_Monsieur Bebé_
One sultry August afternoon Barbara went again to see Eugenia. This time
she went alone.
According to his usual custom Bibo met her at the end of the car line
with his ancient horse. Owing to his lameness perhaps, he was head
coachman to Eugenia's establishment, which Barbara still insisted upon
calling "L'Hotel des Enfants."
Bibo was looking extremely well. He had on long trousers of blue cotton
and a blue cotton smock with a round collar. He had lost the frightened,
starved look which Barbara remembered seeing on the evening of his
rescue. The boy's face was round, there was a dimple in one corner of
his brown cheek. His eyes were serene save for his sense of
responsibility as Barbara's escort.
It is true that Bibo's mother was still held a prisoner in Brussels
because of an act of disrespect to a German officer. But children's
memories do not harass them so long as they are happy.
"How are things going, Bibo?" Barbara asked in French, as soon as she
was seated beside her driver. Fortunately, French was the language of
Eugenia's Belgium family rather than Flemish.
Bibo first flapped his reins and then nodded enthusiastically. Words at
the moment appeared to fail him, although he was usually voluble.
"Then Gene is well?" Barbara continued. For after many difficulties
Eugenia had acquired this informal title. In the beginning the children
had struggled nobly with her name, but Miss Peabody was too much for
them. Then "Miss Eugenia" was equally difficult for little Belgian
tongues, so it became Madame Gene. Later, since Eugenia did not enjoy
being called Madame, nor was she more fond of Mademoiselle, her name
attained its simplest form among the younger children.
But Eugenia was Bibo's altar saint and he was not inclined to take
liberties. Saint Gene she had been to him in truth!
"She is well," he answered briefly. Then he allowed his round eyes to
leave his horse and turn ecstatically toward Barbara.
"In a few days my mother is to be with us. She wrote that she need stay
no longer in prison and that she wished to see me, but alas, there was
no place for us to go! Our home near Louvain was burned and my father--"
The tones of the boy's voice expressed his uncertainty of his father's
fate. "But my friend has written that my mother may come to our home;
she will help us look after the other children. All will be well!"
Bibo's tone was so grown-up and he was so evidently quoting Eugenia that
his companion smiled. But the smile was because Bibo could not possibly
understand how one _could_ cry over good news. How big was Eugenia's
house and her sympathy these days? Certainly she seemed to wish it to
include all who needed her help.
"And Monsieur Bebé?" Barbara next queried. "Does he appear more
cheerful since I left him with you a week ago?"
The boy hesitated a little. "He laughed twice this morning and he sits
all day in the sun and smiles now and then when Nicolete is beside him.
But no one can be cheerful and blind."
This was spoken with conviction. Of his own affliction Bibo seldom
thought, but indeed his lameness troubled him very little now. He could
run and walk almost as well as the other boys. It had been hard at
first, for until the day when their house had burned and they had been
forced to escape, he had been exactly like other boys. But he had been
stupid then and fallen. There had been no time to heal the hurt in his
leg, so Bibo must hobble as best he might through an indifferent world.
But Barbara seemed extraordinarily well pleased by her companion's
information. Poor Monsieur Bebé had been so far from smiling even once
during his weeks in the prison hospital. And Barbara felt that she
could claim some of the credit along with Eugenia for his release and
better fortune.
Soon after her visit to the prison she had secured a prominent surgeon
to go and look at the young Frenchman's eyes. The man could offer him
little comfort. There was every chance that Monsieur Bebé, whose name
was Reney, must continue blind. A little hope he might have, but hope
was not encouragement.
In the depression that followed this announcement Barbara did her best
to help the boy. But it was plain to his fellow prisoners and to the
prison officers that the news had broken his health and spirit. He had
no wish to live. He would not eat and after a time made no effort to get
out of bed. He would lie all day without speaking, but rarely uttering a
complaint.
Everybody was sorry for him, the big German nurse, the German guards,
even the commandant of the prison. It was one thing to kill an enemy in
the passion of battle, but another to see a boy, who had done one no
personal harm, slowly passing away in darkness.
So when Barbara came to the German commandant with her plea for his
prisoner's parole, he was willing to listen to her.
"What possible harm could be done if Monsieur Bebé, in reality Albert
Reney, be transferred to Eugenia's home in the woods? She had offered
the French boy shelter and care. He would make no effort to escape, but
even if he should, a blind man could never again fight for his country.
Moreover, Germany was arranging with the Allies for an exchange of blind
prisoners. It was possible that Monsieur Reney might later on be sent
home."
Eugenia was waiting this time near the place where Barbara was compelled
to descend from Bibo's wagon. She had only one of her children with her,
which was unusual, since she ordinarily went about with five or six. But
Jan and Bibo were her two shadows. They were marked contrasts, since
Bibo was so plainly a little son of the Belgian soil, the child and
grandchild of farmers. Jan came of the men and women who have lived
among pictures and books and helped make the history of his now tragic
land.
The boy Jan was so instinctively a gentleman that, although he was not
ten years old, he immediately upon Barbara's arrival slipped behind the
two friends. For his happiness' sake he wished to keep his eyes fastened
upon his Gene, but he must not be close enough to overhear conversation
that would not be intended for him.
