BUBU
Ruth arrived at Clair again late in the evening and bade Monsieur
Lafrane good-night at the hospital entrance. On the following day the
girl of the Red Mill was permitted to go to the Chateau Marchand to
call.
The secret agent had made it plain to Ruth that he held her in no fault
for the seeming fiasco of their journey to the field hospital and its
vicinity. The sudden death of the German officer in Hut H had been an
act beyond human control. The disappearance of Nicko, the chocolate
peddler, was an act of the military authorities.
On her own part Ruth was so confused regarding Major Henri Marchand
that she dared not mention his name to Monsieur Lafrane. Matters must
take their natural course--for a time, at least.
Nevertheless, the American girl had a particular object in mind when
she set forth briskly for the chateau on this afternoon. She was free
until bedtime, and during this contemplated call on the countess she
was determined to learn what the young Count Marchand looked like.
On the edge of the town she spied an automobile approaching, and soon
recognized Henriette Dupay behind the windshield. Ruth stopped and
waved her hand. For a moment she thought the French girl was
disinclined to stop at all.
However, Ruth did not propose to give Henriette an opportunity to show
any unfriendliness. She liked the girl and she understood that the
whole matter would be smoothed over in time. The reason for Aunt
Abelard's uprooting would become apparent to the French people, and
their momentary feeling against the Americans would change.
Henriette's face was quite flushed, however, when she stopped her car
and returned briefly Ruth's greeting.
"How is Aunt Abelard?" the latter asked. She told Henriette how she
had chanced to be present when the old woman was forced to leave her
homestead.
"Ah, Mademoiselle, she is heart-broken!" declared Henriette, quite
eschewing English now. "Yes, heart-broken! She arrived at our house
with only two pullets. All the others were stolen by the Americans,"
and the girl tossed her head angrily.
"How about the forty francs she was given in lieu of the pullets?" Ruth
asked, laughing. "Did she tell you about that?"
"But yes," returned the French girl, rather taken aback. "But that was
given to her by Major Henri Marchand. He is so good!"
"True. But it is probable that she will make application to the
American officers and will be reimbursed a second time," Ruth said
dryly. "As far as the pullets go, Henriette, I believe they are a
small loss to Aunt Abelard."
"But her house! Her home!" ejaculated the French girl.
"Of what use would that be to her had she remained and there should
come the bombardment that everybody says is coming? The German shells
may tear her cottage to bits."
Henriette shrugged her truly French shoulders. She evidently did not
believe in the threatened bombardment. The guns of the front had been
quiet for two days.
So she nodded to Ruth rather coldly and drove on into town. But Ruth
went away smiling. She was quite convinced that Henriette and her
family would soon find out their mistake, and then they would be on
friendly terms with her again. The Latin nature is easily offended;
but it is usually just.
She saw nobody else in her walk to the chateau. There she had to wait
for some minutes at the gate for Dolge to answer her summons.
"The Mademoiselle Fielding," he said, bowing. "I am sure the countess
will approve my asking you in at once. She is fond of you,
Mademoiselle."
"I am glad, Dolge. I like to have people approve of me," smiled Ruth.
"Ah, yes, Mademoiselle. And the major--our Henri, our cadet! I am
sure _he_ approves of you, Mademoiselle."
The American girl flushed warmly, but managed to hide her disturbed
countenance from the old serving man.
"He is not at home, is he, Dolge?" she quietly asked.
"But, no, Mademoiselle. He went hurriedly yesterday. And would you
believe it?"
"Believe what?"
"He went in one of those flying machines. _Oui_! _Oui_! Right up
into the sky, Mademoiselle," went on the old man excitedly. "Yonder he
mounted it beyond the gates. Ah, these times! It is so that soon one
will take an aeroplane as one takes a taxicab in the city. Is it not?"
Ruth listened and marveled. Major Marchand flying into the air from
the chateau here on yesterday, when it was only yesterday that she met
him, in his brave uniform, taking pity on a poor old woman who was
driven out of the battle zone?
Suddenly her mind caught the point. The cogs slipped into
juxtaposition, as it were, and everything unrolled in its proper
sequence before her.
It was on yesterday, as she went toward the Dupay farm, that she had
seen the rising aeroplane, from which had been dropped the paper bomb,
wherein Ruth had found the message from Tom Cameron. It was from just
beyond the gates that Dolge said the machine rose that had borne away
Major Marchand from the chateau.
