CHAPTER VTHE HERALD OF THE STORMSheran upstairs and closed the door of her bedroom behind her. For a little while he dare not intrude upon her, but stood at the foot of the stairs fearing, if he went up, to find her dying or dead in the room. A thousand thoughts, striking the whole gamut of a man’s emotions, held him to the place. War and the glory of war, death and the risk of death; France and the call she had sent to him; love and sorrow and the moment of farewell—each was the outcome in its turn of that slip of yellow paper, upon which those two fatal words “Report yourself” were written. That which was even cowardice kept him for an instant from the darkened room upstairs and from its secret. She suffered there. He would have given half the years of his life could he have gone to her and taken her in his arms and said, “I will not go—my home is here.”A great silence fell upon the house. Little Guillaumette, who had seen her mistress’s face, had run away to the kitchen and was crying her heart out there. An old wooden timepiece, whichhad ticked for the soldiers who, fought at Jena, struck the hour upon a crazy bell, and told them it was eight o’clock. Without, there was no sound but that of the leaves rustling and the murmur of the night. The man cast off the spell which the silence had put upon him, and called for Guillaumette when the clock struck.“Guillaumette! Guillaumette! I must go back to Strasburg to-night. Let Jacob bring the pony and make my valise. Madame will come with me—I hope so. Where are you, Guillaumette?”His voice sounded hollow and high-pitched. It echoed through the little rooms of the farm strangely. In his mind there were many confusing ideas, but only one impulse. He must return to his regiment at once. France had need of him. The day he had waited for was at hand. Beatrix would suffer now, but afterwards she would be glad. His courage was found in the idea; he ran up the stairs at last and entered the darkened room.She stood by the window. She had drawn the curtain back to look across the woods, down upon the lights of the villages. He saw that she had not taken off her hat, and that her left hand was still gloved. When he entered the room she turned her head wistfully, but did not speak to him. He crossed to her side and put his armabout her, and wished that he could see tears in her eyes. The mute restraint and self-possession frightened him. When he kissed her on the forehead and drew her close to him, her face seemed on fire; he could feel her heart beating beneath the thin muslin dress which she had worn for their picnic.“You will go with me,” he said in a low whisper. “I shall be in Strasburg to-morrow, and afterwards as the order comes. But it will be something to know that you are near. AndgrandmèreHélène—but she is at Geneva. You would be alone in the house—until I come—”She laid her cheek upon his as though to cool it. Tenderness and love and sacrifice of self were conveyed in every gesture. Her restraint amazed him. She answered him as one who had no complaint nor even argument to make.“I could not go to Strasburg, Edmond. And you will not be there. Hélène would not wish it, I am sure of it. Let me stop at Wörth until you return. Jacob is here and Guillaumette. They will take care of me.”He released her from his embrace, for he wished to find the light in that hour of darkness. There were a hundred ways, but he could not see one of them distinctly. Desire to console, excitement, sorrow for her, gladness for himself, weremingled in an incoherency of thought and of perplexity.“It must have been yesterday,” he said.“The Colonel did not mention it in his letters. There has been a great trouble about Spain, and that telegram means that Lebœuf is calling out the reserves. Giraud said that it was finished; he did not mean to deceive me, and I understand. They would not spoil our holiday,mignonne, until they were compelled. Yesterday I heard things in the village, but would not tell you. They said that the King of Prussia had insulted us and wished for war. If that is the case, we shall be at Berlin in a fortnight. Everyone knew that it must come sooner or later; but that it should have come now! If it were not for your sake, Beatrix, I should be glad that it is so. There is nothing to fear for the armies of France. We shall fight across the Rhine, and you will not even hear the sound of the guns. I shall write every day, and a month will bring me back to you. Ah, my little wife, what a day to think of, when I shall hold you in my arms again and tell you of the battles! Is it not worth a month of waiting to have such a day as that? And you will get my letters every morning. Every morning I shall know that you are reading them. The time will pass before you dream of it. You will go to meet me at the station before the grapes are off the vines. It will still be summer, and we shall have another picnic at the Niederbronn, and I shall show you where the armies of France marched to Germany. Ah, if it were not so hard!”She had lit the lamp, mechanically and scarce knowing what she did, while he was speaking. The glow of light falling upon her face showed it as the face of one who had lived through a year of sorrows. His attempts to console her ended in a word that was half a sob. He realised that he loved her more than country or the ambitions of the old time. Pity for her surged up in his breast as an agony. She would be alone to think and to remember; and he knew already what those hours of loneliness must mean to her.