“My dear Eugenia, you might as well confess that you are desperately
interested. If you say anything else we won’t believe you,” Barbara
declared positively.
Three days afterward, between four and five in the afternoon, the four
American Red Cross girls were leaving the little French farmhouse
together, and evidently with some definite intention. Nevertheless,
the journey could have nothing to do with their nursing, since the
faces and the costumes of three of the girls suggested a gala occasion.
Eugenia, however, having entirely recovered her health and poise, had
returned to her former manner and character. Yet she too was wearing
her best dress, recently purchased in Paris, and was looking sternly
handsome.
“Then I might as well not answer you at all, Barbara, since you have
made up your mind already what I should reply,” she answered curtly.
Without intending to be ungracious she stalked off in front of the
little procession.
The other two girls laughed, but Barbara, making a little grimace, ran
on until she was able to catch up with Eugenia. She was beginning to
think now and then that the older girl’s manner was more severe than
her emotions. Now she gave her arm a little shake.
“Don’t be so superior, Miss Peabody from Boston! You must make
your confession along with the rest of us. So tell me the honest
truth--‘hope I may-die-if-I-don’t’ kind--aren’t you terribly pleased
that the Countess, whose guests we have been for some time, has
condescended to be willing to meet us and has asked us to have coffee
with her this afternoon at her chateau?”
Still Eugenia demurred. “Oh, I presume it will be a novel experience.
Nevertheless, I don’t think we show proper pride in accepting an
invitation before the Countess has called upon us. It isn’t the way we
do such things at home. If it comes to a question of family, of course
I am an American, but the Peabodys of Boston----”
Barbara’s laughter rang out deliciously. She was in the gayest
possible humor and suggested a little woodland creature in her brown
cloth suit and hat with a single scarlet wing. What had become of the
serious-minded young American woman devoting her life to the care of
the wounded?
“But it isn’t a question of family, Eugenia, or how should I dare live
and breathe in the same world with you, any more than with a French
countess?” she protested. “But please remember that we have accepted
a great deal more from this same Countess than a simple invitation to
spend an hour with her. We are living in _her_ house, we have been
eating a goodly portion of her food. Oh, I know this is because we
are in France to nurse the soldiers she adores! Still, I can’t see
that this cancels our obligations. Besides, she is a much older woman
and----”
Eugenia put her one disengaged hand up to her ear.
“I surrender, Barbara, in all meekness! But really, it is not necessary
to produce so many arguments for doing a thing you are simply crazy
to do. You merely wish to gratify your curiosity. You know, I don’t
believe that we should be engaging in frivolous pursuits like paying
visits upon strangers, when we are here in Europe for such serious
purposes. Still, I don’t suppose that an occasional break really
interferes with our work.”
“Certainly not,” Barbara finished with emphasis. Then she skipped along
beside her taller companion like a small girl endeavoring to keep up
with a large one. “Besides, Eugenia, think of how wonderful the news
is! The Germans are actually retiring of their own accord! There hasn’t
been any fighting in our neighborhood for over a week now. No wonder
the Countess Amélie feels like having guests at last. François says
that she has not been so cheerful since the war began. I don’t know
how you feel, Eugenia, but Mildred and Nona and I think it a wonderful
experience to see the inside of an old French home which was in
existence long before the French Revolutionary days. It seems that this
Countess has never even gone to Paris, nor visited anyone except her
old family friends who are also members of the nobility. She won’t even
acknowledge that France is today a great Republic. She still tries to
live like the _grande dames_ of the days before the Revolution.”
Eugenia fairly sniffed. Also she held her shoulders straighter and her
head higher.
“Then she must be a very absurd old woman and I am more than ever sure
that I shall not like her. The idea of not realizing that a republic is
the only just form of government in the world! I wouldn’t be anything
except an American----”
Once more Barbara smiled, patting the older girl’s arm soothingly.
“Of course you wouldn’t, my dear, and neither would any of the rest of
us, except perhaps Nona. She is really an old-time aristocrat, although
she would rather perish than think so. But just the same I don’t see
why one should not be interested in contrasts in this life! What could
be greater than the gulf between this old French aristocrat and us?”
“What indeed?” answered Eugenia, more wisely than she then knew.
For at this moment the interest which the four girls had been feeling
in their new hostess temporarily died away.
According to Nona’s and Barbara’s suggestion, and in spite of the
distance, they were approaching the chateau through the woods, which
the two girls had visited the day after their arrival in this portion
of southern France.
November had come, but the autumn was so far deliciously warm.
Difficult it was to imagine a world at war on this afternoon and in
this particular forest! For, by some freak of fortune, this woodland
had so far escaped the ravages of the German shells. Over it and around
it they had ploughed their devastating way. But until now the birds
prepared their winter nests here undisturbed in the tall trees, and the
pool of Melisande remained unbroken save by its own ripples.
Again the girls walked more quietly along the path under the trees than
in the open country. They were thinking perhaps of different things,
while their eyes were absorbed in the loveliness about them. For after
months of nursing, sometimes amid horrors and suffering one could not
afterwards discuss, it was healing to both soul and body to inhale the
sweetness of the earth and air.
