November, ParisNew YorkDear David:I have been here a month, staying with my cousins, the Barristers. You remember Nina, who was such a wild scatterbrain: well, she has settled down into the most matter-of-fact, quietest little worker in the world. You would never know her. She is up at six each morning and off to her work in the Women’s Auxiliary Corps, has given up all her society interests and looks with scorn upon her old friends. I think she has shamed at least a dozen of her old social set into service work with her point-blank way of saying: “Well, what areyoudoing in the war?”At that, it isn’t quite fair, because the country is wonderful. No matter what is asked of it, it gives immediately and impulsively. I’m doing my part to prepare myself for service abroad when the time comes. I know father will oppose, but I have made up my mind and I shall go.David, there is the loveliest little French woman here as companion to Nina,—a Mademoiselle Duvernoy, and my heart has gone right out to her. Every one adores her and I think it is her influence that has made Nina over. There is some story back of her deep, sad eyes, I know. You will never get me to believe she is not a gentlewoman born and bred. I don’t know when I have gone so impulsively to any one. Justto be with her makes life, the right way of living, the things that do count, seem the simplest things in the world. I loved her from the first day we sat and talked together over the womanhood of France, and I think she was drawn at once to me, for she put out her hand and laid it over mine and said:“Mademoiselle, you have a very big and beautiful nature. It is the suffering and the responsibilities that will bring it out in you and make you worthy some day to be a great inspiration to a true man. We women are not our best or happiest when we are denied the hard things in life. And that is where life is so different for one in your position, for those who love you can hurt you most.”She said it so sweetly and her eyes had such understanding and such gentleness in them that I said:“Mademoiselle Duvernoy, I don’t think I ever wanted anything more in the world; will you really be my friend?”“I have wanted to from the first,” she said. “Perhaps we can be of help to each other.”Help her? How can I help her, except by loving her, and every one does that,—but I know what she can mean to me.LaterI spoke of you to-day, and, to my surprise, she told me that she had crossed on the steamer with you and father. Do you remember her? I am sure you do, for no one can forget her. I have asked her to come with me as my friend and companion, for Nina really doesn’t need her. To my surprise and delight, she answered:“Mademoiselle Brinsmade, I shall do so with all my heart.”I do know she is drawn to me, too, for there were tears in her eyes as she said it. I know the Barristers won’t want to let her go, but it is decided between us.
November, ParisNew York
Dear David:
I have been here a month, staying with my cousins, the Barristers. You remember Nina, who was such a wild scatterbrain: well, she has settled down into the most matter-of-fact, quietest little worker in the world. You would never know her. She is up at six each morning and off to her work in the Women’s Auxiliary Corps, has given up all her society interests and looks with scorn upon her old friends. I think she has shamed at least a dozen of her old social set into service work with her point-blank way of saying: “Well, what areyoudoing in the war?”
At that, it isn’t quite fair, because the country is wonderful. No matter what is asked of it, it gives immediately and impulsively. I’m doing my part to prepare myself for service abroad when the time comes. I know father will oppose, but I have made up my mind and I shall go.
David, there is the loveliest little French woman here as companion to Nina,—a Mademoiselle Duvernoy, and my heart has gone right out to her. Every one adores her and I think it is her influence that has made Nina over. There is some story back of her deep, sad eyes, I know. You will never get me to believe she is not a gentlewoman born and bred. I don’t know when I have gone so impulsively to any one. Justto be with her makes life, the right way of living, the things that do count, seem the simplest things in the world. I loved her from the first day we sat and talked together over the womanhood of France, and I think she was drawn at once to me, for she put out her hand and laid it over mine and said:
“Mademoiselle, you have a very big and beautiful nature. It is the suffering and the responsibilities that will bring it out in you and make you worthy some day to be a great inspiration to a true man. We women are not our best or happiest when we are denied the hard things in life. And that is where life is so different for one in your position, for those who love you can hurt you most.”
She said it so sweetly and her eyes had such understanding and such gentleness in them that I said:
“Mademoiselle Duvernoy, I don’t think I ever wanted anything more in the world; will you really be my friend?”
“I have wanted to from the first,” she said. “Perhaps we can be of help to each other.”
Help her? How can I help her, except by loving her, and every one does that,—but I know what she can mean to me.
Later
I spoke of you to-day, and, to my surprise, she told me that she had crossed on the steamer with you and father. Do you remember her? I am sure you do, for no one can forget her. I have asked her to come with me as my friend and companion, for Nina really doesn’t need her. To my surprise and delight, she answered:
“Mademoiselle Brinsmade, I shall do so with all my heart.”
I do know she is drawn to me, too, for there were tears in her eyes as she said it. I know the Barristers won’t want to let her go, but it is decided between us.
I laid the letter down, too moved to go on. Bernoline with Anne! Every thought that must have been in her heart, I think, came instantly into mine at that moment.Is there any depth of sacrifice and generosity before which her loyal nature would recoil? Never have I felt more deeply the sublimity of sacrifice in woman. How can I find it in my heart to rebel against her evident purpose? For I know that what she has done has been done for my sake in a spirit of self-effacing loyalty to my happiness as she conceives it. Thank heaven that I know at least that she is well and with those who love her. Yet why has she ceased to write me?
*****
Bernoline with Anne! No, I don’t resent it; though I still cannot comprehend it. Why it should be so, I don’t know, yet a feeling of great calm and certainty has come to me since I have known it, that and a feeling of humble reverence before something that shames me in my own tempestuous revolt against the loneliness that has been on me. Good God, how I love her, yet almost without hope, as some dear vision that I have only the right to worship from afar!
