What he said appeared to pass ignored by Lily, for when he had finished
she began to talk once more. “I can understand the bravery of fighting
for that which you believe,” she said. “I cannot understand yielding
without a fight to the monster you despise. I knew a man....” For a
second she hesitated. “He fought for what he believed. He gave up
everything for the fight ... his health, his friends, his work, his
money. He was beaten and bloody and wounded. He would have given his
life if it had been necessary. He was a poor, ignorant Ukrainian peasant
... a Russian who could barely read. Yet he fought. He fought and
learned ... up from nothing.” Again she paused and the distant crackling
sound filled in the silence, this time more distinct and sharp, nearer
at hand. “You see, I am telling you this because it is the very monster
that you hate which he too fought. He is still fighting it. In the end
he will win.... If one could not believe such things, one could not
live. He will go on fighting because there is inside him something which
will not let him stop. But there are not many like him. There are too
many like you.”
Her voice carried the ring of supreme scorn. There was a quality of
iciness in it, penetrating, contemptuous, acid.
Suddenly she covered her face with her hands. “In times like this,” she
said, “I think of him. It helps one to live.” And after a moment, she
added bitterly. “He would not have gone off to kill!”
“I can see, Madame,” said the stranger, “that you despise me.”
“It is more than that,” answered Lily, her face still covered by her
white hands. “I am certain now that I hate you.”
The Uhlan frowned. “I am sorry,” he said, “I thought you were
sympathetic.”
The only answer was a laugh, incredibly cold and savage from so
beautiful a woman.
Within the château more lights appeared, and in the courtyard there rose
the sound of hoofs striking the cobblestones and of orders being shouted
back and forth in guttural German. Far away to the east a solitary
cannon barked. The noise ripped the blue stillness with the sound of a
tapestry being torn.
“You have forgotten,” said Lily, “that I have a son and a lover in the
war. You understand, they too are in the cavalry.”
She had scarcely finished speaking when the air was shattered by the
terrific rattle of a dozen rifles fired simultaneously below the terrace
somewhere among the buildings of the farm. A faint glare trembled above
the iron bridge and then a second volley, terrifying and abrupt, and a
second brief glare.
The Uhlan did not move but Lily sat up suddenly. They remained thus for
some time, the woman in an attitude of listening. It appeared that she
was straining every nerve, every muscle, lest the faintest sound escape
her. When the volley was not repeated she turned her head, slowly and
scornfully, in the direction of her companion. In her eyes there was a
look of terrible accusation, a look charged with contempt and hatred.
The stranger watched her as if fascinated and unable to remove his eyes
from her face. At last she spoke, slowly and distinctly, in an awed,
breathless whisper.
“What was that?”
The face of the Uhlan remained smooth and empty of all expression, as
clean of all emotion as a bit of smooth white paper. In the flickering
light from the lanterns which moved among the trees, the countenance
appeared vague and lineless, almost imbecile in its negation. Then
slowly his lips moved.
“It is the curé, Madame.... They have shot the curé.” The voice was as
smooth as the face. It carried the hard, mocking cruelty of
indifference. “They caught him signaling with his lantern from the
steeple of the church.”
Without a sound Lily lay back once more and buried her face in her
cloak. Her body shook silently.
“I could do nothing else,” continued the smooth voice. It came out from
the thin lipped mouth as a serpent from a crevice in a rock. “It was not
I who killed. I had nothing to say in the matter. I did what I could not
help doing. _Enfin_, it was the monster!”
Across the fields of wheat from the direction of Meaux the faint
crackling sound came nearer and nearer. It was as if the grain had
caught fire and the flames were rushing toward them. Lily still lay with
her eyes covered as if to shut out the picture which had risen in her
imagination. M. Dupont ... the friend of dying Madame Gigon, the priest
to whom she had told her life ... M. Dupont dead among the dungheaps of
the farmyard!
Somewhere in the direction of the Trilport bridge, the solitary cannon
fired again and as though it had summoned Madame Gigon back to life,
they heard her speaking suddenly inside the lodge. She was talking
rapidly in a low voice.
“You need not worry, Henri. To-morrow there will be fresh vegetables in
from the barrier. At dark, a balloon with two passengers will be
released at the Gare St. Lazare. Gabriel himself told me.” And then for
a time she muttered incoherently and when her speech became clear again,
she was saying, “There is a notice on the Rue de Rivoli that they are
selling animals in the Jardin de Plantes. For food you understand ... I
hear at ten sous the pound.” Again more mumbling and then, “Ah, that one
was close. Yesterday a shell exploded in the Boulevard Montparnasse. We
must place our faith in God.... Yes, we must pray, Henri. There is not
enough God in the world.”
Then she became silent for a time and the Uhlan said, “Madame is
delirious. She is living through 1870.... You see we have not progressed
at all. It is merely turn about, first the French, and then we take a
turn.” He laughed a nervous laugh devoid of mirth. “Ah, it is a pretty
business, Madame ... a pretty business. The sooner we are all killed off
the better. The animals could manage this world better than we have
done.”
He had not finished speaking when a sudden rattle of rifles sounded
somewhere near at hand, a little to the east by the copse in the long
meadow. At the same time the confusion in the stables and the little
park redoubled. A horse whinneyed. Men shouted. Water pails were
overturned. Out of the darkness a man in rough gray uniform appeared and
addressed the Captain in excited, guttural German. The Uhlans had begun
to leave the stable. They were making their way through the black trees
over the neatly ordered flowers to the gate in the garden wall.
The stranger talked for a moment with the soldier and then rising, he
said, “Good-by, Madame. It is not likely that we shall ever meet again.
I thank you for the conversation. It saved the night for an insomniac.
It is more stimulating to talk with a beautiful woman than with common
soldiers.”
Lily lay buried in her cloak. She did not even uncover her face, but the
Uhlan bowed in a polite ironic fashion and slipped away through the
trees, vanishing at once like a shadow. The uproar in the château
gardens and in the stable increased. It swallowed the stranger.
As the sound of his footsteps died away, she raised herself cautiously
and looked about her. The sound of firing continued. The air was full of
an unearthly red glow. Supporting herself on one elbow she saw that the
light came from the opposite side of the river. The farm had been fired
by the departing troops. For a time she watched the flames, eating their
way slowly at the windows and along the eaves, growing always in
intensity. The iron bridge was filled with retreating Uhlans, all black
against the red haze. The thunder of hoofs on the planks again filled
the air.