Southern France was unlike the land lying to the north and close to the
Belgian frontier, where the Red Cross girls had for some months past
been nursing the British soldiers. That was an orchard and a vineyard
country, this a land of forest and of golden grain fields. Many of the
trees were pine and cedar, yet there were occasional maples and elms,
and here and there a chestnut.
A small branch of scarlet and yellow leaves dropped near Eugenia’s
feet. It was a far call to her New England home, yet somehow the color
and the atmosphere of the woods awakened home memories. Unconsciously
Eugenia stopped and thrust the bunch of leaves inside her belt.
Against the blue of her costume they shone like flame, making her eyes
and hair show darker by contrast and bringing a brighter tone to her
clear but pale skin.
Noticing the attractive effect of the careless decoration, the three
other girls were far too wise to mention the fact to Eugenia, or
assuredly the leaves would again have been trampled under foot.
However, they had other interests more engrossing to absorb them.
Barbara and Nona led a short detour for a sight of the old hut that
had interested them on their previous walk. But Mildred and Eugenia
were both a little scornful of the story that this was a hermit’s
hut, uninhabited for a number of years. This afternoon it was so
self-evident that some one was now living in it that Eugenia hurried
the others away. No one could be seen at the moment, but there was a
pile of fresh ashes in front of the house, a stack of freshly gathered
wood and chips by the tumbled-down door, and a scarlet cap caught in
the top of a tall bush.
Moreover, because it was growing late and their invitation was for
five o’clock, Eugenia could not be persuaded to linger by the tiny
lake which Nona had christened by the poetic title of the “Pool of
Melisande.” The pool one might visit on another afternoon, but perhaps
there might never come a like opportunity from the Countess.
Indeed, as the four girls finally approached the ancient stone
house never would they have confessed to one another how nervous
they were feeling over the next hour. Nona Davis was perhaps least
self-conscious. Life in the southern part of the United States among
a few conservative old families is not unlike that of the almost
forgotten nobility of old France.
The path to the Chateau d’Amélie, whose title came down from the first
countess of the name, was as overgrown with weeds as any deserted
farmhouse. Yet who would look down at their feet when trees more than a
hundred years old stood guard along the avenue leading to the ancient
portico? And in crossing a rickety bridge could one think of the loose
planks, knowing that the muddy water that flowed under it was once the
moat that surrounded the feudal palace?
Nevertheless, Barbara had to stifle a laugh when at length François
opened the iron-bound wooden door admitting them to the chateau. For
instead of his peasant’s blouse and peaked cap, this afternoon François
wore a livery which must have been handed down to him by a majordomo
at least twice his size. His small, bent-over form was almost lost in
the large trousers, while the tails of the long coat with its tarnished
gold lace hung down past his knees.
Moreover, François’ manner was equally changed. Gone was the friendly
light in his little dark eyes, the protecting, almost patronizing
manner which he had grown accustomed to using in his devoted service
to the American Red Cross girls. This old Frenchman had his nation’s
gift of feeling the part he was called upon by fate to play. Today old
François felt himself a servant of the days of the great Louis XIV.
Apparently he had never seen his lady’s guests before.
Hobbling along, François conducted the visitors toward the drawing
room through a cold, gray stone hall. There was no furniture to be
seen except two tall, carved chairs and an enormous shield, hanging
suspended from the wall.
Inside the drawing room, however, there was a kind of shabby splendor,
very interesting to the four American girls, no one of whom had seen
anything like it.
On the floor was a great rug of tapestry showing nymphs and dolphins
carrying wreaths of fruit and flowers woven into the design. The blue
and rose and brown of the colors had so faded that they were lovelier
than any artist’s palette could have painted them.
The four girls sat down in chairs covered with tapestry of the same
kind, which they guessed must be almost priceless in value. But there
were only a few other articles of furniture in the room--a beautiful
old cabinet, a mahogany table inlaid with brass, a Louis XIV sofa,
while on the walls were not more than half a dozen pictures by French
masters. Nevertheless, the room was complete in beauty and elegance.
So the American girls did not dream that once it had been crowded with
rare treasures, sold one by one to meet the family necessities.
However, there were only a few minutes in which the guests could make
a study of their surroundings. Very soon their hostess entered with
old François bowing before her as if she had been an empress. She was
accompanied by a young man in the uniform of a French officer.
The Countess Amélie wore a dress of black silk and on her head a cap of
lace with the Marie Antoinette point in front. Her hair was exquisitely
white and her eyes dark. In spite of the natural coldness and hauteur
of her expression she was evidently trying to appear friendly.
Her four guests bowed gravely as she shook hands with them, welcoming
them to her home. However, it must be confessed that Eugenia’s bow was
even more stiff than her hostess’s.
Also Eugenia frowned, while the other three girls smiled. For the young
officer, whom the Countess Amélie afterwards introduced as her son, was
Captain Henri Castaigne, whom they had met through Lieutenant Hume in
Paris, and upon whom they had seen bestowed the Cross of the Legion of
Honor.