The Frontier Part 41

But a bell rang. Catherine ran to the drawing-room, where Mme. Morestal appeared:

"Where were you? I have been looking for you. Hasn't the doctor been?

Oh, there you are, Philippe! Quick, telephone to the doctor...."

"Is my father ...?"

"Your father is better; but, all the same, he's sleeping longer than he ought.... It may be the morphia.... You had better telephone."

She left the room. Philippe was taking down the receiver, when some one tapped him on the shoulder. It was Victor, whose excitement was increasing every moment and who asked him with a perplexed air:

"What are we to do, M. Philippe? Are we going to stay here? Or go away and shut up the house? The mistress does not realize ..."

And, without waiting for the answer, he turned round:

"Isn't it so, Catherine, the mistress does not realize.... The master's quite well again.... Well, then, they should make up their minds!..."

"Of course, one must be prepared for everything," said the maid-servant.

"Suppose the enemy invade us?"

They both of them walked up and down the drawing-room, opening the doors, shutting them again, making gestures through the window.

An old woman entered, an old woman who was employed at the Old Mill as a charwoman. She waved her arms about:

"Is it true? Is it true? Are we going to war? And my son, the youngest, who is with his regiment?... And the other, who is in the reserve?... Is it true? No, tell me it's not true! It's all nonsense they're talking!"

"Nonsense, indeed!" said the gardener's wife, appearing on the scene.

"You'll soon see if it's nonsense!... They'll all have to go ... my husband too, who's in the reserve of veterans."

She was accompanied by a child of three or four years old and in her arms carried another, in swaddling-clothes, who was whimpering.

"Of course they'll have to go," said Victor. "And what about me? You'll see, they'll call me to the colours, though I'm past the age!... You'll see!..."

"You as well as the rest," grinned the gardener, who now entered in his turn. "As long as one can hold a rifle.... But our eldest, Henriot, who's sixteen: do you think they'll forget him?"

"Oh, as for him," scolded the mother, "I shall hide him if they try to take him from me!"

"And what about the gendarmes?"

All were gesticulating and talking together. And Victor repeated:

"Meantime, we had better be off. Shut up the house and go. That's the wisest. We can't remain here like this, at two steps from the frontier."

In his eyes, war represented the disordered flight of the old men and the women, running away in herds and pushing before them carts loaded with furniture and bedding. And he stamped his foot, resolved upon making an immediate move.

But a great hullabaloo arose on the terrace. A little farm-labourer came rushing into the drawing-room:

"He's seen some! He's seen some!"

He was running in front of his employer, Farmer Saboureux, who arrived like a whirlwind, with his eyes starting out of his head:

"I've seen some! I've seen some! There were five of them! I've seen some!"

"Seen what? Seen what?" said Victor, shaking him. "What have you seen?"

"Uhlans!"

"Uhlans! Are you sure?"

"As I see you now! There were five of them on horseback! Oh, I knew them again ... it wasn't the first time!... Uhlans, I tell you!... They'll burn everything down!"

Mme. Morestal came running up at the noise which he made:

"Do be quiet! What's the matter with you?"

"I've seen some!" yelled Saboureux. "Uhlans! They've gone off to fetch the others."

"Uhlans!" she gasped in dismay.

"Yes, like last time!"

"Oh, heaven! Is it possible?"

"I saw them, I say.... Go and tell monsieur le maire."

She lost her temper:

"Tell him? But he's ill!... And be quiet, you, I've had enough of it....

Philippe, is the doctor coming?"

Philippe put down the telephone:

"The line is engaged by the military, it's not available for private communications."

"Oh, but this is terrible!" said the old lady. "What's to become of us?"

She thought only of Morestal, confined to his room, and of the inconvenience which he would suffer through this state of things.

A bicycle-bell was heard outside.

"Ah!" cried the gardener, leaning out of the window on the garden side.

"There's my boy coming.... How the rascal is growing! And you think, mother, that they'll leave him at home to pluck the geese? A sharp lad like that?..."

A few seconds later, the boy was in the drawing-room. Breathless, staggering, he reeled back against the table and blurted out, in a hollow voice:

"It's ... war!..."

Philippe, who retained some hope in spite of everything, flew at him:

"War?"