“My love—my little wife; God guard and keep you,” he said.She pressed his hands linked in her own and began to speak of his journey. She did not wish him to see her face or to read the truth in her eyes.“I shall wait here at Wörth, dearest,” she said;“it is better that I should, for there is no one in Strasburg now. The worst may not happen, after all. And I should not care to go back to them. You will write to me to-morrow and tell me where the regiment is. Perhaps I may see you again before you go to Germany. And I will write to you every day. It will be something to do even if you do not get the letters.”She made a brave show of bearing up; and he understood and was grateful to her. There was so much to do, a valise to pack, uniform to be put on, a hundred things to be spoken of. Neither thought of food, nor of the dinner Guillaumette had cooked. Silently and with method, and with dry eyes always, she began to help him. In the valley without, the mute heralds of rain and storm permitted all other sounds to be heard clearly. An engine whistled upon a distant railway; a dog barked in a garden at Wörth; the grasses rustled fitfully as in the hour of coming tempest. Beatrix heard the sounds and was strangely conscious of them. She knew not why she suffered silently. Many times she had the desire to lay her head upon her husband’s shoulder and there to give freedom to her grief as a child at a mother’s breast. A voice said to her always, “You will be alone.” She clenched her hands, and turned her face from him again.“Little wife, give me courage such as yours.”It was his last farewell at the gate of the garden wherein her roses grew. For an instant, she remembered that she might be holding his hands and hearing his words for the last time. All thedepth and intensity of her love compelled her so that she clung to him distractedly and with all her courage gone. He felt her tears upon his cheek, and was glad because of them. His strong arms crushed her dress and so held her that she seemed to stand heart to heart with him.“Good-bye,mignonne. To-morrow I will write; in a month I will be home again.”He stepped into the cart, and the pony began to trot down the hill to Wörth. The little farm with its lighted windows stood out on the mountain side as a cluster of stars above the garden of his home. He saw her again for an instant, her white dress fluttering against the background of the forest. He dare not ask himself what the night would mean to her. He did not know that when a month had passed, an Empire would have fallen, and the armies of France be no more.From the valley, a blare of bugles echoed suddenly through the silent hills. Troops were moving already, then! The note thrilled him as with all the fire of battle and of war. To-morrow he would ride with his regiment again.But to Beatrix, listening at the gate of the garden, the trumpet’s note was as some call to the place of death and tears.
CHAPTER VTHE HERALD OF THE STORMSheran upstairs and closed the door of her bedroom behind her. For a little while he dare not intrude upon her, but stood at the foot of the stairs fearing, if he went up, to find her dying or dead in the room. A thousand thoughts, striking the whole gamut of a man’s emotions, held him to the place. War and the glory of war, death and the risk of death; France and the call she had sent to him; love and sorrow and the moment of farewell—each was the outcome in its turn of that slip of yellow paper, upon which those two fatal words “Report yourself” were written. That which was even cowardice kept him for an instant from the darkened room upstairs and from its secret. She suffered there. He would have given half the years of his life could he have gone to her and taken her in his arms and said, “I will not go—my home is here.”A great silence fell upon the house. Little Guillaumette, who had seen her mistress’s face, had run away to the kitchen and was crying her heart out there. An old wooden timepiece, whichhad ticked for the soldiers who, fought at Jena, struck the hour upon a crazy bell, and told them it was eight o’clock. Without, there was no sound but that of the leaves rustling and the murmur of the night. The man cast off the spell which the silence had put upon him, and called for Guillaumette when the clock struck.