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Transcriber’s note:

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An additional Transcriber’s Note is at the end.





THE RED CROSS GIRLS ON THE FRENCH FIRING LINE

       *       *       *       *       *
BOOKS BY MARGARET VANDERCOOK

THE RANCH GIRLS SERIES

  THE RANCH GIRLS AT RAINBOW LODGE
  THE RANCH GIRLS’ POT OF GOLD
  THE RANCH GIRLS AT BOARDING SCHOOL
  THE RANCH GIRLS IN EUROPE
  THE RANCH GIRLS AT HOME AGAIN
  THE RANCH GIRLS AND THEIR GREAT ADVENTURE

THE RED CROSS GIRLS SERIES

  THE RED CROSS GIRLS IN THE BRITISH TRENCHES
  THE RED CROSS GIRLS ON THE FRENCH FIRING LINE
  THE RED CROSS GIRLS IN BELGIUM
  THE RED CROSS GIRLS WITH THE RUSSIAN ARMY
  THE RED CROSS GIRLS WITH THE ITALIAN ARMY
  THE RED CROSS GIRLS UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES

STORIES ABOUT CAMP FIRE GIRLS

  THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT SUNRISE HILL
  THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AMID THE SNOWS
  THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE OUTSIDE WORLD
  THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ACROSS THE SEA
  THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS’ CAREERS
  THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN AFTER YEARS
  THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE DESERT
  THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT THE END OF THE TRAIL

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: CAPTAIN CASTAIGNE LAY HIDDEN UNDER A PILE OF BED
CLOTHES--(_See page 225_)]


THE RED CROSS GIRLS ON THE FRENCH FIRING LINE

by

MARGARET VANDERCOOK

Author of “The Ranch Girls Series,” “Stories
about Camp Fire Girls Series,” etc.

Illustrated

The John C. Winston Company
Philadelphia

Copyright, 1916, by
The John C. Winston Co.




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                PAGE

      I. PLACE DE L’OPERA                   7

     II. ANOTHER MEETING                   23

    III. THE CROSS OF THE LEGION OF HONOR  38

     IV. ON THE ROOF                       54

      V. OTHER FIELDS                      69

     VI. THE CHATEAU                       78

    VII. NICOLETE                          89

   VIII. WHO GOES THERE?                  103

     IX. A CONVERSATION                   116

      X. CHATEAU D’AMÉLIE                 126

     XI. THE PREJUDICE DEEPENS            139

    XII. NOT PEACE BUT WAR                150

   XIII. DANGER                           164

    XIV. THE PARTING OF THE WAYS          177

     XV. THE OTHER TWO GIRLS              192

    XVI. THE DISCOVERY                    202

   XVII. RECOGNITION                      214

  XVIII. OUT OF THE DEPTH                 227

    XIX. EUGENIA                          240

     XX. THE POOL OF TRUTH                250

       *       *       *       *       *

THE RED CROSS GIRLS ON THE FRENCH FIRING LINE




CHAPTER I _Place de l’Opera_


Not long after the beginning of the war in Europe four American girls
set sail from New York City to aid in the Red Cross nursing.

When they boarded the “Philadelphia” they were almost strangers to one
another. And never were girls more unlike.

Eugenia Peabody, the oldest of the four, hailed from Massachusetts
and appeared almost as stern and forbidding as the rock-bound coasts.
Privately the others insisted in the early part of their acquaintance
that this same Eugenia must have been born an “old maid.”

Mildred Thornton was the daughter of a distinguished New York judge and
her mother a prominent society woman. But Mildred herself cared little
for a butterfly existence. With the call of the suffering sounding in
her ears she had given up a luxurious existence for the hardships and
perils of a Red Cross nurse.

The youngest of the four girls, Barbara Meade, was a very small person
with a large store of energy and unexpectedness. And the last girl,
Nona Davis, was a native of the conservative old city of Charleston,
South Carolina. Although a mystery shadowed her mother’s history, Nona
had been brought up by her father, a one-time Confederate general, with
all the ideas and traditions of the old South.

Yet in spite of these contrasts in their natures and lives, the four
American Red Cross girls had spent more than six months caring for
the wounded British soldiers in the Sacred Heart Hospital in northern
France.

With the closing of the last story the news had come that the
headquarters of the hospital must be changed at once. At any hour the
German invaders might swarm into the countryside.

There had been but little time to remove the wounded. So, not wishing
to add to the responsibilities and finding themselves more in the way
than of service, the four girls had escaped together to a small town in
France farther away from the enemy’s line.

Here they concluded to offer their aid to the Croix de Rouge, or the
Red Cross Society of France.

But this was in the spring, and now another autumn has come round.

One wonders what the four American girls are doing and where they are
living.

       *       *       *       *       *

The great square in front of the Grand Opera House in Paris surged with
excited people.

Automobiles and carriages crowded with men and women, waving
tri-colored flags, filled the streets. It was a warm October night with
a brilliant canopy of stars overhead.

“Vive la France! Vive l’Armée!” the throng shouted, swaying backward
and forward in its effort to draw closer to the great palace.

There must have been between five and ten thousand persons in the
neighborhood, for tonight France was celebrating her greatest
achievement of the war. At last the news had come that the victorious
French army had driven the Germans back across the frontiers of
Alsace-Lorraine. Once again the French flag was planted within their
lost provinces.

  “Allons, enfants, de la patrie,
   Le jour de gloire est arrivé.”

In the crowd a woman had started the singing of the _Marseillaise_.
Immediately thousands of voices joined in the song, while thousands of
feet kept time upon the paving stones to this greatest of all marching
measures.

Six broad streets in Paris converge into a triangular square which
is known as the Place de l’Opera. From here one looks upward to the
opera house itself, a splendid building three stories in height and
approached by a broad flight of stone steps.

Standing within the crowd, a little to the left of the opera, was a
group of five persons, four of them girls, while the fifth was a young
man whose coat was buttoned in such a fashion that he appeared to have
but one arm. However, the other arm hung limp and useless underneath
his coat.

Although their appearance and accents were those of foreigners, two
of the girls in the little party were singing along with the French
crowd. The other two were silent, although their faces expressed equal
interest and animation.

Suddenly the singing of the street crowd ceased. The central door of
the opera house had been thrown open and a young woman came out upon
the portico. She was dressed in a clinging white robe and wore upon her
head a diadem of brilliants, while in her hands she carried the French
flag. So skilfully had the lights been arranged behind her that she
could be seen for a great distance. To the onlookers she represented
the symbolic female figure of the great French Republic, “Liberté,
Egalité, Fraternité.”

For a moment after her appearance there was a breathless silence, then
the next even more enthusiastic shouts resounded:

“Vive Chenel! Vive Chenel!” Hats were thrown into the air, thousands of
flags waved, while myriads of handkerchiefs fluttered like white doves.

It was a night to be always remembered by the people who shared its
rapture.

  “Aux armes, citoyens, formez vos bataillons!
   Marchons! Marchons!”

With the closing of the final verse of the _Marseillaise_, in the midst
of the wild applause, the smallest of the four girls in the little
group placed her hand gently upon the armless sleeve of her young man
companion.

“Tonight makes up for a good deal, doesn’t it, Dick?” she queried
a little wistfully. As she spoke her blue eyes were shining with
excitement, while a warm color flooded her cheeks.