Eugenia took Barbara's face between her beautiful, firm hands and gazed
at her closely. Although in the first instant she saw that the girl wore
the same look of the past few weeks, she said nothing. Only she put her
arm about her as they walked toward the house.
Barbara did not feel like talking at first. She had been coming every
week recently to the house in the woods and the visits always rested
her. It did not seem possible that a few months could make so great a
change as they had in Eugenia. One could scarcely have recognized her as
the same girl who set sail from New York City a little more than a year
before. But she was also changed from the girl who had crossed over
from France earlier in the summer. In spite of her responsibilities
Eugenia had grown ever so much larger; all the angular curves were gone,
her chin was softly rounded. Beneath her pallor there was now a soft
glow of pink, and best of all, the severe lines about her mouth had
almost completely vanished. They could return if she were displeased,
but the children rarely saw them.
"Something very worth while has come to you, Gene," Barbara whispered.
"I wish you felt you could tell me what it is. Is it because you enjoy
looking after the Belgian children?"
Eugenia nodded. "It is that and something else, but I don't feel that I
can ever explain to any one."
Then Barbara and Eugenia were interrupted by two persons coming toward
them from the opposite direction.
One was a splendid, big blond fellow whose eyes were bandaged. He was
being led by a girl of about sixteen with jet-black hair which she wore
short to her shoulders. She had dark eyes and crimson lips. Nicolete's
costume and manner had both changed since her departure from France. But
it was not possible to change the vivid coloring of her face.
Both the girl and boy were chattering rapidly, and both of them seemed
happier than Barbara had lately seen them.
"The truth is all French people are homesick outside of their beloved
France," Barbara thought to herself. "So it must be a consolation to
have a fellow countryman for a companion."
But Monsieur Bebé was tremendously pleased to hear Barbara's voice. He
asked her to take his hand and lead him back to his chair in the garden
before the once deserted house. There, as a small chair chanced to be
beside his, Barbara sat down. Then Nicolete and Eugenia went away to
prepare tea.
Monsieur Bebé did his best to express his thanks to Barbara and he had
the Frenchman's grace and choice of words. He was of course still
desperately sad over his affliction, but meant if possible to meet it
like a man. He had been willing to die for his country, but perhaps it
took more courage to go on living for her. Miss Peabody had promised
that as soon as possible he should begin to learn a trade.
After a quarter of an hour's talk Barbara felt in better spirits than
she had on her arrival. Perhaps this was the secret with Eugenia. She
was feeling that she was being useful to some one. It might help heal
another kind of hurt. Certainly Barbara could feel that her interest in
the young Frenchman had been worth while.
The two friends saw little of each other during the rest of the
afternoon. But this was the usual thing and Barbara did not mind. She
continued to stay out in the yard, sometimes watching the children play
and at other times leading the games herself.
Eugenia came and went, now and then stopping for a few words of
conversation. "Louise," the maid, rarely appeared. In all Barbara's
visits she and "Louise" had not exchanged a dozen sentences. Indeed, it
was self-evident that the woman did not wish to be noticed. Barbara
respected her desire.
However, she understood perfectly by this time that "Louise" was not a
servant, but some one who was living in Eugenia's house in order to
conceal herself and her children. Jan had forgotten instructions and
several times spoken to "Louise" as mother. There was also a little girl
who was with her the greater part of the time.
But Barbara asked no more questions. So far no trouble had come from
Eugenia's kindness. Perhaps this "Louise" was a person of no especial
importance, whom the German authorities would not take the trouble to
seek.
Of the person behind the locked door, nothing more had been seen or
heard. Only Barbara had never been allowed to go into that particular
room.
None of these things were troubling her this afternoon. Possibly she
might try and talk them over with Eugenia later, although she really did
not expect to. But she meant to stay all night and Eugenia had promised
to spend an hour or so before bedtime alone with her.
It was a marvelous August night with the most perfect moon of the year.
The day had been hot, but the coolness came, as it nearly always does,
toward evening. Nevertheless, Eugenia and Barbara decided to leave the
house for a short walk. There was little chance for privacy indoors, as
every room was now occupied and Eugenia had been compelled to take
Nicolete in with her.
So at about nine o'clock, when most of the members of the household had
retired, Eugenia and her guest started out. Eugenia wore a dark red
sweater and cap and Barbara white ones, which she kept in the country
for the purpose.
Neither girl intended to go far from home. Eugenia's house was in a
comparatively deserted part of the countryside. There were no other
places near. But for that very reason in case of difficulty there would
be no one to offer aid.
To the left of Eugenia's was a big, uncultivated field. On the other
side was the woods with the path which connected with her yard. The
children often played in the woods near by, but in taking a walk
persons were compelled to follow the traveled path. If one wandered away
for any distance there was danger of getting lost. Not that the woods
were particularly thick, but because they had been neglected and
underbrush had grown up between the trees.
Therefore, as soon as the two girls walked the length of their yard they
turned into the usual path. The woods were in reality only another
portion of the abandoned estate. The moonlight was so bright that the
path looked like a strip of white ribbon ahead. Then, though the foliage
of the trees made beautiful, dense shadows, one could see distinctly in
between them.