“Guillaumette! Guillaumette! I must go back to Strasburg to-night. Let Jacob bring the pony and make my valise. Madame will come with me—I hope so. Where are you, Guillaumette?”His voice sounded hollow and high-pitched. It echoed through the little rooms of the farm strangely. In his mind there were many confusing ideas, but only one impulse. He must return to his regiment at once. France had need of him. The day he had waited for was at hand. Beatrix would suffer now, but afterwards she would be glad. His courage was found in the idea; he ran up the stairs at last and entered the darkened room.She stood by the window. She had drawn the curtain back to look across the woods, down upon the lights of the villages. He saw that she had not taken off her hat, and that her left hand was still gloved. When he entered the room she turned her head wistfully, but did not speak to him. He crossed to her side and put his armabout her, and wished that he could see tears in her eyes. The mute restraint and self-possession frightened him. When he kissed her on the forehead and drew her close to him, her face seemed on fire; he could feel her heart beating beneath the thin muslin dress which she had worn for their picnic.“You will go with me,” he said in a low whisper. “I shall be in Strasburg to-morrow, and afterwards as the order comes. But it will be something to know that you are near. AndgrandmèreHélène—but she is at Geneva. You would be alone in the house—until I come—”She laid her cheek upon his as though to cool it. Tenderness and love and sacrifice of self were conveyed in every gesture. Her restraint amazed him. She answered him as one who had no complaint nor even argument to make.“I could not go to Strasburg, Edmond. And you will not be there. Hélène would not wish it, I am sure of it. Let me stop at Wörth until you return. Jacob is here and Guillaumette. They will take care of me.”He released her from his embrace, for he wished to find the light in that hour of darkness. There were a hundred ways, but he could not see one of them distinctly. Desire to console, excitement, sorrow for her, gladness for himself, weremingled in an incoherency of thought and of perplexity.“It must have been yesterday,” he said.“The Colonel did not mention it in his letters. There has been a great trouble about Spain, and that telegram means that Lebœuf is calling out the reserves. Giraud said that it was finished; he did not mean to deceive me, and I understand. They would not spoil our holiday,mignonne, until they were compelled. Yesterday I heard things in the village, but would not tell you. They said that the King of Prussia had insulted us and wished for war. If that is the case, we shall be at Berlin in a fortnight. Everyone knew that it must come sooner or later; but that it should have come now! If it were not for your sake, Beatrix, I should be glad that it is so. There is nothing to fear for the armies of France. We shall fight across the Rhine, and you will not even hear the sound of the guns. I shall write every day, and a month will bring me back to you. Ah, my little wife, what a day to think of, when I shall hold you in my arms again and tell you of the battles! Is it not worth a month of waiting to have such a day as that? And you will get my letters every morning. Every morning I shall know that you are reading them. The time will pass before you dream of it. You will go to meet me at the station before the grapes are off the vines. It will still be summer, and we shall have another picnic at the Niederbronn, and I shall show you where the armies of France marched to Germany. Ah, if it were not so hard!”She had lit the lamp, mechanically and scarce knowing what she did, while he was speaking. The glow of light falling upon her face showed it as the face of one who had lived through a year of sorrows. His attempts to console her ended in a word that was half a sob. He realised that he loved her more than country or the ambitions of the old time. Pity for her surged up in his breast as an agony. She would be alone to think and to remember; and he knew already what those hours of loneliness must mean to her.“My love—my little wife; God guard and keep you,” he said.She pressed his hands linked in her own and began to speak of his journey. She did not wish him to see her face or to read the truth in her eyes.“I shall wait here at Wörth, dearest,” she said;“it is better that I should, for there is no one in Strasburg now. The worst may not happen, after all. And I should not care to go back to them. You will write to me to-morrow and tell me where the regiment is. Perhaps I may see you again before you go to Germany. And I will write to you every day. It will be something to do even if you do not get the letters.”She made a brave show of bearing up; and he understood and was grateful to her. There was so much to do, a valise to pack, uniform to be put on, a hundred things to be spoken of. Neither thought of food, nor of the dinner Guillaumette had cooked. Silently and with method, and with dry eyes always, she began to help him. In the valley without, the mute heralds of rain and storm permitted all other sounds to be heard clearly. An engine whistled upon a distant railway; a dog barked in a garden at Wörth; the grasses rustled fitfully as in the hour of coming tempest. Beatrix heard the sounds and was strangely conscious of them. She knew not why she suffered silently. Many times she had the desire to lay her head upon her husband’s shoulder and there to give freedom to her grief as a child at a mother’s breast. A voice said to her always, “You will be alone.” She clenched her hands, and turned her face from him again.