as he smoked.