“Then you knew we were here?” Nona questioned half shyly.
Nona and Barbara were seated on a wide window seat with Captain
Castaigne beside them. A little further on Eugenia, in a carved,
high-back chair, was watching the group but taking little part in the
conversation. Mildred and the Countess Amélie were on the opposite side
of the great room, still having their coffee and chatting amiably,
though in not an animated fashion. For the Countess would have scorned
to speak any language but her beloved French, and while Mildred’s
French was good it was not very rapid. Nevertheless, her manners were
undeniably sweet and unaffected and the Countess plainly approved of
her more than any one of the other girls.
Captain Castaigne smiled at Nona.
“Well, I had my suspicions,” he answered, with the faintest gleam
of amusement in his dark eyes. “Moreover, I received a letter from
Lieutenant Hume telling me that four American Red Cross girls had
disappeared from Paris and were nursing somewhere in southern France.”
The young officer bowed his head with a pretense of penitence. “Also
I must confess that I have asked a few questions of old François. You
see, I have only recently been transferred to a regiment near my own
home, else I should have prayed for the privilege of calling upon you.
But not having seen any one of you until this afternoon, I could not be
sure my surmise was correct.”
In her throne-like chair Eugenia’s shoulders assumed a straighter pose,
while her face turned unexpectedly scarlet.
“Are you entirely convinced you have seen _no one_ of us since our
meeting in Paris?” she inquired so suddenly and in such a peculiar
tone, even for Eugenia, that Nona and Barbara turned to glance toward
her in surprise.
Not having spoken in the past ten minutes, her eyes were now fixed upon
the young French officer with an expression which Barbara Meade at
least recognized. It plainly expressed disapproval.
Nevertheless, there was no reason why Captain Castaigne should
instantly become embarrassed. Up to this time he had been a delightful
host, gracious and gay. Certainly his manners were not like those
of an American or an Englishman, but Nona and Barbara instinctively
understood that his fashion of paying pretty compliments and his
somewhat devoted air as he talked to one, were simply characteristics
of a foreigner.
Now, however, he blushed and stammered like a school-boy. With
Eugenia’s gaze upon him he crimsoned and cast down his eyes.
“If I _have_ seen one of you before I am sure I have not recognized
you,” he returned with unnecessary humility. “I have been at work with
my soldiers most of the time since receiving my new command. I only
return to the chateau occasionally to see my mother.”
Eugenia’s nostrils arched slightly in a way she had when angry.
“Do you usually pay these visits in the daytime or in the evening?” she
questioned, with what seemed to the other two girls rather too much
curiosity. For these were war times when one was not supposed to ask
questions that were not absolutely necessary.
Still the young officer showed no resentment.
“I have no regular hour, Mademoiselle. Whenever I can be spared I
desire to be with my mother. There are only the two of us and we have
been much separated. First there were the years devoted to my training
as a soldier and since has come the cruel fortune of war.”
From the opposite side of the room the Countess Amélie must at this
moment have guessed that her son was speaking of her. She looked toward
him with such a combination of pride and devotion that it was almost
touching. Her whole face softened.
But Eugenia did not observe her.
“I am not so sure we have not met each other in this neighborhood quite
recently,” she continued with extraordinary coldness. Nona and Barbara
became more and more surprised. For although Eugenia was not cordial
with strangers, she was usually civil. Vainly they were searching
their minds for some remark with which to turn the current of the
conversation when Eugenia went on:
“I was on my way home to our little farmhouse the other evening, after
nursing at the field hospital until quite late. I met some one, an
officer, I think. It was then too dark for me to see his face, but I
have been wondering ever since----”
At this moment Eugenia’s speech was interrupted, but not by one of her
companions. For the heavy door of the drawing room was pushed slowly
open and a great dog walked majestically into the room.
He paused for an instant to gaze at his mistress. Then receiving her
silent permission, he started a pilgrimage about the room.
Nona shrank behind the smaller Barbara, for in spite of her usual
bravery she had a nervous fear of dogs. However, this great Dane was
not to be feared by guests inside his own domain. As he padded from
one visitor to the other it was plain that he was greeting each one of
them in turn. Mildred came first and was allowed to lay her hand on his
head, then Nona and Barbara. Afterwards the dog moved toward Eugenia.
Within a few feet of her he paused, his ears and tail visibly drooping,
and turned imploring eyes upon his young master.
Whatever the signal that passed between them, the next moment the
splendid creature sank down at Eugenia’s feet, burying his head between
his forepaws. His whole attitude indicated a prayer for pardon.