*****
Paris
How could I have doubted her for a single moment! I have been to the bank, and there were her letters awaiting me, and on each written directions to hold until my arrival. I tore open the first hurriedly, for the explanation of this mystery. It was there in the first.
My dear Friend:I cannot send you my letters to the front and I have for a long time debated whether I should even continue writing you. For, David, among those with whom you are now in daily contact there might be some who would recognize my handwriting, and I have not the right to run that risk. You are too loyal ever to seek the explanation in your imagination, as I am loyal to the promise I gave you and which a hundred times has torturedmy conscience. But even in conversation never, never refer once to having met even the Mademoiselle Duvernoy you knew on the steamer, for you might bring a sorrow too awful to contemplate on those I must protect. Even this I ask of you—destroy every letter I have written you. Do not question,mon ami, do not seek to penetrate this mystery. And oh, David, if by any unthinkable accident you might guess at the truth, for my sake I ask it,—keep the knowledge to yourself. Yes, even from me, dear friend. I must ask this of you blindly, and without question, and I do so in perfect faith.
My dear Friend:
I cannot send you my letters to the front and I have for a long time debated whether I should even continue writing you. For, David, among those with whom you are now in daily contact there might be some who would recognize my handwriting, and I have not the right to run that risk. You are too loyal ever to seek the explanation in your imagination, as I am loyal to the promise I gave you and which a hundred times has torturedmy conscience. But even in conversation never, never refer once to having met even the Mademoiselle Duvernoy you knew on the steamer, for you might bring a sorrow too awful to contemplate on those I must protect. Even this I ask of you—destroy every letter I have written you. Do not question,mon ami, do not seek to penetrate this mystery. And oh, David, if by any unthinkable accident you might guess at the truth, for my sake I ask it,—keep the knowledge to yourself. Yes, even from me, dear friend. I must ask this of you blindly, and without question, and I do so in perfect faith.
Blindly, and without question: yes, I shall obey her. But the imagination,—that is another thing. A hundred suppositions have rushed through my head, for I have written the names of a dozen of the officers whose mess I share, and there is one, a young captain from Brittany, François d’Hauteville, who, strangely, has reminded me many times of her, in coloring and in the breeding that I know is hers,—in the very quality of his voice. Is it possible that I have been living day after day with her own flesh and blood and never divined it! Control my imagination—how is it possible!
*****
I rushed through the other letters and impatiently took up the last one.
Dear Friend:You have probably heard from Miss Brinsmade of the way we met at her cousin’s and of my decision to go to her. I think, David, you will have guessed the reasons that have dictated my decision. Believe me that it is a great happiness to be so close to some one who is dear and necessary to you. Since I have known her a new confidence in the future has come to me. How could I resist her? There is something so instantly winning in her impulsive kindness, her brave struggling determination to be of some service, and the so evidentneed of a woman’s love and faith. With everything against her, a false education, the incitement to pleasure, the mistaken affections of those who love her best and who would make life only a long self-indulgence; with all against her, David, it is wonderful how the deeper things in her—the instincts of the real woman—have made her seek her own salvation. The real impulse,mon ami, make no mistake about it, is her love for you and the longing to stand high in your estimation. Such an aspiration is a precious thing, David,—a trust that you must never shatter.I have talked many times with her and I love her. She does need something that I can give her, thank God,—and to feel that, is something that means everything to me in this period of great indecision. It is a mission that I shall perform very reverently, and for your sake.B.I have told her only that I crossed on the steamer with you. Send your letters always to the Convent, and I shall get them there. Dear David, don’t begrudge me this little opportunity for real service. I am happier to-day than I have been in years, for I do believe that in some mysterious way Providence has granted me the opportunity to help others to a great happiness. This,mon ami, compensates for everything.
Dear Friend:
You have probably heard from Miss Brinsmade of the way we met at her cousin’s and of my decision to go to her. I think, David, you will have guessed the reasons that have dictated my decision. Believe me that it is a great happiness to be so close to some one who is dear and necessary to you. Since I have known her a new confidence in the future has come to me. How could I resist her? There is something so instantly winning in her impulsive kindness, her brave struggling determination to be of some service, and the so evidentneed of a woman’s love and faith. With everything against her, a false education, the incitement to pleasure, the mistaken affections of those who love her best and who would make life only a long self-indulgence; with all against her, David, it is wonderful how the deeper things in her—the instincts of the real woman—have made her seek her own salvation. The real impulse,mon ami, make no mistake about it, is her love for you and the longing to stand high in your estimation. Such an aspiration is a precious thing, David,—a trust that you must never shatter.
I have talked many times with her and I love her. She does need something that I can give her, thank God,—and to feel that, is something that means everything to me in this period of great indecision. It is a mission that I shall perform very reverently, and for your sake.
B.
I have told her only that I crossed on the steamer with you. Send your letters always to the Convent, and I shall get them there. Dear David, don’t begrudge me this little opportunity for real service. I am happier to-day than I have been in years, for I do believe that in some mysterious way Providence has granted me the opportunity to help others to a great happiness. This,mon ami, compensates for everything.
When I had read this, a feeling of helplessness again came to me. It is one thing to combat an enemy, but how resist the quiet, self-sacrificing determination of the one you love and who loves you! From the first I have known that in Bernoline’s presence my will would always yield to her inflexible view of duty. Her moral supremacy over me was immediate, and I have never questioned it. I accepted it as I accept it now,—as a faith. Yet not for a moment have I relinquished hope, even though that hope is indefinable and confused and lost in future speculation. There must be some future happiness in this world that can be shared together:otherwise—