In the centre of the room stood a tall, gaunt boy in ragged clothes, in
the embrace of Madame Chéri, and with one hand clutched by Hélène, and
the other by the little Madeleine, her sister. It was Edouard who had
come back.
He had unloosed a pack from his shoulder, and it lay on the carpet
beside him, with a little flag on a broken stick. He was haggard, with
high cheek-bones prominent through his white, tightly-drawn skin, and
his eyes were sunk in deep sockets. His hair was in a wild mop of
black, disordered locks. He stood there, with tears streaming from his
eyes, and the only words he said were:
“_Maman! O maman! maman!_”
I went quietly upstairs, and changed my clothes, which were all
muddy. Presently there was a tap at my door, and Hélène stood there,
transfigured with joy. She spoke in French.
“Edouard has come back! My brother! He travelled on an English lorry.”
“Thank God for that,” I said. “What gladness for you all!”
“He has grown tall,” said Hélène. She mopped her eyes and laughed and
cried at the same time. “Tall as a giant, but oh, so thin! They starved
him all the time. He fed only on cabbages. They put him to work digging
trenches behind the line--under fire. The brutes! The devils!”
Her eyes were lit up by passion at the thought of this cruelty and her
brother’s suffering. Then her expression changed to a look of pride.
“He says he is glad to have been under fire--like father. He hated it,
though, at the time, and said he was frightened! I can’t believe that.
Edouard was always brave.”
“There’s no courage that takes away the fear of shellfire--as far as
I’m concerned,” I told her, but she only laughed and said, “You men
make a pose of being afraid.”
She spoke of Edouard again, hugging the thought of his return.
“If only he were not so thin, and so tired. I find him changed. The
poor boy cries at the sight of _maman_--like a baby.”
“I don’t wonder,” I said. “I should feel like that if I had been a
prisoner of war, and was now home again.”
Madame Chéri’s voice called from downstairs:
“Hélène! _Dù es-tu? Edouard veut te voir!_”
“Edouard wants me,” said Hélène.
She seemed rejoiced at the thought that Edouard had missed her, even
for this minute. She took my hand and kissed it, as though wishing me
to share her joy, and to be part of it; and then ran downstairs.