That night just before falling asleep Nona Davis had an unexpected
flash of thought. It was odd that Lieutenant Hume, who had been
a friend in need, should turn out to be such a well-educated and
attractive fellow. Moreover, how did it happen that he was a British
officer? Now and then for some especial act of valor, or for some
especial ability, a man was raised from the ranks. Yet Nona did not
believe either of these things to have happened in Lieutenant Hume’s
case.
What was the answer to the puzzle? He was the son of a gardener and
she herself had seen his mother Susan, a comfortable old lady with
twinkling brown eyes, red cheeks, a large bosom and a round waist to
match. Surely it was difficult to conceive of _her_ as the mother of
such a son! And especially in England where it was so difficult to
rise above one’s environment.
Although tired and sleepy, Nona devoted another ten minutes to her
riddle. Then all at once the answer appeared plain enough. Lieutenant
Hume had doubtless been brought up as the foster brother of a boy
of nobler birth and greater riches than he himself possessed. Then,
doubtless, seeing his unusual abilities, he had been given unusual
opportunities. Nona had read English novels in which just such
interesting situations occurred, so she felt rather pleased with her
own discernment. However, if it were possible to introduce the subject
without being rude, she intended to make sure of her impression by
questioning Lieutenant Hume. One might so easily begin by discussing
English literature, a subject certainly broad enough in itself. Then
one could mention a particular book, where a foster brother played a
conspicuous part. But while trying to recall a story with just the
exact situation she required, Nona went to sleep.
She and Barbara shared the same room. But fortunately no one of
her other friends had been so severe as Eugenia. However, after the
departure of the two young men, realizing that she had been tiresome,
Nona had been sufficiently contrite to appease even Eugenia.
The next morning at _déjeuner_ Dick Thornton declared that Nona’s
adventure had really resulted in good fortune for all of them. More
than most things he had desired to attend the review of the fresh
troops about to leave Paris for the firing line. Moreover, it would be
uncommonly interesting to see the presentation of the decorations by
the French President. And if Nona had not chanced to meet Lieutenant
Hume and his friend, neither of these opportunities would have been
theirs. Dick had no chance of securing the special invitations and
tickets necessary for seats in the reviewing stand. Privately Dick had
intended escaping from the four girls to witness the scene alone. But
now as Lieutenant Hume had invited all of them it would be unnecessary
to make this confession.
The review was to take place on a level stretch of country just outside
Paris between St. Cloud and the Bois.
Having in some magical fashion secured two antiquated taxicabs,
Lieutenant Hume arrived next day at the pension. He and Nona and
Eugenia started off in one of them, with Barbara, Mildred and Dick in
the other.
During the ride into the country Lieutenant Hume talked the greater
part of the time about his friend, Captain Castaigne, whom Nona and
Eugenia had met the evening before. The two men had only known each
other since the outbreak of the war, yet a devoted friendship had
developed between them.
Indeed, Nona smiled to herself over Lieutenant Hume’s enthusiasm; it
was so unlike an Englishman to reveal such deep feeling. But for the
time being Captain Henri Castaigne was one of the idols of Paris. The
day’s newspapers were full of the gallant deed that had won him the
right to the military order France holds most dear, “The Cross of the
Legion of Honor.”
Nevertheless, during the early part of the conversation Eugenia
scarcely listened. She was too busily and happily engaged in watching
the sights about her. Paris was having a curious effect upon the New
England girl, one that she did not exactly understand. She was both
shocked and fascinated by it.
In the first place, she had not anticipated liking Paris. She had
only consented to make the trip because they were in need of rest and
the other girls had chosen Paris. Everything she had ever heard or
read concerning Paris had made her feel prejudiced against the city.
Moreover, it was totally unlike Eastport, Massachusetts, where Eugenia
had been born and bred and where she had received most of her ideas of
life.
Yet there was no denying that there was something about Paris that took
hold even of Eugenia Peabody’s repressed imagination.
It was a brilliant autumn afternoon. The taxicab rattled along the
Champs Elysées, under the marvelous Arc de Triomphe and then turned
into the wooded spaces of the Bois.