The young fellow nodded. “It is the greatest spectacle I ever saw and
one we shall never forget,” he replied. “Yet there will be a greater
night to come when this war is finally over, though when that night
will be no one can foretell.”

Dick Thornton spoke gravely and seemed weary from the evening’s
excitement. But then something of what he had passed through in the
last six months showed in other ways than in his empty coat sleeve.

Without his knowledge, the girl who had been speaking continued to
study him for another moment. Then she turned to Mildred Thornton, who
was on her other side, and whispered:

“Mill, Dick is tired, but would rather die than confess it. Can’t you
think of some way to get us out of this crowd before the breaking up
begins? The jam then will be awful and we may not be able to keep
together.”

Up to the instant of Barbara Meade’s suggestion, Mildred had forgotten
all personal matters in her interest in the music and the vivid beauty
of the scene surrounding them. Now she too glanced toward her brother.

“Dick,” she suggested at once, “don’t you think we had best start back
toward our pension? Madame Chenel is to sing an encore and I’m sorry we
must miss it, but I really think it would be more sensible to go.”

With the closing of the _Marseillaise_ the celebrated singer had
disappeared. Now in the midst of Mildred’s remark she returned to the
balcony of the Opera House. No longer was she wearing her crown of
brilliants, nor carrying the immense French flag. Instead her head was
uncovered, showing her dark hair and eyes and the flag she bore was
British, not French.

Then she began singing in English, but with a delicious French accent:

  “It’s a long way to Tipperary,
      It’s a long way to go.”

The crowd joined in the chorus. There were soldiers on the street, who
had returned to Paris on leaves of absence, after learning English from
the Tommies in the trenches. Others had only a faint knowledge of a few
English words. But everybody sang, and because some of the voices were
French and others English the effect was all the more thrilling and
amusing.

Naturally Dick hesitated for a moment, then he remembered his own
condition. Certainly he would be powerless to push their way through
the great throng. Then if by chance rioting should break out from sheer
excitement, it would be impossible for him to protect four girls.
True, the American Red Cross girls were fairly well able to look after
themselves in most emergencies. But Dick Thornton did not like the idea
of having them put to the test at such a time and under the present
circumstances.

“I am afraid you are right, Mildred,” he agreed reluctantly. “Let’s
form a single file; I’ll go first and all of you follow me. Tell the
others.”

Mildred at once put her arm inside a young woman’s who was standing
near her, apparently oblivious of the past conversation. Yet one would
have expected Eugenia Peabody to have been first to have made the
sensible suggestion of the past few moments. Yet it was Barbara Meade
with whom it had actually originated.

But Eugenia too had been swept off her feet with enthusiasm. Moreover,
she could scarcely make up her mind now to agree to leave, although
plainly appreciating the situation. Eugenia looked surprisingly
handsome tonight.

In the first place, she wore a new Paris frock, which after long
insistence the other three girls had persuaded her to buy. It was an
inexpensive dress of dark-blue cloth and silk, but it was stylishly
made and extremely becoming. Above all, Eugenia had at last discarded
the unattractive hat in which she had set sail, and which she had
resolutely worn until this day. The new one had only cost five francs,
but one should see the character of hat that can be bought in Paris for
one dollar!

Eugenia, it is true, had begrudged even that small amount for her own
adornment, until Nona and Barbara had refused to appear upon the street
with her still in her ancient “Alpine.” However, although she rebelled
against the unnecessary extravagance, so far Eugenia had not regretted
her purchases.

At the present moment she was standing next to Nona Davis and turned to
speak to her.

“Nona, I am sorry when it’s all so wonderful, but we must start back to
the pension at once. Please come on,” she insisted authoritatively.

And Eugenia had every reason to believe that Nona heard her words
and agreed with her. She even thought that Nona moved on a few paces
behind her. Moreover, this is exactly what she did. Nevertheless, Nona
afterwards insisted that her act must have been purely involuntary,
since she was not conscious of having heard or obeyed her companion.

If the little group of five Americans had been enthralled by the
night’s excitement, it was Nona Davis who was most completely swept off
her feet. Never had she even dreamed of such beauty and glamour as this
gala night in Paris offered!

So little even of her own land had Nona seen, nothing save Charleston
and the surrounding neighborhood and the view from her car window on
her way to New York City.

The few days in London had been overhung with the thought of the work
ahead. But here in Paris for the past week the four Red Cross girls had
been enjoying a brief holiday and were completely under the spell of
the fascinating and beautiful city.

Upon persons with a far wider experience of life and places than Nona
Davis, Paris frequently casts this same spell. Indeed, it sometimes
seems impossible that a city can be so beautiful and yet suited to the
uses of everyday life. Both in Paris and in Venice one often expects to
wake up and find the city a dream and not a reality.

Certainly Nona had turned automatically to do as Eugenia had commanded
her. But unfortunately, at the same moment Madame Chenel finished her
English song and began at once on another which by an odd chance had a
reminiscent quality for Nona. Instinctively she paused to listen and
remember.

Her impression of the song was one of long ago. Nona’s mother had
once been in New Orleans. Now the vision came to her daughter of an
old-fashioned spinet at one end of the drawing room in her home in
Charleston, and of a young woman in a white dress with blue ribbons
sitting there singing this same French verse.

For the moment everything else was forgotten. The girl simply stood
spellbound until the great artist finished. Only when she began bowing
her thanks to the applauding crowd, did Nona turn again to look for
Eugenia and her other friends. But as more than five minutes had passed
since their warning, and as they had believed Nona following them, no
one of the four could be seen.

Moreover, at this same moment the great crowd began to break up. Then,
as is always the case, everybody struggled to get away at the same
moment.

Just at first Nona was not alarmed at finding herself alone; she was
simply bewildered. However, because she was endeavoring to stand still
while every one else was moving, she was constantly being shoved from
side to side.

Her first intention was to remain in the same place for a few moments.
Then Dick or one of the girls would probably return for her. However,
she soon appreciated that no human being could push their way back
through the thronging multitude. Moreover, she too must move along or
be trampled upon.

Fortunately, the fact that she was alone did not seem to have been
observed. For although the people in her neighborhood were not
rough and ugly, as an English or Teutonic crowd might have been,
nevertheless, Nona knew that for a young girl to be alone at night in
the streets of Paris was an unheard-of thing. Besides, later on the
crowd might indulge in noisier ways of celebrating the German defeat
than by listening to the singing of the great prima donna.

What had she best do? As she was being pushed along, Nona was also
thinking rapidly, although somewhat confusedly. She had not been on the
street alone since her arrival. Both Mildred and Dick Thornton were
familiar with Paris and had been acting as the others’ escorts.

Their little French pension happened to be over on the other side of
Paris. Fortunately, Nona remembered that she could find a bus near the
Madeleine, the famous church not more than a dozen blocks away from the
neighborhood of the opera. But how to reach this destination and what
bus to take after her arrival? These were problems still to be dealt
with. First of all, she must keep her forlorn condition a secret from
observers in order not to be spoken to by an impertinent stranger.

Naturally Nona appreciated that it was impossible for all Frenchmen to
be equally courteous. Therefore, one of them might misunderstand her
present predicament.

However, as there was nothing else to do she continued moving with the
crowd. In the meantime she kept assuring herself that it was absurd to
be so nervous over an ordinary adventure. Think what experiences she
had so lately passed through as a Red Cross nurse!

But if she had only been wearing her nurse’s uniform, always it served
as a protection! Yet naturally when one was off duty and merely a
holiday visitor in a city, it was pleasanter to dress like other
persons.

