CHAPTER XVA BIVOUAC OF DRAGOONSHehad recognised her voice at once, and he came forward and took her hand and drew her toward the blazing fire.“Good God, it is Beatrix!” he exclaimed, forgetting that the right thus to call her had passed to another. She answered him with a responding word of surprise.“You, here at Wörth, Brandon—then you have seen Edmond?”He released her hand and turned from the fire.“No,” he said quietly,“and, of course, it is a surprise to you. I served my time with the Hessian dragoons before I came to Strasburg. None of you knew that, and I did not wish it to be known. A man must have some employment besides telling people that his wine is good. But you are cold and ill. Come to my cottage. The others are there—and we will get a glass of wine. Some of them will have news of the lancers. I was very sorry to see them hurt your house, but war is war, and it goes without saying that people must suffer. Have you any friends in Wörth?”He tried to assume a certain nonchalance, as though he were discussing the common things of the day. She was not deceived by it; nor had the surprise of seeing him there, a fine figure in the dark green tunic, yet passed.“You forget,” she said simply. “I cannot go with you now. And Edmond is waiting for me. He should be in Wörth, or perhaps at Gunstett across the river. I waited till sunset, and when he did not come back, Guillaumette and I ran down. They have burned our house, Brandon. All the things that he loved are destroyed. And we were so happy there!”She spoke with no design, hiding nothing of her love. There were tears in her eyes when she thought of the little house now a heap of ashes. He saw the tears, and they seemed to fall upon his heart.“My poor child,” he exclaimed—and was half ashamed that she heard the words.“Brandon,” she said very seriously, “I must find Edmond—I must go now.”“That would be foolishness, Beatrix. Wörth is no place for a woman to-night. I wonder that you came so far without insult. We must find some shelter for you till you start again. I willsend a trooper now at once to see if they have any lists. It is wonderful the way our people do things. We shall know at dawn exactly what the lancers did, and that will mean news of your husband. Meanwhile, if you won’t come to the cottage, you must warm your hands at this fire, and I will get a glass of wine. Believe me, I am very sorry. If there is anything to be done, you have only to ask me. There is no reason that I can see why our friendship should be broken. You do not believe all the things said about us, I am sure. We have our duty to do—to men and women. And we are not the scoundrels your people make us out.”She smiled up at him, with the look of one who had been his friend for many years.“As if it were necessary to tell me all this—you!”He shrugged his shoulders.“Then we will take it for granted,” he exclaimed, and added—“Come, here is a cloak. It will make a little soldier of you. I will send the man for the news at once, and you must drink a glass of wine. These nights fall cold, and the damp makes them worse. If we had known in Strasburg how we should meet again—”He stopped abruptly when he saw the shadow steal over her face. He had begun to forget,he thought, that she was another man’s wife. Yet every act, every word of his was full of a strong man’s pity for her—the little helpless girl out there amid that saturnalia of death and of defeat. She, on her part, did not ask herself why she remained with him. No fear of his friendship drove her from the camp. She did not know that he would have laid down his life for her, that he loved her as few men love women. It was an odd meeting, that was all; a lucky meeting. And how Edmond would laugh to see her sitting there with a Prussian cloak about her shoulders and Prussians offering her wine, and Guillaumette drinking the troopers’ beer, and joining in a crescendo of laughter, high-pitched and piercing.News of the lancers came in an hour. She read in Brandon’s face the truth of it, and started up from the seat of logs they had found her with beating heart and a face that was very wan and white.“Oh, my God,” she cried, “he is dead!”“Not so, Beatrix—he is unharmed—”“At Wörth—?”“No; they will send him to Mainz.”“He is a prisoner, then?”He did not answer her. She stood gazing into the fire as one who sees pictures there. Guillaumette was still amusing the troopers.
CHAPTER XVA BIVOUAC OF DRAGOONSHehad recognised her voice at once, and he came forward and took her hand and drew her toward the blazing fire.“Good God, it is Beatrix!” he exclaimed, forgetting that the right thus to call her had passed to another. She answered him with a responding word of surprise.“You, here at Wörth, Brandon—then you have seen Edmond?”He released her hand and turned from the fire.“No,” he said quietly,“and, of course, it is a surprise to you. I served my time with the Hessian dragoons before I came to Strasburg. None of you knew that, and I did not wish it to be known. A man must have some employment besides telling people that his wine is good. But you are cold and ill. Come to my cottage. The others are there—and we will get a glass of wine. Some of them will have news of the lancers. I was very sorry to see them hurt your house, but war is war, and it goes without saying that people must suffer. Have you any friends in Wörth?”He tried to assume a certain nonchalance, as though he were discussing the common things of the day. She was not deceived by it; nor had the surprise of seeing him there, a fine figure in the dark green tunic, yet passed.“You forget,” she said simply. “I cannot go with you now. And Edmond is waiting for me. He should be in Wörth, or perhaps at Gunstett across the river. I waited till sunset, and when he did not come back, Guillaumette and I ran down. They have burned our house, Brandon. All the things that he loved are destroyed. And we were so happy there!”She spoke with no design, hiding nothing of her love. There were tears in her eyes when she thought of the little house now a heap of ashes. He saw the tears, and they seemed to fall upon his heart.“My poor child,” he exclaimed—and was half ashamed that she heard the words.“Brandon,” she said very seriously, “I must find Edmond—I must go now.”