The Girl from Alsace Part 40

The other had risen, too, and was supporting him with a strong hand.

"That I do not know," he answered; "somewhere along the French frontier, no doubt, mustering his forces."

Stewart looked about him uncertainly.

"If I were only stronger," he began.

"Wait," the little officer broke in. "I think I have it--I am expecting instructions from our headquarters at St. Trond--they should arrive at any moment--and I can send you back in the car which brings them. At headquarters they will be able to tell you something definite, and perhaps to help you." He glanced anxiously toward the east and then cast an appraising eye over the intrenchments his troops had dug. "We can hold them back for a time," he added, "but we need reenforcements badly.

Ah, there comes the car!"

A powerful gray motor spun down the road from the west, kicking up a great cloud of dust, and in a moment the little captain had received his instructions. He tore the envelope open and read its contents eagerly.

Then he turned to his men, his face shining.

"The Sixty-third will be here in half an hour!" he shouted. "We will give those fellows a hot dose this time!"

His men cheered the news with waving shakos, then, with a glance eastward, fell to work again on their trenches, which would have to be extended to accommodate the reenforcements. Their captain stepped close to the side of the purring car, made his report to an officer who sat beside the driver, and then the two carried on for a moment a low-toned conversation. More than once they glanced at Stewart, and the conversation ended with a sharp nod from the officer in the car. The other came hurrying back.

"It is all right," he said. "You will be at St. Trond in half an hour,"

and he helped him to mount into the tonneau.

For an instant Stewart stood there, staring back at the cloud of smoke above the burning village; then he dropped into the seat and turned to say good-by to the gallant fellow who had proved so true a friend.

The little soldier was standing with heels together, head thrown back, hand at the visor of his cap.

"_Monsieur!_" he said, simply, as his eyes met Stewart's, and then the car started.

Stewart looked back through a mist of tears, and waved his hand to that martial little figure, so hopeful and indomitable. Should he ever see that gallant friend again? Chance was all against it. An hour hence, he might be lying in the road, a bullet through his heart; if not an hour hence, then to-morrow or next day. And before this war was over, how many others would be lying so, arms flung wide, eyes staring at the sky--just as those young Germans had lain back yonder!

He thrust such thoughts away. They were too bitter, too terrible. But as his vision cleared, he saw on every hand the evidence of war's desolation.

The road was thronged with fugitives--old men, women, and children--fleeing westward away from their ruined homes, away from the plague which was devastating their land. Their faces were vacant with despair, or wet with silent tears. For whither could they flee? Where could they hope for food and shelter? How could their journey end, save at the goal of death?

The car threaded its way slowly among these heart-broken people, pa.s.sed through silent and deserted villages, by fields of grain that would never be harvested, along quiet streams which would soon be red with blood; and at last it came to St. Trond, and stopped before the town-hall, from whose beautiful old belfry floated the Belgian flag.

"If you will wait here, sir," said the officer, and jumped to the pavement and hurried up the steps.

So Stewart waited, an object of much curiosity to the pa.s.sing crowd.

Other cars dashed up from time to time, officers jumped out with reports, jumped in again with orders and dashed away. Plainly, Belgium was not dismayed even in face of this great invasion. She was fighting coolly, intelligently, with her whole strength.

And then an officer came down the steps, sprang to the footboard of the machine, and looked at Stewart.

"I am told you have a message," he said.

"Yes."

"I am a member of the French staff. Can you deliver it to me?"

"I was told to deliver it only to General Joffre."

"Ah! in that case----"

The officer caught his lower lip between the thumb and little finger of his left hand, as if in perplexity. So naturally was it done that for an instant Stewart did not recognize the sign; then, hastily, he pa.s.sed his left hand across his eyes.

The officer looked at him keenly.

"Have we not met before?" he asked.

"In Berlin; on the twenty-second," Stewart answered.

The officer's face cleared, and he stepped over the door into the tonneau.

"I am at your service, sir," he said. "First you must rest a little, and have some clean clothes, and a bath and food. I can see that you have had a hard time. Then we will set out."