Like Eugenia, Nona was also wearing a new frock. Hers was of black
silk with a hat of black tulle, making her fair hair and skin more
conspicuous by contrast. Certainly she would be apt to attract
attention among the darker, more vividly colored French girls.

But Nona had gone half the distance to the Madeleine before she was
annoyed. Then just as she was about to cross the street at one of the
corners, an arm was unexpectedly slipped through hers.

With her heart pounding with terror and every bit of color drained from
her cheeks, Nona looked up into the eyes of an impertinent youth.

“La belle Americaine!” he announced insolently.




CHAPTER II _Another Meeting_


The next instant Nona recovered her poise. She was, however, both
frightened and angry. Yet if it were possible to avoid it, she did not
wish to raise an alarm nor create any kind of commotion upon the street.

At first quietly and firmly she attempted removing her arm, at the
same time regarding the Frenchman with an expression of scorn and
disapproval.

“Let me go at once,” she said, speaking excellent French, so there was
no possibility of being misunderstood.

But the young man only shrugged his shoulders, looking, if she had but
known it, more mischievous than wicked.

But Nona was now gazing despairingly about her. There were numbers
of persons near by, stout mothers and fathers, the respectable
tradespeople of Paris, with the usual French family of two children.
Nona could, of course, appeal to any one of them. But just at the
instant no one was sufficiently near to accost without raising her
voice. This would, of course, attract public attention, which, if
possible, Nona did not wish to do.

So she waited another second, hoping her tormentor would release her
of his own accord. Finding he did not intend this, she glanced about
for assistance a second time. Then she discovered two young officers
passing within a few feet of her. One of them wore a British uniform
and the other French.

Nona spoke quickly, knowing instinctively that the men were gentlemen.

“Stop a moment, please!” she asked. “I am a stranger and have lost my
friends in the crowd. This man is annoying me.”

Then in spite of her efforts the girl’s voice shook with nervousness
while her eyes filled with humiliated tears.

With her first words the two officers whirled around. At the same
moment Nona’s persecutor started to run. However, he was not quick
enough, for the young French officer managed to slip his scabbard
between the fellow’s feet. At once he was face down on the ground and
only brought upright again by the officer’s hand on his collar.

In the interval the other young man was gazing at Nona Davis in
surprise and perhaps with something like pleasure.

“Miss Davis,” he began, lifting his officer’s cap formally, “are we
never to meet except under extraordinary circumstances? You may not
remember me, but I am Lieutenant Hume, Colonel Dalton’s aide. Perhaps
you recall that unfortunate affair in which Miss Thornton was concerned
at the Sacred Heart Hospital? But before that you know there was our
first meeting at the gardener’s cottage in Surrey.”

It was unnecessary for Lieutenant Hume to present Nona with all
his credentials of acquaintance. For at this instant she was too
unreservedly glad to see him. To have discovered some one whom she knew
at such a trying time was an unexpected boon.

“I am, you see--oh, I can’t explain now,” Nona protested. “But,
Lieutenant Hume, if you have nothing very important to do, won’t you
be kind enough to put me on the right bus. I am trying to get back
to our pension. And though I am sorry to be so stupid, I am lost and
dreadfully frightened.”

The hand that Nona now extended to her English acquaintance was cold
with nervousness.

Lieutenant Hume took it and bowed courteously. “Of course I will take
you home with the greatest pleasure,” he returned. At the same time he
smiled to himself:

“Girls are indeed strange creatures, say what you will! Here is a young
American girl who has been doing Red Cross work near the battlefield.
She has been able to keep her head and remain cool and collected among
war’s horrors, but because she has been spoken to on the street by a
young ruffian she is terrified and confused.” Possibly she would have
scorned his protection in the face of an artillery charge, when under
the present conditions a masculine protector was fairly useful.

Now for the first time the young French officer spoke. He had just
given his captive a rough shake and then straightened him up again
after a second attempt to get away.

“What shall I do with this fellow, Mademoiselle?” he asked, speaking
English with difficulty, but showing extraordinarily white, even teeth
under a small, dark moustache. Indeed, Nona decided that she had never
seen a more charming and debonair figure than the young French officer,
when he finally engaged her attention. He could scarcely have been more
than five feet, four inches tall, yet his figure was perfectly built.
He was slender, but from the casual fashion in which he gripped the
other man, who was several inches taller and far heavier, he must have
been extraordinarily strong.

“Oh, let the man go, please,” Nona murmured weakly. “Yes, I know I
should have you turn him over to a gendarme and appear against him in
court, but really I should hate doing it.”

The girl smiled at the young French officer’s evident disappointment.
He made no protest, however; only he gave the man another half-savage
shake and said rapidly in French:

“Why aren’t you with the army, you miserable loafer? Your name at
once?” Then, when the offender mumbled something indistinguishable:
“Report to me at the barracks tomorrow. Oh, I shall find you again,
never fear, and it will then be imprisonment for you.”

The moment after the man had run away the French officer stood at
attention with his shoulders erect and his feet together. The next he
bowed to Nona in an exquisitely correct fashion, as Lieutenant Hume
introduced him.

“Miss Davis, my friend, Captain Henri Castaigne, one of the youngest
captains in the French army.” Lieutenant Hume then added boyishly:
“Tomorrow he is to be presented with the Cross of the Legion of Honor.”

Nona was naturally impressed by such an introduction. But evidently
the young officer preferred not having his praises sung to a complete
stranger. He pretended not even to have heard his friend’s last remark.

“I will say au revoir,” he returned graciously. “Since you and
Lieutenant Hume are old acquaintances, he will prefer to take you to
your friends unaccompanied by me.”

He was about to withdraw when Nona interposed.

“But you must have had some engagement together for the evening. Now
if you separate on my account your evening will be spoiled. So please
don’t trouble to take me all the way to the pension; just find my
omnibus and----”

Both young men laughed. The idea of leaving a girl alone in such an
extremity was of course an absurdity.

“Oh, come along, Henri, Miss Davis will be able to endure your society
for a few moments as long as I was braced to endure it all evening.”
Lieutenant Hume added: “Besides, it may help your education to talk
to an American girl. Castaigne does not know a thing except military
tactics; he is rather a duffer,” the English officer continued half
proudly and half with a pretense of contempt. It was not difficult to
discover that there was a good deal of affection existing between the
two young officers of the Allied armies.

Nona wondered how they happened to know each other so intimately.

“By the way, Lieutenant Hume,” she asked, when they had finally reached
the desired square and stood waiting their turn on the overcrowded
omnibus. “How in the world do you chance to be in Paris instead of
at the front? The last time I heard of you, you were in the midst of
desperate fighting.”

The young man answered so quietly that no one except his two companions
could hear. “I am in Paris on a private mission for the British
Government. I am not at liberty to say anything more.”

Nona flushed, a little confused at having appeared to be curious when
she had only meant to be friendly. But immediately Lieutenant Hume
inquired:

“May I ask the same question of you? How do you chance to be in Paris?
Did you come here after the Sacred Heart Hospital was closed? I knew
that one side of it had been struck by a shell and partly destroyed.”

Nona nodded. “Yes, but let us not talk of that now, if you don’t mind.
We had to move the wounded soldiers, the supplies and everything in a
tremendous hurry. So we are resting now for a short time and afterwards
mean to go into southern France to help with the hospital work there.
But hasn’t tonight’s celebration been too wonderful? It is the very
first victory I have ever helped to celebrate and it has made me very
happy.”

