The Red Cross Girls with Pershing to Victory Part 13

"I wonder if some day, I, the son of Italian parents, shall ever sing German music, if my hatred of Germany and antagonism to everything else that is German will allow me even to be willing to sing it. And yet I suppose there is no great tenor who has not at some time in his life longed to take the part of Siegfried, 'The curse can touch him not for he is pure, Love shineth on him and he knows not fear.'"

Carlo ceased speaking at last and in response Bianca gave a little sigh and then murmured.

"I wonder, Carlo, if you will ever learn to think or talk of any one except yourself?"

Bianca's reply was so unexpected that Carlo started and then stared at her, aggrieved and slightly irritated.

"But, Bianca, I thought that we were such intimate friends that I could talk to you about myself, and certainly of my musical ambitions. I am sorry my vanity has bored you."

The young girl shook her head.

"All persons possessed of any genius are supposed to be vain, aren't they, Carlo? I have known no other than you. But as for our being intimate friends, why, I do not feel that we are intimate friends any longer. After all, Carlo, I cannot give all the affection and it seems to me that is what you expect. When we first knew each other and I wanted to help you because I understood that you cared for Sonya in a way which she could not return, and afterwards when you were wounded and I tried to find you in Chateau-Thierry, I did not think or care, besides Sonya was Sonya! But now things are different."

For a few seconds Carlo studied the little cold, pure profile of the girl beside him. One had a habit of forgetting that Bianca was approaching eighteen, and then suddenly in some unexpected fashion she reminded you that she was by no means a child.

"I suppose you are referring to my friendship with Miss Thompson since our arrival in Coblenz, Bianca, or if not to our friendship at least to the fact that we have been dancing together nearly every afternoon when we both have leave. Can't you understand, Bianca, that it is sometimes pretty dull for one here in Coblenz now the excitement and thrill of the struggle for the allied victory is past? And now and then it seems to me I can scarcely endure waiting to return to the United States and begin to work again on my music. And yet one must prove as good a soldier at one time as another. Yet what is the harm in my amusing myself? I have thought Sonya also appeared disapproving of late. Miss Thompson is not only an extraordinary dancer, but she is most agreeable and----"

At this instant, having come to the end of the muddy path, Carlo and Bianca had reached the wide board walk which extended for some distance along the river. This afternoon it was as crowded with people as if Coblenz were enjoying a holiday instead of being a city occupied by a conquering army.

Observing his commanding officer, Major James Hersey, approaching, accompanied by Sergeant Donald Hackett, Carlo saluted and stood at attention. When they had gone past he turned once more to Bianca, his slight attack of bad temper having vanished.

"Not jealous, are you, Bee? You must realize that whatever friendships I may make, I shall always be fond of you."

If Carlo had been noticing his companion at this moment, he would have seen that Bianca flushed warmly at his condescension, and that she was extremely angry, and few people ever saw Bianca angry, not perhaps because she did not feel the emotion of anger, but because she possessed a rather remarkable self control.

"I don't think we will discuss the question of my being jealous, Carlo, you have scarcely the right to believe that I care for you enough for any such absurdity. I don't like Miss Thompson very much and neither does Sonya. Oh, there is no real reason for disliking her! But if you are under the impression that she likes you specially, Carlo, I think you are mistaken. She just likes to amuse herself too, and of course there is no harm in it."

Bianca's speech sounded perfectly childlike and yet perhaps she had a good deal of instinctive cleverness.

In any case Carlo felt annoyed.

"But suppose we don't talk personalities any more, Carlo," Bianca apologized almost immediately. "Naturally we can't always like the same people. I have never been able to get over my disappointment because the Countess Charlotta was not allowed to come with us to Coblenz. Sonya and I have nearly quarreled about her half a dozen times. And I suppose it is not alone that I am sorry for the Countess Charlotta, but because I do need a girl friend so dreadfully, Carlo. It seems strange doesn't it, and I am almost ashamed to speak of it, but I have never had a really intimate girl friend in my life. I suppose this may be partly due to the queer circ.u.mstances of my life. You see with my father dead and my mother an Italian peasant, who wished to make my life so different from her own that I was not allowed to a.s.sociate even with her very closely, and then being brought up by a foster mother who did not encourage other girls to make friends with me, because she might have to tell them of my peculiar history, I suppose I did not have much of a chance for friendships with the kind of girls I would like to have known! Then I realize that I have not a very attractive disposition."

Bianca's little unconscious confession of loneliness had its instantaneous effect upon her companion.

"Don't be a goose, Bianca mia," Carlo answered, using an Italian phrase which he sometimes employed, recalling the bond of their first meeting in Italy several years before. "But who is this Countess Charlotta whom you desire to have with you here in Coblenz in order that you may continue your friendship?"

Just an instant Bianca appeared troubled and then her expression cleared.