“Little wife, give me courage such as yours.”It was his last farewell at the gate of the garden wherein her roses grew. For an instant, she remembered that she might be holding his hands and hearing his words for the last time. All thedepth and intensity of her love compelled her so that she clung to him distractedly and with all her courage gone. He felt her tears upon his cheek, and was glad because of them. His strong arms crushed her dress and so held her that she seemed to stand heart to heart with him.“Good-bye,mignonne. To-morrow I will write; in a month I will be home again.”He stepped into the cart, and the pony began to trot down the hill to Wörth. The little farm with its lighted windows stood out on the mountain side as a cluster of stars above the garden of his home. He saw her again for an instant, her white dress fluttering against the background of the forest. He dare not ask himself what the night would mean to her. He did not know that when a month had passed, an Empire would have fallen, and the armies of France be no more.From the valley, a blare of bugles echoed suddenly through the silent hills. Troops were moving already, then! The note thrilled him as with all the fire of battle and of war. To-morrow he would ride with his regiment again.But to Beatrix, listening at the gate of the garden, the trumpet’s note was as some call to the place of death and tears.
Sheran upstairs and closed the door of her bedroom behind her. For a little while he dare not intrude upon her, but stood at the foot of the stairs fearing, if he went up, to find her dying or dead in the room. A thousand thoughts, striking the whole gamut of a man’s emotions, held him to the place. War and the glory of war, death and the risk of death; France and the call she had sent to him; love and sorrow and the moment of farewell—each was the outcome in its turn of that slip of yellow paper, upon which those two fatal words “Report yourself” were written. That which was even cowardice kept him for an instant from the darkened room upstairs and from its secret. She suffered there. He would have given half the years of his life could he have gone to her and taken her in his arms and said, “I will not go—my home is here.”
A great silence fell upon the house. Little Guillaumette, who had seen her mistress’s face, had run away to the kitchen and was crying her heart out there. An old wooden timepiece, whichhad ticked for the soldiers who, fought at Jena, struck the hour upon a crazy bell, and told them it was eight o’clock. Without, there was no sound but that of the leaves rustling and the murmur of the night. The man cast off the spell which the silence had put upon him, and called for Guillaumette when the clock struck.
“Guillaumette! Guillaumette! I must go back to Strasburg to-night. Let Jacob bring the pony and make my valise. Madame will come with me—I hope so. Where are you, Guillaumette?”
His voice sounded hollow and high-pitched. It echoed through the little rooms of the farm strangely. In his mind there were many confusing ideas, but only one impulse. He must return to his regiment at once. France had need of him. The day he had waited for was at hand. Beatrix would suffer now, but afterwards she would be glad. His courage was found in the idea; he ran up the stairs at last and entered the darkened room.
She stood by the window. She had drawn the curtain back to look across the woods, down upon the lights of the villages. He saw that she had not taken off her hat, and that her left hand was still gloved. When he entered the room she turned her head wistfully, but did not speak to him. He crossed to her side and put his armabout her, and wished that he could see tears in her eyes. The mute restraint and self-possession frightened him. When he kissed her on the forehead and drew her close to him, her face seemed on fire; he could feel her heart beating beneath the thin muslin dress which she had worn for their picnic.
“You will go with me,” he said in a low whisper. “I shall be in Strasburg to-morrow, and afterwards as the order comes. But it will be something to know that you are near. AndgrandmèreHélène—but she is at Geneva. You would be alone in the house—until I come—”
She laid her cheek upon his as though to cool it. Tenderness and love and sacrifice of self were conveyed in every gesture. Her restraint amazed him. She answered him as one who had no complaint nor even argument to make.
“I could not go to Strasburg, Edmond. And you will not be there. Hélène would not wish it, I am sure of it. Let me stop at Wörth until you return. Jacob is here and Guillaumette. They will take care of me.”