“Then you are not entirely neutral, as you Americans are supposed to
be?” Lieutenant Hume queried, waiting with more interest than was
natural for his companion’s reply. “I thought Red Cross doctors and
nurses were expected to have no feeling about the war.”

Nona hesitated. “Of course, that is true so far as our nursing goes,”
she replied. “Naturally I would nurse any soldier without its making
the least difference what his nationality might be. But when it comes
to a question of my own personal feeling, well, that is a different
matter.”

Nona’s answer was a little incoherent; nevertheless, her companion
seemed to find it satisfactory.

On arriving at the pension Eugenia herself opened the door. The
concierge had previously admitted the girl and her two escorts to the
ground floor.

The apartment where the four girls and Dick Thornton were at present
boarding occupied the third floor of an old house that had once
belonged to an ancient French family and had afterwards been converted
into an apartment building. Such houses are common in Paris. The
atmosphere of this one was gloomy and imposing and the hallway very
dark.

At first Eugenia only saw Nona outside or she might have been more
amiable. However, she had been so frightened for the past hour that she
was thoroughly angry, an effect fright often has upon people.

“Nona, what does this mean?” she demanded, speaking like an outraged
school-marm. “You have given us one of the worst hours any one of us
has ever spent. Why did you not come along with the rest of us? Of
course, no one wished to leave; it was quite as much of a sacrifice for
us as for you. Now Mildred and Barbara and Dick have had to go back to
look for you and to inform the police of your disappearance. I have
waited here, hoping for a message from them or you.”

“Yes, I know. I am dreadfully sorry,” Nona replied more apologetically
than she actually felt. Naturally regretting the trouble she had given,
yet she did not enjoy being scolded before entire strangers.

“Eugenia,” she protested, changing the tone of her voice in an effort
to stem the tide of her friend’s resentment, “I was so fortunate as
to meet Lieutenant Hume on the street. You may recall he was Colonel
Dalton’s companion when he visited the Sacred Heart Hospital. He and
his friend have been good enough to bring me home. I should like to
have you meet them.”

Certainly Eugenia was somewhat nonplussed on discovering that there
had been an audience to overhear her reproaches. Still she was no less
offended. However, she could not exactly make up her mind to refuse to
be introduced to Nona’s acquaintances, who had undoubtedly been kind.

The result was that she was stiffer and colder than ever before as she
stalked ahead into the pension drawing room, leaving the younger girl
and the two men to follow her.

Moreover, Eugenia undoubtedly looked plain, partly as the result of her
severe mood and partly of her fatigue and anxiety. She had removed her
street suit and was wearing a gray frock that might have been cut out
by the village carpenter, so free was it from any possible grace or
prettiness. The dress had been intended to be useful and undoubtedly
had been, for Eugenia must have been wearing it for the past five years.

But Eugenia really believed that she was fairly gracious to the two
young officers. She shook hands with both of them and asked them to be
seated. She even thanked them for escorting the scapegrace home, yet
all in a manner that suggested ice trying to thaw on an impossibly cold
day.

Lieutenant Hume paid but little attention to her, being frankly too
much interested in Nona Davis to do more than be polite to Miss
Peabody, whom he regarded strictly in the light of a chaperon.

But to Captain Castaigne Eugenia was at once a puzzle and an amusement.
In his life he had never seen any one in the least like her.

The young French officer belonged to an old and aristocratic French
family. Had France remained a monarchy instead of becoming a republic,
he would have held a distinguished title. He was not a native of Paris,
for he had been brought up in the country with his mother upon their
impoverished estate. Later, as she considered a soldier’s life the
only one possible for her son, he had attended a military school for
officers. So it was true that he knew but little of women. However,
those he had met previously had been his mother’s friends and their
daughters. They were women with charming, gracious manners, of unusual
culture and refinement. Moreover, they had always been extremely kind
to him. Now this remarkable young American woman paid no more attention
to him than if he had been a wooden figure, and perhaps not so much.
Her appearance and manner recalled an officer whom he had once had as
a teacher. His colonel had been just such a tall, stern person, who
having given his orders expected them to be obeyed without demur. So
the young French officer was torn between his desire to laugh, which
of course his perfect manners made impossible, and his desire to offer
this Miss Peabody a military salute.

She spoke the most extraordinary French he had ever heard in his life.
Her grammar was possibly correct, but such another accent had never
been listened to on sea or land. Captain Castaigne was not familiar
with Americans, so how could he know that Eugenia spoke French with a
Boston intonation?

Ten, fifteen minutes elapsed, while conversation between Eugenia and
the French officer became more and more impossible. Nevertheless his
friend failed to regard Captain Castaigne’s imploring glances.

At last the English officer realized that their call was becoming
unduly long under the circumstances. Yet before saying farewell he
managed a few moments of confidential conversation with Nona.

“You will persuade your friends to come to the Review tomorrow? I
shall call for you more than an hour ahead of time. President Poincaré
himself is to present decorations to a dozen soldiers. I say it would
be rotten for you to miss it.”

Undoubtedly Nona agreed with him. “You are awfully kind. I accept for
us all with pleasure and shall look forward then to tomorrow,” she
returned. “Thank you again for tonight, and good-by.”




CHAPTER III _The Cross of the Legion of Honor_


That night just before falling asleep Nona Davis had an unexpected
flash of thought. It was odd that Lieutenant Hume, who had been
a friend in need, should turn out to be such a well-educated and
attractive fellow. Moreover, how did it happen that he was a British
officer? Now and then for some especial act of valor, or for some
especial ability, a man was raised from the ranks. Yet Nona did not
believe either of these things to have happened in Lieutenant Hume’s
case.

What was the answer to the puzzle? He was the son of a gardener and
she herself had seen his mother Susan, a comfortable old lady with
twinkling brown eyes, red cheeks, a large bosom and a round waist to
match. Surely it was difficult to conceive of _her_ as the mother of
such a son! And especially in England where it was so difficult to
rise above one’s environment.

Although tired and sleepy, Nona devoted another ten minutes to her
riddle. Then all at once the answer appeared plain enough. Lieutenant
Hume had doubtless been brought up as the foster brother of a boy
of nobler birth and greater riches than he himself possessed. Then,
doubtless, seeing his unusual abilities, he had been given unusual
opportunities. Nona had read English novels in which just such
interesting situations occurred, so she felt rather pleased with her
own discernment. However, if it were possible to introduce the subject
without being rude, she intended to make sure of her impression by
questioning Lieutenant Hume. One might so easily begin by discussing
English literature, a subject certainly broad enough in itself. Then
one could mention a particular book, where a foster brother played a
conspicuous part. But while trying to recall a story with just the
exact situation she required, Nona went to sleep.

She and Barbara shared the same room. But fortunately no one of
her other friends had been so severe as Eugenia. However, after the
departure of the two young men, realizing that she had been tiresome,
Nona had been sufficiently contrite to appease even Eugenia.

The next morning at _déjeuner_ Dick Thornton declared that Nona’s
adventure had really resulted in good fortune for all of them. More
than most things he had desired to attend the review of the fresh
troops about to leave Paris for the firing line. Moreover, it would be
uncommonly interesting to see the presentation of the decorations by
the French President. And if Nona had not chanced to meet Lieutenant
Hume and his friend, neither of these opportunities would have been
theirs. Dick had no chance of securing the special invitations and
tickets necessary for seats in the reviewing stand. Privately Dick had
intended escaping from the four girls to witness the scene alone. But
now as Lieutenant Hume had invited all of them it would be unnecessary
to make this confession.