An hour later, more comfortable in body than it had seemed possible he could ever be again, Stewart lay back among the deep cushions of a high-powered car, which whizzed southward along a pleasant road. He did not know his destination. He had not inquired, and indeed he did not care. But had he known Belgium, he would have recognized Landen and Ramillies; he would have known that those high white cliffs ahead bordered the Meuse; he would have seen that this pinnacled town they were approaching was Namur.

The car was stopped at the city gate by a sentry, and taken to the town-hall, where the chauffeur's papers were examined and verified. Then they were off again, across the placid river and straight southward, close beside its western bank. Stewart had never seen a more beautiful country. The other sh.o.r.e was closed in by towering rugged cliffs, with a white villa here and there squeezed in between wall and water or perched on a high ledge. Sometimes the cliffs gave back to make room for a tiny, red-roofed village; again they were riven by great fissures or pitted with yawning chasms.

Evening came, and still the car sped southward. There were no evidences here of war. As the calm stars came out one by one, Stewart could have fancied that it was all a dream, but for that dull agony of the spirit which he felt would never leave him--and for that strand of l.u.s.trous hair which now lay warm above his heart--and which, alas! was all he had of her!

Yes--there were the two letters which rustled under his fingers as he thrust them into his pocket. He had looked at them more than once during the afternoon, delighting to handle them because they had been hers, imagining that he could detect on them the faint aroma of her presence.

He had turned them over and over, had slipped out the sheets of closely-written paper, and read them through and through, hoping for some clew to the ident.i.ty of the woman he had lost. It was an added anguish that he did not even know her name!

The letters did not help him. They contained nothing but innocent, careless, light-hearted, impersonal gossip, written apparently by one young woman to another. "My dear cousin," they were addressed, and Stewart could have wept at the irony which denied him even her first name. They were in English--excellent English--a little stiff, perhaps--just such English as she had spoken--and the envelopes bore the superscription, "Mrs. Bradford Stewart, Spa, Belgium." But so far as he could see they had nothing to do with her--they were just a part of the elaborate plot in which he had been entangled.

But what secret could they contain? A code? If so, it was very perfect, for nothing could be more simple, more direct, more unaffected than the letters themselves. A swift doubt swept over him. Perhaps, once in the presence of the general, he would find that he had played the fool--that there was nothing in these letters.

And yet a woman had risked her life for them. Face to face with death, she had made him swear to deliver them. Well, he would keep his oath!

He was still very tired, and at last he lay back among the cushions and closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

"_Halte la!_" cried a sharp voice.

The brakes squeaked and groaned as they were jammed down. Stewart, shaken from his nap, sat up and looked about him. Ahead gleamed the lights of a town; he could hear a train rumbling past along the river bank.

There was a moment's colloquy between the chauffeur and a man in uniform; a paper was examined by the light of an electric torch; then the man stepped to one side and the car started slowly ahead.

The rumbling train came to a stop, and Stewart, rubbing his eyes, saw a regiment of soldiers leaping from it down to a long, brilliantly-lighted platform. They wore red trousers and long blue coats folded back in front--and with a shock, Stewart realized that they were French--that these were the men who were soon to face those gray-clad legions back yonder. Then, above the entrance to the station, its name flashed into view,--"Givet." They had pa.s.sed the frontier--they were in France.

The car rolled on, crossed the river by a long bridge, and finally came to a stop before a great, barn-like building, every window of which blazed with light, and where streams of officers were constantly arriving and departing.

At once a sentry leaped upon the footboard; again the chauffeur produced his paper, and an officer was summoned, who glanced at it, and immediately stepped back and threw open the door of the tonneau.

"This way, sir, if you please," he said to Stewart.

As the latter rose heavily, stiff with long sitting, the officer held out his arm and helped him to alight.

"You are very tired, is it not so?" he asked, and still supporting him, led the way up the steps, along a hall, and into a long room where many persons were sitting on benches against the walls or slowly walking up and down. "You will wait here," added his guide. "It will not be long,"

and he hurried away.