He released her from his embrace, for he wished to find the light in that hour of darkness. There were a hundred ways, but he could not see one of them distinctly. Desire to console, excitement, sorrow for her, gladness for himself, weremingled in an incoherency of thought and of perplexity.
“It must have been yesterday,” he said.“The Colonel did not mention it in his letters. There has been a great trouble about Spain, and that telegram means that Lebœuf is calling out the reserves. Giraud said that it was finished; he did not mean to deceive me, and I understand. They would not spoil our holiday,mignonne, until they were compelled. Yesterday I heard things in the village, but would not tell you. They said that the King of Prussia had insulted us and wished for war. If that is the case, we shall be at Berlin in a fortnight. Everyone knew that it must come sooner or later; but that it should have come now! If it were not for your sake, Beatrix, I should be glad that it is so. There is nothing to fear for the armies of France. We shall fight across the Rhine, and you will not even hear the sound of the guns. I shall write every day, and a month will bring me back to you. Ah, my little wife, what a day to think of, when I shall hold you in my arms again and tell you of the battles! Is it not worth a month of waiting to have such a day as that? And you will get my letters every morning. Every morning I shall know that you are reading them. The time will pass before you dream of it. You will go to meet me at the station before the grapes are off the vines. It will still be summer, and we shall have another picnic at the Niederbronn, and I shall show you where the armies of France marched to Germany. Ah, if it were not so hard!”
She had lit the lamp, mechanically and scarce knowing what she did, while he was speaking. The glow of light falling upon her face showed it as the face of one who had lived through a year of sorrows. His attempts to console her ended in a word that was half a sob. He realised that he loved her more than country or the ambitions of the old time. Pity for her surged up in his breast as an agony. She would be alone to think and to remember; and he knew already what those hours of loneliness must mean to her.
“My love—my little wife; God guard and keep you,” he said.
She pressed his hands linked in her own and began to speak of his journey. She did not wish him to see her face or to read the truth in her eyes.
“I shall wait here at Wörth, dearest,” she said;“it is better that I should, for there is no one in Strasburg now. The worst may not happen, after all. And I should not care to go back to them. You will write to me to-morrow and tell me where the regiment is. Perhaps I may see you again before you go to Germany. And I will write to you every day. It will be something to do even if you do not get the letters.”
She made a brave show of bearing up; and he understood and was grateful to her. There was so much to do, a valise to pack, uniform to be put on, a hundred things to be spoken of. Neither thought of food, nor of the dinner Guillaumette had cooked. Silently and with method, and with dry eyes always, she began to help him. In the valley without, the mute heralds of rain and storm permitted all other sounds to be heard clearly. An engine whistled upon a distant railway; a dog barked in a garden at Wörth; the grasses rustled fitfully as in the hour of coming tempest. Beatrix heard the sounds and was strangely conscious of them. She knew not why she suffered silently. Many times she had the desire to lay her head upon her husband’s shoulder and there to give freedom to her grief as a child at a mother’s breast. A voice said to her always, “You will be alone.” She clenched her hands, and turned her face from him again.
“Little wife, give me courage such as yours.”
It was his last farewell at the gate of the garden wherein her roses grew. For an instant, she remembered that she might be holding his hands and hearing his words for the last time. All thedepth and intensity of her love compelled her so that she clung to him distractedly and with all her courage gone. He felt her tears upon his cheek, and was glad because of them. His strong arms crushed her dress and so held her that she seemed to stand heart to heart with him.
“Good-bye,mignonne. To-morrow I will write; in a month I will be home again.”
He stepped into the cart, and the pony began to trot down the hill to Wörth. The little farm with its lighted windows stood out on the mountain side as a cluster of stars above the garden of his home. He saw her again for an instant, her white dress fluttering against the background of the forest. He dare not ask himself what the night would mean to her. He did not know that when a month had passed, an Empire would have fallen, and the armies of France be no more.
From the valley, a blare of bugles echoed suddenly through the silent hills. Troops were moving already, then! The note thrilled him as with all the fire of battle and of war. To-morrow he would ride with his regiment again.
But to Beatrix, listening at the gate of the garden, the trumpet’s note was as some call to the place of death and tears.