The review was to take place on a level stretch of country just outside
Paris between St. Cloud and the Bois.

Having in some magical fashion secured two antiquated taxicabs,
Lieutenant Hume arrived next day at the pension. He and Nona and
Eugenia started off in one of them, with Barbara, Mildred and Dick in
the other.

During the ride into the country Lieutenant Hume talked the greater
part of the time about his friend, Captain Castaigne, whom Nona and
Eugenia had met the evening before. The two men had only known each
other since the outbreak of the war, yet a devoted friendship had
developed between them.

Indeed, Nona smiled to herself over Lieutenant Hume’s enthusiasm; it
was so unlike an Englishman to reveal such deep feeling. But for the
time being Captain Henri Castaigne was one of the idols of Paris. The
day’s newspapers were full of the gallant deed that had won him the
right to the military order France holds most dear, “The Cross of the
Legion of Honor.”

Nevertheless, during the early part of the conversation Eugenia
scarcely listened. She was too busily and happily engaged in watching
the sights about her. Paris was having a curious effect upon the New
England girl, one that she did not exactly understand. She was both
shocked and fascinated by it.

In the first place, she had not anticipated liking Paris. She had
only consented to make the trip because they were in need of rest and
the other girls had chosen Paris. Everything she had ever heard or
read concerning Paris had made her feel prejudiced against the city.
Moreover, it was totally unlike Eastport, Massachusetts, where Eugenia
had been born and bred and where she had received most of her ideas of
life.

Yet there was no denying that there was something about Paris that took
hold even of Eugenia Peabody’s repressed imagination.

It was a brilliant autumn afternoon. The taxicab rattled along the
Champs Elysées, under the marvelous Arc de Triomphe and then turned
into the wooded spaces of the Bois.

Every now and then Eugenia found a lump rising in her throat and her
heart beating curiously fast. It was all so beautiful, both in art and
nature. Surely it was impossible to believe that there could be an
enemy mad enough to destroy a city that could never be restored to its
former loveliness.

Perchance the war had purified Paris, taking away its uglier side in
the healing influence of patriotism. For even Eugenia’s New England
eyes and conscience could find but little to criticize. Naturally many
of the costumes worn by the young women she considered reprehensible.
The colors were too bright, the skirts were too short. French women
were really too stylish for her severer tastes. For there was little
black to be seen. This was a gala afternoon, so whatever one’s personal
sorrow, today Paris honored the living.

Before Eugenia consented to listen Lieutenant Hume had arrived in
the middle of his story, and then she listened only half-heartedly.
She was interested chiefly because the young Captain she had met the
evening before was so far from one’s idea of a hero. He was more like
a figure of a manikin dressed to represent an officer and set up in a
shop window. His features were too perfect, he was too graceful, too
debonair! But in truth Eugenia’s idea of a soldier must still have been
represented by the type of man who, shouldering a musket and still in
his farmer’s clothes, marched out to meet the enemy at Bunker Hill.

Some day Eugenia would learn that it takes all manner of men and women
to make a world. And that there are worthwhile people and things that
do not come from Boston.

“He was in the face of the enemy’s fire when a shell exploded under
his horse,” Lieutenant Hume explained. “He and the horse were shot
twenty feet in the air. When they came down to earth again there was
an immense hole in the ground beneath them and both man and horse were
plunged into it. Rather like having one’s grave dug ahead of time,
isn’t it?”

Nona nodded, leaning across from her seat in the cab with her golden
brown eyes darkening with excitement and her hands clasped tight
together in her lap.

Eugenia kept her eyes upon her even while giving her attention to
the narrative. Personally she considered Nona unusually pretty and
attractive and the idea worried her now and then. For there were to be
no romances if she could prevent them while the four American Red Cross
girls were in Europe. If they wished such undesirable possessions as
husbands they must wait and marry their own countrymen.

“But Captain Castaigne was not hurt? So he still managed to carry the
messages to his General?” Nona demanded. She was much interested in
getting the details of the story before seeing its hero again.

Robert Hume was talking quietly. Nevertheless it was self-evident that
he was only pretending to his casual tone.

“Of course Captain Castaigne was injured. There would have been no
reason why any notice should have been taken of him if he had only
done his ordinary duty. Fact is, when he crawled out he was covered
with blood and nearly dead. The horse was killed outright and Henri
almost so. Nevertheless he managed to run on foot under heavy fire to
headquarters with his message. No one knows how he accomplished it and
he knows least of all. He simply is the kind of fellow who does the
thing he starts out to do. We Anglo-Saxons don’t always understand
the iron purpose under the charm and good looks these French fellows
have. But fortunately we don’t often use cavalrymen now for carrying
despatches. Motor cars do the work better when there is no telephone
connection.”

“Yes, and I’m truly glad,” Nona murmured softly. She was thinking of
how many gallant young cavalry officers both in France and England
those first terrible months of the war had cut down, before the lessons
of the new warfare had been learned.

But Eugenia had now awakened to a slight interest in the conversation.

“Your young friend looks fit enough now,” she remarked dryly.

The English officer was not pleased with Eugenia’s tone. “Nevertheless,
Captain Castaigne has been dangerously ill in a hospital for many
months, although he is returning to his regiment tomorrow.”

After this speech there was no further opportunity for conversation.
The two cabs had driven through the Bois and were now in sight of the
field where the review was to be held.

Drawn up at the left were two new regiments about to depart for the
front. Most of the soldiers were boys of nineteen who would have
finished their terms of military service in the following year, but
because of necessity were answering France’s call today. They were
wearing the new French uniform of gray, which is made for real service,
and not the old-fashioned one with the dark-blue coat and crimson
trousers. These too often formed conspicuous targets for the enemy’s
guns.

Across from the recruits stood another line of about fifty men. They
were old men with gray hair. If their shoulders were still erect
and their heads up it was not because this was now their familiar
carriage. It was because this great day had inspired them. For they
were the old soldiers who had been gallant fighters in 1870, when
France had fought her other war with Germany. Now they were too old
to be sent to the firing line. Nevertheless, each one of them was
privately armed and ready to defend his beloved Paris to the last gasp
should the enemy again come to possess it.

Between the two lines and on horseback were President Poincaré,
France’s new war minister and half a dozen other members of the Cabinet.

Then standing in a small group separated from the others were the
soldiers who were about to be decorated for especial bravery.

While Lieutenant Hume was struggling to find places for his guests,
Nona was vainly endeavoring to discover the young French officer whom
she had met so unexpectedly the evening before. She was anxious to
point him out to Mildred and Dick and Barbara.

But after they were seated it was Eugenia who found him first. Captain
Castaigne was wearing an ordinary service uniform with no other
decorations besides the emblems of his rank.

Then a few moments later President Poincaré and his staff dismounted.

The four American girls were distinctly disappointed by the French
President’s appearance. He is a small, stout man with a beard, very
middle class and uninteresting looking. Yet he has managed to hold
France together in times of peace and of war.

This was indeed a great day for Paris. Rarely are medals for bravery
bestowed upon the soldiers save near the scene of battle by the
officers in command. Yet there was little noise and shouting among the
crowd as there had been the evening before. They were unusually silent,
the women and girls not trying now to keep back the tears.

