The Frontier Part 9

"What about Marthe?" asked Philippe.

"Marthe can come if she likes. Come down here. We'll fix it all up."

When Philippe turned round, Suzanne was standing close against him:

"You'll come, won't you?" she said, eagerly.

"Yes, if Marthe does."

"Even if Marthe doesn't ... I insist ... I insist.... Oh, Philippe, I implore you, don't drive me to extremities!"

He was afraid of an outburst:

"As a matter of fact," he said, "why shouldn't I come? It's quite natural that I should dine at your house with my father."

"Do you mean it?" she murmured. "Will you really come?"

She seemed suddenly calmed; and her face a.s.sumed a look of childish delight:

"Oh, how happy I am!... How happy I am! My beautiful dream will be fulfilled.... We shall walk together in the dark, without speaking a word.... And I shall never forget that hour.... Nor you either, Philippe ... nor you either...."

CHAPTER V

THE SHEET OF NOTE-PAPER

A hand was pa.s.sed through the bars of the gate at the top of the staircase leading to the terrace and seized the clapper of the little bell fastened to one of the bars. A push ... and the gate was open.

"Not much difficulty about that," said the man, carefully stepping on to the terrace. "Since the mountain won't come to Dourlowski, Dourlowski must ..."

The man stopped: he had heard voices. But, on listening, he found that the sound of voices came from behind the house. He quietly entered the drawing-room, therefore, walked straight across it and reached the windows on the other side. A little further, at the foot of the steps, he saw a carriage ready to start, with Suzanne and her father sitting in it. The Morestal family were standing round the carriage.

"That's all right," said Morestal. "Philippe and I will walk ... and we'll do the same coming home, won't we, my boy?"

"And you, Marthe?" asked Jorance.

"No, thank you. I will stay with mamma."

"Well, we'll send your men home to you soon ... especially as Morestal likes going to bed early. They will leave the house at ten o'clock precisely; and I will go a bit of the way with them, as far as the b.u.t.te."

"That's it," said Morestal. "We shall see the demolished post by moonlight. And we shall be here by half-past ten, mother. That's a promise. Off you go, Victor."

The carriage drove off. Dourlowski, in the drawing-room, took out his watch and set it by the clock, whispering:

"Consequently, they'll reach the b.u.t.te at a quarter past ten. That's a good thing to know. And now to inform old Morestal that his friend Dourlowski has come to hunt him up in his happy home."

Putting two of his fingers to his mouth, he gave the same faint whistle which Morestal had heard that morning, something like the unfinished note of certain birds:

"That's done it," he grinned. "The old boy p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. He has sent the others for a stroll in the garden and he's coming this way...."

He made a movement backwards on hearing Morestal's footstep in the hall, for he knew the old fellow was not given to joking. And, in fact, Morestal, the moment he entered, ran up to him and took him by the collar of his jacket:

"What are you doing here? What do you mean by it? How dare you?... I'll show you a road which you don't know of!"

Dourlowski began to laugh with his crooked mouth:

"My dear M. Morestal, you'll dirty your hands."

His clothes were shiny and thick with grease, stretched over a small round body, that contrasted strangely with his lean and bony face. And all this formed a jovial, grotesque and rather alarming picture.

Morestal let go his hold and, in an imperative tone:

"Explain yourself and quickly. I don't want my son to see you here.

Speak."

There was no time to be lost, as Dourlowski saw:

"Well, look here," he said. "It's a question of a young soldier in the Borsweilen garrison. He's too unhappy for words where he is ... and he's mad at having to serve Germany."

"A ne'er-do-well," growled Morestal. "A slacker who doesn't want to work."

"No, not this one, I tell you, not this one. He means to enlist in the Foreign Legion. He loves France."

"Yes, always the same story. And then--pah!--one never hears of them again. More gallows' seed!"

Dourlowski seemed shocked and scandalized:

"How can you say such a thing, M. Morestal?... If you only knew! A brave soldier who asks nothing better than to die fighting for our country."

The old man started:

"'Our country,' indeed! I forbid you to speak like that. Have you the least idea where you hail from? A scamp like you has no country."

"You forget all that I have done, M. Morestal.... You and I, between us, have 'pa.s.sed' four of them already."

"Hold your tongue!" said Morestal, who seemed to take no pleasure in this recollection. "Hold your tongue.... If the thing had never happened ..."

"It would happen just the same, because you are a good-natured man and because there are things.... There.... It's like with this lad.... It would break your heart to see him.... Johann Baufeld his name is.... His father is just dead ... and he wants to go out to his mother, who was divorced and who lives in Algeria.... Such a nice lad, full of pluck...."

"Well," said Morestal, "he's only got to 'pa.s.s'! You don't want me for that."

"And what about the money? He hasn't a sou. Besides, there's no one like you to tell us all the paths, the best place to cross at, the best time to select...."

"I'll see about it.... I'll see about it," said Morestal. "There's no hurry...."