Every now and then Eugenia found a lump rising in her throat and her
heart beating curiously fast. It was all so beautiful, both in art and
nature. Surely it was impossible to believe that there could be an
enemy mad enough to destroy a city that could never be restored to its
former loveliness.
Perchance the war had purified Paris, taking away its uglier side in
the healing influence of patriotism. For even Eugenia’s New England
eyes and conscience could find but little to criticize. Naturally many
of the costumes worn by the young women she considered reprehensible.
The colors were too bright, the skirts were too short. French women
were really too stylish for her severer tastes. For there was little
black to be seen. This was a gala afternoon, so whatever one’s personal
sorrow, today Paris honored the living.
Before Eugenia consented to listen Lieutenant Hume had arrived in
the middle of his story, and then she listened only half-heartedly.
She was interested chiefly because the young Captain she had met the
evening before was so far from one’s idea of a hero. He was more like
a figure of a manikin dressed to represent an officer and set up in a
shop window. His features were too perfect, he was too graceful, too
debonair! But in truth Eugenia’s idea of a soldier must still have been
represented by the type of man who, shouldering a musket and still in
his farmer’s clothes, marched out to meet the enemy at Bunker Hill.
Some day Eugenia would learn that it takes all manner of men and women
to make a world. And that there are worthwhile people and things that
do not come from Boston.
“He was in the face of the enemy’s fire when a shell exploded under
his horse,” Lieutenant Hume explained. “He and the horse were shot
twenty feet in the air. When they came down to earth again there was
an immense hole in the ground beneath them and both man and horse were
plunged into it. Rather like having one’s grave dug ahead of time,
isn’t it?”
Nona nodded, leaning across from her seat in the cab with her golden
brown eyes darkening with excitement and her hands clasped tight
together in her lap.
Eugenia kept her eyes upon her even while giving her attention to
the narrative. Personally she considered Nona unusually pretty and
attractive and the idea worried her now and then. For there were to be
no romances if she could prevent them while the four American Red Cross
girls were in Europe. If they wished such undesirable possessions as
husbands they must wait and marry their own countrymen.
“But Captain Castaigne was not hurt? So he still managed to carry the
messages to his General?” Nona demanded. She was much interested in
getting the details of the story before seeing its hero again.
Robert Hume was talking quietly. Nevertheless it was self-evident that
he was only pretending to his casual tone.
“Of course Captain Castaigne was injured. There would have been no
reason why any notice should have been taken of him if he had only
done his ordinary duty. Fact is, when he crawled out he was covered
with blood and nearly dead. The horse was killed outright and Henri
almost so. Nevertheless he managed to run on foot under heavy fire to
headquarters with his message. No one knows how he accomplished it and
he knows least of all. He simply is the kind of fellow who does the
thing he starts out to do. We Anglo-Saxons don’t always understand
the iron purpose under the charm and good looks these French fellows
have. But fortunately we don’t often use cavalrymen now for carrying
despatches. Motor cars do the work better when there is no telephone
connection.”
“Yes, and I’m truly glad,” Nona murmured softly. She was thinking of
how many gallant young cavalry officers both in France and England
those first terrible months of the war had cut down, before the lessons
of the new warfare had been learned.
But Eugenia had now awakened to a slight interest in the conversation.
“Your young friend looks fit enough now,” she remarked dryly.
The English officer was not pleased with Eugenia’s tone. “Nevertheless,
Captain Castaigne has been dangerously ill in a hospital for many
months, although he is returning to his regiment tomorrow.”
After this speech there was no further opportunity for conversation.
The two cabs had driven through the Bois and were now in sight of the
field where the review was to be held.
Drawn up at the left were two new regiments about to depart for the
front. Most of the soldiers were boys of nineteen who would have
finished their terms of military service in the following year, but
because of necessity were answering France’s call today. They were
wearing the new French uniform of gray, which is made for real service,
and not the old-fashioned one with the dark-blue coat and crimson
trousers. These too often formed conspicuous targets for the enemy’s
guns.