Sixty-four buglers sounded a salute. Then President Poincaré marched
forward and shook hands with every soldier in the group of twelve.
Eleven of them were to receive the new French decoration which is
known as the “Croix de Guerre.” This is a medal formed of two crossed
swords and having a profile of a figure representing the French
Republic in the center. But Captain Castaigne alone was to be honored
with the Cross of the Legion of Honor.

First President Poincaré pinned the medal on the breast of a boy
sentry. He had stood at the mouth of a trench as the Germans
approached, and though wounded in half a dozen places had continued to
fire until his companions had been warned of the attack.

Then one after the other each soldier received his country’s thanks
and the recognition of his especial bravery until at length President
Poincaré came to young Captain Castaigne.

One does not know exactly what it was in the young man’s appearance
that touched the older man. Perhaps when you learn to know more of
his character you will be better able to understand. For after the
President had bestowed the higher decoration upon the young captain, he
leaned over and kissed him.

Eugenia Peabody had an excellent view of the entire proceeding. Though
her lips curled sarcastically, strangely enough her eyes felt absurdly
misty. She much disliked this French custom of the men kissing each
other, for Eugenia believed very little in kissing between either
men or women. Nevertheless, she did feel disturbed by the whole
performance, and hoped that her friends were too much engaged to pay
attention to her. Above all things Eugenia desired that Barbara Meade
should not observe her weakness. She knew Barbara would never grow
weary hereafter of referring to the amazement of Eugenia’s giving way
to tears in public and without any possible excuse.

Ten minutes later the review began with a blare of trumpets. Then
gravely the new regiments passed before the President and his officers.
Afterwards they marched away until a cloud of dust hid them and there
was nothing for the spectators to do but return to their own homes.

Nevertheless, the young French Captain managed to make his way to his
English friend. He appeared as indifferent and as debonair as he had
the evening before. One could never have guessed that he had just
received the greatest honor of his life, and an honor given to but few
men.

Reference to his decoration he pretended not to be able to understand,
although Mildred, Barbara and Dick tried to compliment him with their
best school French.

But beyond inclining her head frostily, Eugenia made no attempt at a
further acquaintance with the young soldier.

However, several times when he believed no one was observing him,
Captain Castaigne stole a furtive glance at Eugenia.

She was somewhat better looking than she had been the evening before,
yet she was by no means a beauty. Moreover, she was still a puzzle.

Then the boy--for after all he was only twenty-three--swallowed a
laugh. At last he had found a real place for Eugenia. No wonder he had
thought of his former colonel. Recently he had learned that a regiment
of women in Paris were in training as soldiers. He could readily behold
Eugenia in command.

The other three American girls were charming and he was glad to have
met them. But Eugenia he trusted he might never see again. He was glad
to be returning to the firing line next day. Let heaven preserve him
from further acquaintance with such an unattractive person!




CHAPTER IV _On the Roof_


One week longer the American Red Cross girls remained in Paris. They
were only tourists for these brief, passing days. Yet all the while
they were waiting for orders. After having nursed the British soldiers
for a number of months, when the Sacred Heart Hospital was no longer in
existence, they had concluded to offer their services to France.

Therefore, like soldiers, they also were ready upon short notice
to start for the front. But in the meantime there was Paris to be
investigated, where the October days were like jewels. One saw all that
it was humanly possible to see of pictures and people and parks and
then came home to dream of the statues in the Luxembourg, or of Venus
in her shaded corner in the Louvre, or else of the figure of Victory
midway up the Louvre’s central staircase.

To one another the girls confessed that it was difficult to think of
war so near at hand, or of the experiences through which they had so
lately passed. Yet one saw the streets full of soldiers and knew that a
great line of fortifications encircled Paris, such as few cities have
ever had in the world’s history. Also, there were always guns mounted
on high towers waiting for the coming of the Zeppelin raid.

“Then one night, as luck would have it,” Barbara insisted, “the raid
came just in the nick of time. For how could the Germans have dreamed
that we were leaving for southern France the next morning?”

Nevertheless, the luggage of the Red Cross girls was actually packed
and in spite of war times the girls had added to the amount. Moreover,
they were due to take the ten o’clock train next day at the Gare de
Lyons. So because they were weary, a little sorry at having to leave
Paris, and yet curious of the new adventures ahead, the four girls
retired early.

In one way Paris has conspicuously changed since the outbreak of
the war. She has become an early-to-bed city and except on special
occasions her cafés are all closed after dark.

So Dick Thornton, although not leaving with the girls the next day,
found little to amuse him on the same evening. He had said good-night
soon after dinner and then gone for a long walk. For in truth he did
not wish to have an intimate farewell talk with his sister or any one
of her friends.

The hazards of war had used Dick pretty severely. He had not come to
Europe to act as a soldier; nevertheless, in a tragically short time,
before he had even begun to be fairly useful, he had paid a cruel
penalty. Dick believed that he would never again be able to use his
right arm.

He did not intend, however, to allow this to make him morose or
disagreeable and so seldom spoke of it. But now and then he used
to desert his four feminine companions and walking through the
semi-darkened streets of Paris try to work out a solution for his
future.

So by chance it was Dick who gave the alarm to the household on the
night of Paris’ long-anticipated Zeppelin raid.

He had just come home and was standing idly before the door waiting to
awaken the concierge who presides over the destinies of all Parisian
apartment houses. A beautiful night, the sky was thickly studded with
stars, although there was no moon.

Suddenly Dick heard a tremendous explosion. Naturally his first thought
was a bomb and then he smiled at himself. In war times every noise
suggested a bomb. This noise may have been nothing but an unusually
loud automobile tire explosion. However, Dick was not particularly
convinced by his own suggestion. He remained quiet for another moment
with all his senses acute. The streets in his neighborhood had been
well-nigh deserted at the moment of the shock. If it were nothing they
would still continue so. A brief time only was necessary for finding
out. For an instant later windows were thrown open and every variety of
heads thrust forth with eyes upturned toward the sky.

Then a fire engine rattled by and afar off a bugle call sounded.

That moment Dick pounded at the closed door of their house, but the
concierge was already awake and let him in at once. Then with a few
bounds he cleared the steps and stood knocking at his sister’s bedroom
door.

“Something startling is happening, I don’t know exactly what,” he
announced hurriedly. “But you girls had best get on some clothes and
come out. I am going up on the roof. If it is a Zeppelin raid the city
officials have warned people to go down to the cellars. I’ll let you
know in half a minute.”

But in half a minute Dick did not return. There seemed to be no danger
for the present at least, and besides he had a masculine contempt for
the length of time it takes girls to put on their clothes, even in
times of emergency. Moreover, he kept staring up at the heavens too
entranced by the spectacle to think of danger.

Five Zeppelins were passing over Paris, the projectiles which they
dropped in passing leaving long trails of light behind them.

Soon after a small voice spoke at Dick’s elbow: “It’s wonderful, isn’t
it? When I was a little girl I could never have believed that I should
see real fireworks like these.”

Without glancing around Dick naturally recognized the voice. It always
amused him to hear Barbara talk of the days when she was little, as she
appeared so far from anything else even now.

“You had better go downstairs, little girl, with the other girls;” he
commanded. “Yes, it is a wonderful spectacle, but this is no place for
you.”