"Perhaps I should not have spoken of the Countess Charlotta, not even to you, Carlo, only of course I know I can trust you. She was a young girl who was ill in our temporary hospital in Luxemburg. I thought of course she would write me, as she promised to write when we said goodby. But I have never had a line from her and neither has Sonya although Sonya and I have both written her since our arrival in Coblenz. I am afraid something must have occurred to prevent her writing and so I have been uneasy."

Bianca's speech was not especially clear, nevertheless Carlo listened sympathetically and asked no embarra.s.sing questions.

A little time after they entered the famous Coblenzhof where Bianca had been invited to have tea.

It was crowded with people and looked like Sherry's on a Sat.u.r.day afternoon.

Both Carlo and Bianca gazed around them in amazement.

The people were all comfortably, some of them almost handsomely dressed, even if with little taste, but this was usual in Germany. They were drinking coffee and eating little oatmeal cakes and appeared contented and serene, even without their famous "Deutsche kuchen."

"I sometimes wonder, Carlo," Bianca whispered, when they were seated at a small table in a corner, "if some of these people are not glad after all that the Kaiser has been defeated and that they are to have a new form of government and more personal freedom? They certainly seem to be glad the fighting is over. I suppose they had grown deadly tired of it and of being deceived by their leaders."

Carlo shook his head warningly.

"Be careful, Bianca. In spite of what you think there are still thousands of people in Coblenz faithful both to the Kaiser and his principles. Some of them may seem friendly to us, but the greater number are sullen and suspicious, regardless of the order that they are to appear as friendly as possible to our American troops. Yet somehow one can't help feeling as if there were plots against us of which we know nothing, just as there was in every allied country before the beginning of the war."

Carlo smiled.

"Here I am saying the very character of thing I asked you not to speak of, Bianca! By the way, do you suppose we know any people here? Let us look around and see."

CHAPTER XIV

_Major James Hersey_

ARRANGEMENTS had been made in Coblenz for the quartering of the officers of the American Army of Occupation in certain German homes, payment being made in an ordinary business fashion.

On arriving in Coblenz, after his illness in Luxemburg, Major Jimmie Hersey discovered that especially comfortable accommodations had been prepared for him. Also he was to have as his companion, a personal friend, Sergeant Donald Hackett an exception being made to the sergeant's living in the same house with his commanding officer.

The household in which the two young Americans were located was one of the many households at this time in Germany whose state of mind it would have been difficult for any outsider to have understood or explained.

The head of the family, Colonel Otto Liedermann, was an old man, now past seventy, who had once been a member of the Kaiser's own guard. His son, Captain Ludwig Liedermann had been seriously wounded six months before the close of the war, and, although at present in his own home, was still said to be too ill to leave his apartment. There was one grown daughter, Hedwig, who must have been a little over twenty years of age.

The second wife, Frau Liedermann, was much younger than her husband, and her children were two charming little girls, Freia and Gretchen, who were but six and eight years old.

Outwardly the German family was apparently hospitably disposed to their enemy guests, although they made no pretence of too great friendliness.

They saw that the Americans were cared for, that their food was well cooked and served. Yet only the two little girls, Freia and Gretchen, possessed of no bitter memories, were disposed to be really friendly.

And in boyish, American fashion, the two young officers, who were slightly embarra.s.sed by living among a family with whom they had so lately been at war, returned the att.i.tude of admiration and cordiality of the little German maids.

Freia was a slender, grave little girl with sunshiny hair and large, soft blue eyes, and Gretchen like her, only smaller and stouter with two little yellow pigtails, and dimples, in her pink cheeks.

One afternoon Major Jimmie Hersey was sitting alone in a small parlor devoted to his private use and staring at a picture on the mantel.

His work for the day was over, the drill hour was past and the soldiers, save those on special leave, had returned to their barracks.

One could scarcely have said that the young American officer was homesick, for there is something really more desolate than this misfortune. He was without a home anywhere in the world for which he could be lonely. An only son, his mother had died when he had been six months in France.

It was true that he had a sister to whom he was warmly attached, but she had married since her brother's departure for Europe, and for this reason he did not feel as if she belonged to him in the old fashion of the past.

At the moment he was looking at his mother's photograph and thinking of their happy times together when he was a boy. In spite of his present youthful appearance Major James Hersey regarded himself as extremely elderly, what with the experiences of the past years of war in France and his own personal loss, and the fact that he was approaching twenty-five.

Then from thinking of his mother, Jimmie, whose t.i.tle never concerned him save when he was commanding his men, suddenly bethought himself of the young Countess Charlotta. It was odd how often he recalled a mental picture of her, when they had met but once. He had seen her again, however, on the morning when she had left the hospital at Luxemburg.

Then he had watched from a window the carriage which drove her away.