"The time, Dolge?" she demanded, stopping short in the walk and looking
at the surprised old servant. "The time that Major Henri flew away?"
"Oh, la! It was around one of the clock. Not later."
That was the hour! Ruth was confident she was making no mistake now.
It was either the major, or the pilot of the plane, that had dropped
the message to her. Two hours and a half later she had seen the major
at the cot of Aunt Abelard. He might easily have flown clear beyond
the German lines and back again by that time. And he might easily have
worn his major's uniform beneath his other garments.
But Tom's message. That was the point that puzzled her. If dropped by
Major Marchand, how had he obtained it? What did the French officer,
whose loyalty she doubted, have to do with Tom Cameron, whose loyalty
she never for a moment doubted?
Ruth went on ahead of the wondering Dolge, vastly troubled. At every
turn she was meeting incidents or surprising discoveries that entangled
her mind more and more deeply in a web of doubt and mystery.
Where was Tom? Where did the major fly to? Where was he coming from
when she had seen him walking down that country road where Aunt Abelard
was having her unfortunate argument with the American soldiers?
The twists and turns of this mystery were enough to drive the girl
distracted. And each incident which rose seemed to be dovetailed to
some other part of the mystery.
Now she was suddenly sorry that she had not opened her heart entirely
to Monsieur Lafrane. She wished she had told him about Tom Cameron,
and the fears she felt for him, and what was said about him by his
comrades. He might at least have been able to advise her.
She came to the chateau, therefore, in a most uncertain frame of mind.
She was really in no mood for a social call.
But there was the countess walking on the paved court before the main
door of the chateau. It was a fine day, and she walked up and down,
with a shawl about her shoulders, humming a cheerful little song.
"Dear Mademoiselle Ruth!" she said, giving the girl her hands--soft and
white, with a network of blue veins on their backs. "I am charmed. If
it were not for you and our little Hetty I should scarcely feel I had a
social life at all."
She spoke to Dolge as he hobbled away.
"Tell them to make tea," she said.
"Yes, Madame la Countess," he mumbled.
She took the arm of the strong young girl and walked with her up and
down the portico.
"Henri will be disappointed in not seeing you, Mademoiselle. He went
yesterday--called back to his duties."
"And by aeroplane, they tell me," answered the girl.
"Think!" exclaimed the countess, shrugging her shoulders. "A few
months ago the thought of one of my boys mounting into the air would
have kept me awake all of the night. And I slept like a child!"
"We grow used to almost everything, do we not?" Ruth said.
"War changes our outlook on life. Of course, I am not assured that he
safely landed yesterday----"
"I can assure you of that, Madame, myself," said Ruth, without thinking
far ahead when she said it.
"_You_, Mademoiselle?"
"Yes. I saw him--on the ground. He was all right," the girl added,
dryly.
"You saw him after he left here!" exclaimed the countess. "I do not
understand."
The girl saw she would have to go into particulars. But she did not
tell the countess she had taken her trip to the field hospital with the
secret agent, M. Lafrane.
"Dear me! That was so like him," the countess observed when she had
heard the story of Aunt Abelard and her pullets. "His brother, too----"
"Is Count Allaire like his brother?" Ruth asked quietly.
"Yes. In many ways."
"I have never seen a picture of the count, have I?" the American girl
pursued.
"But, yes! You have but to look at Henri," laughed the countess. "A
little older. Perhaps a little more serious of expression. But the
same tall, slim, graceful figure, both. Pardon my pride in my sons,
Mademoiselle. They are my all now. And they are both like me, I
believe," she added softly.
Ruth looked at her with luminous eyes.
"Like you in every way, Madame? Given so entirely to the service of
their country?"
"But yes! Too recklessly patriotic, I fear," said the countess. Then,
with a start, she exclaimed: "What is this? Do my eyes deceive me? Is
it that wicked Bubu, running wild and free again?"
Ruth turned quickly. Crossing the wide lawns she saw the greyhound
pass swiftly. He was without his blanket, and it seemed to Ruth as
though the barrel of his body was much lighter of color than his chest
and legs. Like a flash he was behind the chateau.
"_Ma foi_!" gasped the countess. "What is---- Something----"
She started to follow the dog. As she still clung to Ruth's arm the
girl must perforce go with her. Through Ruth's mind was swirling a
multitude of suspicious thoughts.