Then hearing her laugh lightly, he did turn around. Assuredly Barbara
could not go down to the other girls, since they were assembled on the
roof with her, and not only the girls but a third of the people in the
pension. They were all talking at once in French fashion.

Dick felt rather helpless.

“I thought I told you to go to the cellar,” he protested. But Barbara
paid not the slightest attention to him and the other girls were out of
hearing.

She was clutching his left arm excitedly.

Now they could see the aeroplanes that had come out for the defense of
Paris circling overhead and firing upon the Zeppelins and farther off
in the distance the thunder of cannon could be heard.

“Paris is being wonderfully good to us, isn’t she?” Barbara whispered.
“We keep seeing more and more amazing things.”

Dick scoffed. “I thought you pretended to be a coward, Barbara, though
it is difficult for me to think of you as one.”

And to this the girl made no answer except, “I don’t believe any one
in Paris is seriously frightened. A raid is not the terrible thing
everybody feared, at least not one like this.”

But Dick was not so readily convinced. There was a chance that these
first air raiders were but scouts of the great army of German Zeppelins
that London and Paris have both been dreading since the outbreak of the
war.

Moreover, Dick was not alone in this idea. He could see now that the
tops of all the large houses and hotels in the neighborhood, as far as
one could discern, were thronged with as curious a crowd as his own.
And from the streets below chatter and laughter and now and then cries
of terror or admiration floated upward.

Of course, there were many persons in Paris that night wiser or at
least more prudent than the four American Red Cross girls, and there
were a number of places where proper precautions were taken. However,
no one thought of going to bed again.

By and by the three other girls joined Barbara and Dick. But now there
was nothing more to be seen save the stars in the sky which were too
eternal to be appreciated. So when the noise of the cannonading had at
last died away, Madame Raffet, who had charge of the pension, asked her
guests to come down into the drawing room for coffee.

The girls were cold and dismal now that the excitement had passed and
were glad enough of the invitation. Dick Thornton, however, resolutely
declined to join them. He was still not in the mood for cheerful
society, although he did not offer this excuse. He merely said that he
always had wished to see the dawn steal over Paris and here was the
opportunity of a lifetime, since the dawn must break now in a short
while.

It may be that Barbara Meade guessed something of her friend’s humor,
for she went quietly away with the other girls, not joining her
protests with theirs over Dick’s unusual obstinacy.

An hour and a half passed, perhaps longer. Dick had found a seat on
a stone ledge between two tall chimney stacks. It was a long, cold
bench and he was growing rather tired of his bargain. Still, there was
a grayness over things now and daylight must soon follow. Yet he was
sorry he had not gone downstairs with the others; it would have been
an easy enough business to have returned to his perch later and coffee
would undoubtedly have been a boon.

He was kicking his feet rather more like a disconsolate small boy, who
had been sent upstairs to his room alone for punishment, than like a
romantic youth about to pay tribute to his Mistress Paris, when Barbara
Meade joined him for the second time that evening.

However, this time he saw her coming and her welcome was far more
enthusiastic.

The girl had put on her long gray-blue nursing coat, but wore a
ridiculous little blue silk cap pulled down over her curls. Moreover,
Dick Thornton had to rush forward to meet her to keep her from
tripping, since she was dragging his neglected overcoat with her and
also trying to carry a thick mug of coffee.

Dick snatched at the mug none too politely.

“I say, you are a trump!” he remarked with such fervor, however, that
any girl would have forgiven him.

Then Barbara sat down beside him on the stone ledge and after seeing
that he had put on the overcoat, watched him drink the coffee. She even
added two rolls for his refreshment from the depth of her pocket.

“I made the coffee for you myself. I think it rather good of me,” she
remarked placidly. “The other girls are lying down. But I had a fancy
to see the dawn over Paris myself and I thought if I brought you a
present you would not send me away.”

Dick smiled, for the dawn had broken when Barbara came. From their
tall roof they had a marvelous view of the city and the long line of
beautiful bridges crossing the Seine. And there, not far away, looking
as if she were built half upon the water and half upon land, the Church
of Notre Dame.

A sudden glory of red and gold bathed its two perfect towers and the
cross above. Slipping down between the grinning gargoyles along its
sides it dipped into the river below. In another direction Montmartre
was shimmering like a rainbow, steeped in the colors and the glories of
romance.

Barbara shivered over the strange beauty after the excitement of the
night before. And although Dick was there and they were good friends,
she wished that one of the girls had also been her companion. It was a
time when she would have liked to put her hand inside a friend’s just
for the sense of warm human companionship.

But Dick was not at the moment looking or thinking of her. It was
hardly to be wondered at, the girl thought with the old grace of a
smile at herself. There were so many better things to see. Yet it gave
her the chance for a farewell study of him. They were to part now in a
short time, for how long neither of them knew.

The next instant Barbara regretted her decision. For how wretchedly
Dick Thornton was looking! Could any one believe that only a little
over a year had passed since their first meeting on the March night
when she had arrived so unceremoniously at his father’s house.
Certainly Dick had been more than kind to her even then.

A moment later when Dick did chance to glance toward his companion she
was crying hard but silently.

Once or twice before Dick had been surprised at Barbara Meade’s
unexpected tears, but now he understood them at once.

He offered her the comfort she had wished a little while before. Gently
he took her hand inside his left one.

“I know you are thinking of me, Barbara, and this tiresome old arm of
mine. It is tremendously kind of you,” he protested. “But I want you
to promise me not to worry and to keep Mill from fretting if you can.
I hate you girls to go off to work again without me, but I’ve made up
my mind to stay around Paris for a few months. I’m rather glad to have
this chance to explain things to you. Of course, you know that when
that shell shattered my shoulder it seemed to paralyze my arm. Well,
I have not given up hope that something may yet be done for it. So as
soon as I can get hold of one of the big surgeons here in Paris I want
him to have a try at me. They are fairly busy these days with people
who are of more account, but if I hang around long enough some one
will find time to look after me. You know I have never told, nor let
Mildred tell mother and father just how serious things are with me. But
if nothing can be done I’ve made up my mind to go home and find out
what a one-armed man can do to be useful. He isn’t much good over here
at present. You see, Barbara, I have not yet forgotten your New York
lectures on the duty and beauty of usefulness.”

Dick said this in a laughing voice, with no intention of attempting the
heroic, so Barbara did her best to answer in the same spirit.

Nevertheless, she had never gotten over her sense of responsibility and
might always continue to feel it.

“Oh, I am sure something _can_ be done,” she answered, forcing herself
to speak bravely. “But in any case you will come and say good-by to
Mill and the rest of us before you sail, won’t you?” she concluded.

Dick nodded, but by this time they had both gotten up and were walking
across the roof top side by side.

“I say, Barbara,” Dick added shyly just at the moment of parting,
“however things turn out, promise me you won’t take it too seriously.
Somehow I can’t say things as well as other fellows, but I’m not sorry
I came over, in spite of this plagued arm of mine. I don’t know why
exactly, but this war business makes a man of one. Then when one thinks
of what other fellows are having to give up--oh well, I read a poem by
an Englishman who was killed the other day. Would you mind my reciting
the last lines to you?”

Then taking the girl’s consent for granted, Dick went on in a grave
young voice that had much of the beauty which Barbara remembered in his
song the year before.

“His name was Rupert Brooke and he wrote of the men who were going to
die as he did:

  “These laid the world away; poured out the red
   Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be
   Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene
   That men call age; and those who would have been
   Their sons, they gave--their immortality.”