“That would be foolishness, Beatrix. Wörth is no place for a woman to-night. I wonder that you came so far without insult. We must find some shelter for you till you start again. I willsend a trooper now at once to see if they have any lists. It is wonderful the way our people do things. We shall know at dawn exactly what the lancers did, and that will mean news of your husband. Meanwhile, if you won’t come to the cottage, you must warm your hands at this fire, and I will get a glass of wine. Believe me, I am very sorry. If there is anything to be done, you have only to ask me. There is no reason that I can see why our friendship should be broken. You do not believe all the things said about us, I am sure. We have our duty to do—to men and women. And we are not the scoundrels your people make us out.”She smiled up at him, with the look of one who had been his friend for many years.“As if it were necessary to tell me all this—you!”He shrugged his shoulders.“Then we will take it for granted,” he exclaimed, and added—“Come, here is a cloak. It will make a little soldier of you. I will send the man for the news at once, and you must drink a glass of wine. These nights fall cold, and the damp makes them worse. If we had known in Strasburg how we should meet again—”He stopped abruptly when he saw the shadow steal over her face. He had begun to forget,he thought, that she was another man’s wife. Yet every act, every word of his was full of a strong man’s pity for her—the little helpless girl out there amid that saturnalia of death and of defeat. She, on her part, did not ask herself why she remained with him. No fear of his friendship drove her from the camp. She did not know that he would have laid down his life for her, that he loved her as few men love women. It was an odd meeting, that was all; a lucky meeting. And how Edmond would laugh to see her sitting there with a Prussian cloak about her shoulders and Prussians offering her wine, and Guillaumette drinking the troopers’ beer, and joining in a crescendo of laughter, high-pitched and piercing.News of the lancers came in an hour. She read in Brandon’s face the truth of it, and started up from the seat of logs they had found her with beating heart and a face that was very wan and white.“Oh, my God,” she cried, “he is dead!”“Not so, Beatrix—he is unharmed—”“At Wörth—?”“No; they will send him to Mainz.”“He is a prisoner, then?”He did not answer her. She stood gazing into the fire as one who sees pictures there. Guillaumette was still amusing the troopers.
Hehad recognised her voice at once, and he came forward and took her hand and drew her toward the blazing fire.
“Good God, it is Beatrix!” he exclaimed, forgetting that the right thus to call her had passed to another. She answered him with a responding word of surprise.
“You, here at Wörth, Brandon—then you have seen Edmond?”
He released her hand and turned from the fire.
“No,” he said quietly,“and, of course, it is a surprise to you. I served my time with the Hessian dragoons before I came to Strasburg. None of you knew that, and I did not wish it to be known. A man must have some employment besides telling people that his wine is good. But you are cold and ill. Come to my cottage. The others are there—and we will get a glass of wine. Some of them will have news of the lancers. I was very sorry to see them hurt your house, but war is war, and it goes without saying that people must suffer. Have you any friends in Wörth?”
He tried to assume a certain nonchalance, as though he were discussing the common things of the day. She was not deceived by it; nor had the surprise of seeing him there, a fine figure in the dark green tunic, yet passed.
“You forget,” she said simply. “I cannot go with you now. And Edmond is waiting for me. He should be in Wörth, or perhaps at Gunstett across the river. I waited till sunset, and when he did not come back, Guillaumette and I ran down. They have burned our house, Brandon. All the things that he loved are destroyed. And we were so happy there!”
She spoke with no design, hiding nothing of her love. There were tears in her eyes when she thought of the little house now a heap of ashes. He saw the tears, and they seemed to fall upon his heart.
“My poor child,” he exclaimed—and was half ashamed that she heard the words.
“Brandon,” she said very seriously, “I must find Edmond—I must go now.”
“That would be foolishness, Beatrix. Wörth is no place for a woman to-night. I wonder that you came so far without insult. We must find some shelter for you till you start again. I willsend a trooper now at once to see if they have any lists. It is wonderful the way our people do things. We shall know at dawn exactly what the lancers did, and that will mean news of your husband. Meanwhile, if you won’t come to the cottage, you must warm your hands at this fire, and I will get a glass of wine. Believe me, I am very sorry. If there is anything to be done, you have only to ask me. There is no reason that I can see why our friendship should be broken. You do not believe all the things said about us, I am sure. We have our duty to do—to men and women. And we are not the scoundrels your people make us out.”
She smiled up at him, with the look of one who had been his friend for many years.
“As if it were necessary to tell me all this—you!”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Then we will take it for granted,” he exclaimed, and added—“Come, here is a cloak. It will make a little soldier of you. I will send the man for the news at once, and you must drink a glass of wine. These nights fall cold, and the damp makes them worse. If we had known in Strasburg how we should meet again—”
He stopped abruptly when he saw the shadow steal over her face. He had begun to forget,he thought, that she was another man’s wife. Yet every act, every word of his was full of a strong man’s pity for her—the little helpless girl out there amid that saturnalia of death and of defeat. She, on her part, did not ask herself why she remained with him. No fear of his friendship drove her from the camp. She did not know that he would have laid down his life for her, that he loved her as few men love women. It was an odd meeting, that was all; a lucky meeting. And how Edmond would laugh to see her sitting there with a Prussian cloak about her shoulders and Prussians offering her wine, and Guillaumette drinking the troopers’ beer, and joining in a crescendo of laughter, high-pitched and piercing.
News of the lancers came in an hour. She read in Brandon’s face the truth of it, and started up from the seat of logs they had found her with beating heart and a face that was very wan and white.
“Oh, my God,” she cried, “he is dead!”
“Not so, Beatrix—he is unharmed—”
“At Wörth—?”
“No; they will send him to Mainz.”
“He is a prisoner, then?”
He did not answer her. She stood gazing into the fire as one who sees pictures there. Guillaumette was still amusing the troopers.