The Girl from Alsace Part 43

Will monsieur have his coffee before rising?"

"No, no," said Stewart. "I will come down."

"Very well, monsieur," and she placed the can upon the wash-stand and closed the door.

If it were not that the movements of the toilet are largely automatic, Stewart would never have finished his, but he was washed and dressed at last, and descended to the cafe which served also as the dining-room. It was crowded to the doors with vociferous French soldiers, very weary and very dirty, and all clamoring to be served at once. Their claims were greater than his, Stewart thought, and after all it wouldn't harm him to go breakfastless; but just then the landlady appeared again, and drew him through a door opening behind the bar.

"This way, monsieur," she said. "I have a little table for you here in the court."

A spasm of memory clutched Stewart's heart as he saw the snowy table set in a shady corner, and he drank his coffee and ate his rolls and honey like a man in a dream.

"Monsieur Stewart?" asked a voice.

He looked up to find a French officer standing at his elbow.

"Yes," he said. "Pardon me; I did not see you."

"Monsieur was distrait," said the other, with a smile. "I have a message," and he held out a large, square envelope.

With a hand whose trembling he could not control, Stewart tore open the envelope and unfolded the note within. It was very brief:

Dear Monsieur Stewart:

There is a distressing lack of surgeons at the Belgian front, and we are sending all that we can. I remember your generous offer of your services, and if I may command them I trust that you will join the party which is leaving at once.

Faithfully yours,

Fernande.

No news, then! But here was something he could do--wounds to dress--suffering to relieve.

"I am ready," he said, and rapped for his bill.

Half an hour later he was speeding northward again along the valley of the Meuse toward Namur, in company with two other surgeons, Frenchmen, who seemed very thoughtful and depressed. Stewart, who had expected to find the roads crowded with _materiel_ and troop-train after troop-train rolling northward to the aid of struggling Belgium, was astonished to perceive no evidences of war whatever--just the same peaceful countryside he had pa.s.sed through the day before. Something had gone wrong, then; and he turned to his companions for information, but they only shrugged their shoulders gloomily and shook their heads.

At Namur they left the car, and the orderly, who had told Stewart that his destination was Landen, some distance farther on, came back to sit with him in the tonneau, evidently welcoming the opportunity to talk to some one. He had spent two or three years as a clerk in an uncle's silk house in Boston, and so spoke English fluently. He too was gloomy about the immediate outlook. The French, it seemed, had been caught off their guard--or, rather, while guarding themselves from the only blow which could legitimately be struck at them by mobilizing along the eastern frontier, had been stabbed in the back by the German attack through Belgium.

The orderly said frankly that the situation was serious--and was certain to become more serious before it could improve. The mobilization of a million men was an intricate task; it would take time to swing the army around from the east to the north--a week at least. And it would be impossible to give the Belgians any real a.s.sistance before that time.

And that would probably be too late.

"Too late?" said Stewart, in surprise. "Aren't the Belgians holding?"

"Oh, yes, they are holding," his companion answered. "They are fighting gallantly. The forts at Liege even have not yet fallen--but it can be only a matter of hours until they do. Then the flood will be let loose, and all the little Belgian army can hope to do is to fight delaying rear-guard actions as it retreats."

"Perhaps the English can get in," Stewart suggested.

"The English? But England has no army--or, at best, a mere handful of regulars. Perhaps in two years she will be able to do something."

"Two years?" echoed Stewart, staring at his companion to see if he was in earnest. "Do you really think this war can last that long?"

"It will last longer than that," the other answered composedly. "It will last until Germany is totally defeated--it will last till she is freed from slavery to the military caste--until the Hohenzollerns are driven from the throne. And that will take a long time."

"Yes," agreed Stewart. "From what I have seen of the German army, I should say it would!"

The Frenchman looked at him quickly.

"You have seen the German army?"

"Yes," and Stewart told something of his experience, while the other listened intently.

"It is this first onslaught--this first rush--which is dangerous," said the Frenchman, when he had finished. "Germany has staked everything upon that--upon catching us unawares and winning the war with one swift, terrible blow. If we can escape that--if we can ward it off--we shall win. If not--well, it will be for England and America to free the world."

"America?" echoed Stewart. "Surely...."

"You in America do not understand," broke in his companion, "as we in Europe understand--but you will before this war is very old."

"Understand what?"

"That this is not a war of nations, but a war of ideals. It is the last desperate struggle of medieval despotism to save itself and to enslave the world. If it succeeds, democracy will vanish. Every free nation will go in fear, and one by one will perish. But it will not succeed--humanity cannot permit it to succeed. Before this war is finished, all the free peoples of the earth will be banded together in a league of brotherhood--America with all the others--at the head of all the others. She will be fighting for her freedom as truly as in her War of Independence--and for the freedom of all mankind as well. She will realize this--she will realize what this black menace of autocracy means for the world--and she will come in. She will be with us, hand in hand--shoulder to shoulder."

"Pray G.o.d it may be so!" said Stewart, in a low voice, but his heart misgave him.

How could America--that great, inchoate country, that ferment of all the nations of the world, aloof from Europe, guarded by three thousand miles of sea--be made to understand? How could she be made to see that this was her fight--specially and peculiarly her fight? How could she be made to realize that Germany's ruthless sword was slashing, not at Belgium or France or England, but at the ideals, the principles, the very foundation stones of the American Republic?

It seemed too much to hope for; but perhaps, some day....

And then he realized that they were nearing the place where the first skirmish of the great battle for human freedom was being fought, for the road became so thronged with fugitives that the car was forced to slow down and almost burrow a path through the forlorn and panic-stricken people toiling eastward--eastward--they knew not where--anywhere away from the stark horror behind them! They were of all sorts--young and old, rich and poor--and many of them moved as in a trance, unable to understand the disaster which had befallen them.

At last Stewart saw ahead the red roofs of a little town.

"Landen," said his companion. "It has a very large convent, which has been turned into a hospital for this whole section of the front. All our ambulances now discharge there, and naturally the place is very crowded.

The nuns have been wonderful, but you have some hard work ahead."

"That's what I want," said Stewart, with a nod.

The car was b.u.mping over the cobbles of the town, and in a moment stopped before a great, barrack-like building, covering an entire block.

An ambulance was unloading at the door, and Stewart caught a glimpse of a livid, anguished face....

Yes, here was something he could do; and he followed his companion up the steps. At the top a black-coifed nun awaited them.

"This is Doctor Stewart," said the orderly, and added a sentence in French so rapid that Stewart could not follow it. But the nun understood and smiled warmly and held out her hand.

"I am glad to see you, sir," she said, in careful English. "If you will follow me," and she led the way along a white-washed corridor. "Perhaps you will wish to rest and refresh yourself before----"

"No," Stewart broke in. "Let me get to work at once."

The nun smiled again, and opened the door into a little room with a single snowy bed.

"If you will wait here a moment," she said, and as Stewart entered, closed the door after him.