The Old Blood Part 23

Madame Ribot had collapsed, her head bent, her hands drooped in her lap.

"We are off! You need have no worries now, Madame," said the Count.

"No army can travel as fast as a railroad train."

But she did not hear him and was all unconscious of her surroundings.

Just one thing was clear in her mind: the look that Henriette had given Phil when she made her decision. The mother and probably she alone, though a thousand people had looked on, would have recognised its meaning. The thing had come and in the way she had dreaded. She who had relived her youth in her daughter had seen the last chapter of her own story reflected in the feature which she had most dreaded. She had flirted with many men without more than a flutter of the heart and so had Henriette. Then she had fallen in love suddenly, without reason, and in headstrong insistence had married, to repent afterward.

One cause alone had sent Henriette back to Mervaux: the man who was returning there in order that Helen should not be alone. After all the chances she had had and played with, Henriette, too, had acted without reason when the impulse came. Helen was to blame. It was partly jealousy with Henriette, as it had been with Madame Ribot; the desire for conquest baffled by some humbler person. Her daughter was "running after" this cousin from America who had nothing to offer except America; but so had she herself run after a man who, at least, was not poor.

Back with Phil in face of all the proprieties which Madame Ribot held in such esteem in her later years! All her hopes and plans ruined! It was wicked, ungrateful, shameful--and due to the d.a.m.nable war. But she had done her best for Henriette. Why worry? She had to live. She had had no sleep. She was in a wretched state and she must look a hundred years old. Worry made wrinkles. Her conscience was clear and--yes, she had to live. Experience was the only teacher. Henriette would have to repent at leisure as she herself had done.

"You arranged it all wonderfully," she said, as she looked up with one of her choice smiles to the Count.

"Madame, the object of my service made it a delight," said the Count.

He tried to arrange the baggage to give her feet more freedom and at the same time to keep from twitching from twinges of gout. He felt twice as old as Madame Ribot.

Back in his little house the General, who had decided to keep the pigeons under his bed, felt as young as he had at Gravelotte. Such is the way of war.

CHAPTER XVII

UNDER FIRE

Yes, an awkward business, this, of a man and two girl cousins in a country house. Phil was sensible of it as he started to walk back from the station with Henriette, carrying her bag and his own.

"We have Jacqueline," she said, as if divining what was in his mind.

"A most dependable person, Jacqueline. Mother is quite safe and we shall see the war. Besides, we simply could not leave Helen alone."

Coming to the top of a rise they stopped short. The steady thunder of the guns became suddenly audible and against the green background of distant woods little puffs of smoke that seemed born of nothing were breaking and spreading into a mist which was as innocent-looking as a fleecy cloud on a summer day.

"One cannot realise what is going on there," remarked Phil, "though we shall if it comes to us."

"Then we go into the cellar, don't we, and wait?"

"I believe that is the rule," he said. "You've a good spirit."

"That is easy when a woman has a man along whom she can rely upon," she replied cheerfully. "We have not been used to having a man at Mervaux."

When they entered the house they found that Helen was still absent.

Jacqueline did not know where she had gone.

"I suppose the first thing is to settle down again," said Henriette.

Phil took her bag upstairs. When he returned to the sitting-room Helen was just entering.

"You!" she exclaimed. "I----" and she paused, no words coming to her.

When she had thought that the house, the world, and the battle were hers came this intrusion by the one person whom she did not wish to see again! She ought to welcome him and she could not break silence.

"We could not let you remain here alone when we heard that you were going to stay," he explained. "In fact, could you expect any decent cousin to do otherwise?" he added.

Her eyes which had been stonily dull gave their first signal. It was smiling mischief, which developed into one of her laughs.

"It was such a surprise that I must have looked as if I were seeing ghosts," she said. "It's a tribute to Jacqueline's omelets. You see, I relied on them to keep the Germans from looting the house. I meant to meet the invader with an omelet instead of an olive branch."

She carried the part off well once she was started, leaving him puzzled and wishing that she would continue her mood--any mood that livened her features.

"Oh, I didn't think I could stand at the door and defy the German hosts!" he explained. "Only, being a man, well--I----"

"You were going to play the masculine part of protector. I do feel more safe. Any woman must, being a woman and subject to conventional s.e.x inheritances"--this with a trifle of condescension, which was shattered by utter astonishment as Henriette appeared.

"I did not mean to make you jump out of your shoes," said Henriette.

"Mother was aboard the train all right?" Helen asked.

"Yes; quite."

"Did she want you to come back, too?"

"No. What kind of a sister did you think I was, you brave, foolish Helen? Did you think I would go to Paris and leave you here?"

She had slipped her arm around Helen's waist with a rallying burst of affection, which concluded with a kiss and a nestling of her cheek against Helen's as she looked at Phil. The two faces were close together, Henriette smiling devotedly and Helen quite still in contrast; the one at her best and the other at her worst. Then Helen looked around at her sister studiously and back at Phil.

"I'm glad you both came," she said. "I--is there another train to Paris?" she asked abruptly.

"No, that was the last," Phil answered.

"So we are here together, come what will," she said slowly, with an odd emphasis. "I just came back for my drawing things. The French are retreating along the road and the German sh.e.l.ls are coming nearer. I can't afford to waste a minute."

She took up her drawing materials from the table. As she turned to leave the room, something in her att.i.tude made Phil arrest her.

"You are not going into danger?"

"No, not in the least; to sketch is all," she replied.

"I think that my part is to keep watch of you," he said. "May I go with you?"

"And I want to see, too!" Henriette put in.

"Come on, then. If you are going to look after us both we must not be separated," said Helen.

She walked ahead, however, leaving them to follow. From the terrace they cut across the fields behind the battery. Its commander was too busy to pay any attention to them and the rider with the caissons galloping over the field with more sh.e.l.ls, careening and slewing as the knowing hands guided the horses, did not give even pa.s.sing notice to the young man and two young women.

Helen dropped on the ground with her back to a shock of wheat and began to sketch the battery. She was in action no less than the gunners of the _soixante-quinze_, whom she made live in lines drawn by her swift fingers on white paper. Phil, unable to tell what was the gunners'

target or which if any of the white b.a.l.l.s of smoke in the distance were made by the screaming messengers they sent, looked around at her and it seemed quite in keeping that she should be present, her shoulders drawn in, her lips moving, as she sketched, with Phil and Henriette in the role of spectators.

"Now for the road!" she said, rising.