Immediately after Captain Castaigne got up and walked over toward
Eugenia. He stood silent for half a moment, evidently hoping that she
might relax from her severity.
Never in his life had he met such an extraordinary and difficult young
woman! As he had been under the same impression five minutes after
their introduction in Paris, why should Fate be so unkind as to cause
them to see each other again? And then to place him in such an awkward
position as he now found himself!
“I owe you ten thousand pardons, Mademoiselle. Ah, more than that, for
I consider my own act unpardonable!” he exclaimed. “Until you spoke I
had been hoping that I might be mistaken, and that it was _not_ you
whom I caused to suffer the other evening.”
The young Frenchman cast his eyes imploringly toward Eugenia, clasping
his hands together in a dramatic fashion.
If only Eugenia had been able to smile at this moment, how much simpler
the future would have been! But remember, Eugenia had a Puritan
conscience, and a Puritan conscience often exacts its pound of flesh in
payment for sins from other people as well as from itself. Moreover,
Eugenia disliked Captain Castaigne’s manners and appearance intensely.
To her he appeared theatrical and insincere. A simple, straightforward
American apology she believed she would have accepted at once. But this
young aristocrat with his too perfect features and physique must suffer
for his offense. No doubt the other girls would have forgiven him.
He looked like the type of man most women would deal gently with, so
Eugenia felt it would undoubtedly be good for him to be snubbed by her.
As she now stared severely at the young Frenchman in answer to his
pleading, she looked like all the Pilgrim fathers’ portraits that hang
on old New England family walls melted together into one face. Of
course, he did not understand her in the least. Lieutenant Hume had
explained that the Miss Peabody he had met in Paris was an old maid
from Boston. But this conveyed nothing to Captain Castaigne’s mind. Old
maids in France were not in the least like this young woman and he had
a very vague idea of where Boston was and of what the city could be
like. However, he did know that he had offended against a Frenchman’s
and an officer’s code of manners and was therefore willing to make any
possible apology.
“You will understand that not only did I not know you: I did not
realize that you were a woman or I should never have sent my dog to
interrupt you. Why, why did you not halt when I called out to you? If
only you had given one little sign, made the least sound! I thought I
should have fainted when I beheld a figure upon the ground and in the
uniform of a Red Cross nurse, the uniform I respect most in all the
world.”
There could be no doubt of Captain Castaigne’s sincerity at this
moment. Nona and Barbara, who were listening with intense interest to
his plea, were deeply moved by the tribute he thus paid the Red Cross
work. But if Eugenia felt this she did not reveal it.
“I prefer not to discuss the accident,” she returned, rising from her
chair and preparing to leave. “Certainly I realize that you would not
have desired to injure me personally had you known I was a Red Cross
nurse. But I cannot see that you are justified in sending that great
beast of a dog to attack wayfarers, simply because you do not chance to
know who they are.”
Barbara and Nona had also gotten up intending to withdraw with their
friend. Actually at this moment Barbara had the temerity to giggle,
although no one but Nona was aware of it. It was so absurd to hear
Eugenia lecturing a French officer with regard to his duties and
privileges. It was even funnier to see the spirit in which he accepted
his snubbing!
“But, Mademoiselle,” he continued, shrugging his slender shoulders,
decorated with the gold braid of his rank, “surely you must appreciate
that in these war times we have many dangerous visitors to our
entrenchments. One cannot permit a wanderer to remain at large who
refuses to give an account of himself? Besides, my dog would have
injured no one. He had his orders merely to hold the prisoner until I
could reach him.”
Captain Castaigne laid his boyish hand on the head of the great
dog, who at once rose up clumsily and stood beside him. “Some day,
Mademoiselle, I shall pray that my dog and I may do you a service to
atone for our mistake. To many a wounded soldier Le Duc has brought
aid on the battlefield. In any case the offense was mine, while his
only that of obedience to a stupid master. Say at least that you
forgive my dog?”
The young officer spoke so winningly that even Eugenia was compelled to
relent slightly. However, she still retained an uncomfortable vision
of herself, face downward upon the ground with this young Captain
Castaigne holding the light above her and gazing down on her prostrate
form.
Nevertheless, she accepted the large paw that Duke stretched forth
to her. As the eyes of Eugenia and the dog met, the ghost of an
understanding passed between them.
The next instant, after saying farewell to their hostess, she departed,
the other three Red Cross girls following her.
“What a very objectionable young woman,” the Countess Amélie remarked
to her son in French, when speaking of their guests a short time
afterwards. The young officer did not inquire which one of the four
girls she meant.