Across from the recruits stood another line of about fifty men. They
were old men with gray hair. If their shoulders were still erect
and their heads up it was not because this was now their familiar
carriage. It was because this great day had inspired them. For they
were the old soldiers who had been gallant fighters in 1870, when
France had fought her other war with Germany. Now they were too old
to be sent to the firing line. Nevertheless, each one of them was
privately armed and ready to defend his beloved Paris to the last gasp
should the enemy again come to possess it.
Between the two lines and on horseback were President Poincaré,
France’s new war minister and half a dozen other members of the Cabinet.
Then standing in a small group separated from the others were the
soldiers who were about to be decorated for especial bravery.
While Lieutenant Hume was struggling to find places for his guests,
Nona was vainly endeavoring to discover the young French officer whom
she had met so unexpectedly the evening before. She was anxious to
point him out to Mildred and Dick and Barbara.
But after they were seated it was Eugenia who found him first. Captain
Castaigne was wearing an ordinary service uniform with no other
decorations besides the emblems of his rank.
Then a few moments later President Poincaré and his staff dismounted.
The four American girls were distinctly disappointed by the French
President’s appearance. He is a small, stout man with a beard, very
middle class and uninteresting looking. Yet he has managed to hold
France together in times of peace and of war.
This was indeed a great day for Paris. Rarely are medals for bravery
bestowed upon the soldiers save near the scene of battle by the
officers in command. Yet there was little noise and shouting among the
crowd as there had been the evening before. They were unusually silent,
the women and girls not trying now to keep back the tears.
Sixty-four buglers sounded a salute. Then President Poincaré marched
forward and shook hands with every soldier in the group of twelve.
Eleven of them were to receive the new French decoration which is
known as the “Croix de Guerre.” This is a medal formed of two crossed
swords and having a profile of a figure representing the French
Republic in the center. But Captain Castaigne alone was to be honored
with the Cross of the Legion of Honor.
First President Poincaré pinned the medal on the breast of a boy
sentry. He had stood at the mouth of a trench as the Germans
approached, and though wounded in half a dozen places had continued to
fire until his companions had been warned of the attack.
Then one after the other each soldier received his country’s thanks
and the recognition of his especial bravery until at length President
Poincaré came to young Captain Castaigne.
One does not know exactly what it was in the young man’s appearance
that touched the older man. Perhaps when you learn to know more of
his character you will be better able to understand. For after the
President had bestowed the higher decoration upon the young captain, he
leaned over and kissed him.
Eugenia Peabody had an excellent view of the entire proceeding. Though
her lips curled sarcastically, strangely enough her eyes felt absurdly
misty. She much disliked this French custom of the men kissing each
other, for Eugenia believed very little in kissing between either
men or women. Nevertheless, she did feel disturbed by the whole
performance, and hoped that her friends were too much engaged to pay
attention to her. Above all things Eugenia desired that Barbara Meade
should not observe her weakness. She knew Barbara would never grow
weary hereafter of referring to the amazement of Eugenia’s giving way
to tears in public and without any possible excuse.
Ten minutes later the review began with a blare of trumpets. Then
gravely the new regiments passed before the President and his officers.
Afterwards they marched away until a cloud of dust hid them and there
was nothing for the spectators to do but return to their own homes.
Nevertheless, the young French Captain managed to make his way to his
English friend. He appeared as indifferent and as debonair as he had
the evening before. One could never have guessed that he had just
received the greatest honor of his life, and an honor given to but few
men.
Reference to his decoration he pretended not to be able to understand,
although Mildred, Barbara and Dick tried to compliment him with their
best school French.
But beyond inclining her head frostily, Eugenia made no attempt at a
further acquaintance with the young soldier.
However, several times when he believed no one was observing him,
Captain Castaigne stole a furtive glance at Eugenia.
She was somewhat better looking than she had been the evening before,
yet she was by no means a beauty. Moreover, she was still a puzzle.
Then the boy--for after all he was only twenty-three--swallowed a
laugh. At last he had found a real place for Eugenia. No wonder he had
thought of his former colonel. Recently he had learned that a regiment
of women in Paris were in training as soldiers. He could readily behold
Eugenia in command.
The other three American girls were charming and he was glad to have
met them. But Eugenia he trusted he might never see again. He was glad
to be returning to the firing line next day. Let heaven preserve him
from further acquaintance with such an unattractive person!