CHAPTER V _Other Fields_


The work which the American girls were to do for the French _Croix de
Rouge_ (Red Cross) was to be accomplished under entirely different
circumstances.

They traveled southeast nearly an entire day and toward evening were
driven through a thickly wooded country to the edge of the Forest of Le
Prêtre.

An American field hospital, an exact duplicate of those used in
America, had recently been presented to the French Government by
three Americans who desired that their identity be kept a secret. The
hospital was made up of twenty tents; six of them large enough to take
care of two hundred wounded men. And these hospital tents could be put
up in fifteen minutes and taken down in six by the American ambulance
volunteers, many of them students from Columbia, Harvard, Williams and
other American universities.

So it was thought fitting that the four American Red Cross girls, who
had lately offered their services to France, should assist in the
nursing at these new hospitals. They had been located in southern
France near the lines and just beyond the reach of the enemy’s guns.

Therefore it was self-evident that different living arrangements would
have to be made for the nurses. So Nona, Barbara, Mildred and even
Eugenia were unfeignedly glad when they learned that they were to live
together in a tiny French farmhouse within short walking distance of
the field hospital. There they were to do their own housekeeping, with
the assistance of an old man who would take charge of the outdoor work.

The farmhouse had been offered for their use by the French countess
who was the owner of an ancient chateau about a mile away. Indeed, the
farmhouse lay within the boundaries of her lands.

When the girls first tumbled out of the carriage they were too tired
to be more than half-way curious over their new abode. But half an hour
later they were investigating the entire place with delight.

This was because they had already rested and eaten a supper that would
have served for all the good little princesses in the fairy stories.

Naturally the girls had expected to find their little house empty. But
no sooner had they started up the cobblestone path to the blue front
door when an old man appeared on the threshold, bowing with the grace
of an eighteenth century courtier. He was only François, the old French
peasant who was to be of what service he could to them.

There in the clean-scrubbed dining room stood a round oak table set
with odd pieces of china, white and blue and gold, hundreds of years
old and more valuable than any but a connoisseur could appreciate.

François himself waited to serve supper. The Countess, whose servant
he had been for fifty years, had sent over the food--a pitcher of new
milk, a square of golden honey, _petit fromage_, which is a delicious
cream cheese that only the French can make, and a great bowl of wild
strawberries, which ripen in autumn in southern France. Besides this
there was a big loaf of snowy bread.

Barbara straightway threw her bonnet and coat aside. Then as she found
the first place at the table she exclaimed, “So this is what one has to
eat in France in war times!”

A few moments later Mildred took her place at what was hereafter to be
known as the head of the table, with Eugenia just across and Barbara
and Nona on either side. For so almost unconsciously the little family
of four girls arranged themselves. Although it was not until later that
Mildred Thornton was to prove the real authority in domestic matters,
while Eugenia continued to regard herself as intellectual head of
the family, with Nona and Barbara as talented but at times tiresome
children.

However, after thanks and good-byes were said to old François, the
girls started on their tour of the little house. Evidently it had
belonged to real farmer people who must have worked some of the land
of the countess. Doubtless the men had gone to war and the women found
employment elsewhere.

The farmhouse was only one story and a half high, with the kitchen
and dining room below, but above there were four small bedrooms with
a single window each and sloping ceilings. But the charming thing was
that the walls were of rough plaster painted in beautiful colors--one
rose, one blue, one yellow and the other lavender.

So the girls chose each the color she most loved--Barbara the blue,
Nona the pink, Mildred the lavender, and Eugenia, professing not to
care, the yellow.

It was just about dusk when they finally came outdoors again for a
better view of the house itself. They had scarcely done more than
glanced at it on entering.

The farmhouse was built of wood which had once been white but was now a
light gray with the most wonderful turquoise blue door and shutters.

Indeed, the girls were to find out later that the little place was
known in the neighborhood roundabout as “The House with the Blue Front
Door.”

But though the house was so delightful that the girls had almost
forgotten the sadness of their errand to the country, the landscape was
far less cheerful.

A row of poplar trees, already half stripped of their leaves, formed a
windbreak at one side of the house. Growing close on the farther side
were a dozen pine trees, suggesting gloomy sentinels left to guard the
deserted place.

There were no other houses in sight.

“I wonder where the chateau is?” Barbara asked a trifle wistfully. “I
suppose if our services are not required at the hospital at once we
might go in the morning to call on the Countess to thank her for her
kindness.”

Immediately Eugenia frowned upon the suggestion. She was a little
depressed by the neighborhood, now that evening was coming on, and she
still found it difficult to agree often with Barbara.

“Of course we shall do no such thing,” she answered curtly. “Exchanging
friendly visits with new and unknown neighbors may be a western custom,
but so far as I have been told it is assuredly not the custom in
France. Why, there are no such exclusive persons in the world as the
old French nobility, of which this countess is a member. Can’t you just
imagine what she would think of the forwardness of American girls if we
should intrude upon her in such a fashion?”

“Oh,” Barbara replied in a rather crestfallen voice as Nona put her
arm across her shoulder. Then they started into the house together. A
little later, however, she regained a part of her spirit, which Eugenia
and the coming of night had crushed.

“I wonder, Eugenia,” she inquired in the soft tones in which she was
most dangerous, “how you have learned so much concerning the customs of
the old French nobility. Was it because you were introduced to Captain
Castaigne the other day? I believe Lieutenant Hume said that he really
belonged to the aristocracy, but preferred not to use his title in
Republican France.”

Eugenia flushed and was about to answer curtly when Mildred Thornton
interposed good-naturedly:

“For goodness sakes, children, don’t quarrel on our first evening, or
you may bring us bad luck! Remember, we have got to prove that girls
can live and work together. But I don’t want to preach. Let’s go to bed
so we can get up early in the morning and unpack and get used to things
about the house. I have no doubt some one from the field hospital will
come over to tell us what they wish us to do. I am afraid I don’t
know much about housekeeping or cooking except for the sick, but I am
certainly going to try and learn.”

So the girls went in and each one lighted a candle and retired to her
own room.

When she was nearly asleep, however, Barbara was startled by a head
being thrust inside her door. Then by her flickering light she
discovered Eugenia’s face looking uncommonly handsome with two long
braids of dark hair framing her clear-cut features.

“Sorry I was so cross, Barbara,” she whispered. “You know, child,
sometimes I feel that I must have been born an old maid.”




CHAPTER VI _The Chateau_


Next morning Mildred and Eugenia went over the field hospital with a
French officer who had been sent to receive them.

Barbara and Nona, therefore, undertook the unpacking and arranging of
their belongings and also the task of preparing lunch, which was to
be a light one. Indeed, all the household arrangements must be of the
simplest, so that the girls might have their strength and enthusiasm to
give to the work of nursing.

But because they had gotten up soon after daylight, Nona and Barbara
found that they had two hours of freedom which might be spent in
investigating the neighborhood. So putting on ordinary clothes instead
of their nursing uniforms, they set out for a walk.

“I suppose,” Barbara suggested, making an odd grimace, “that there is
no special harm in our walking through the estate of the countess and
possibly looking at the chateau if we chance to be in the vicinity.
I don’t believe that we can do much strolling about here without
encroaching on her place. From what François told us yesterday she owns
most of the countryside.”

Nona laughed. “That is possibly an exaggeration. Still, I would like
to see the old chateau immensely. In spite of Eugenia, I agree with
you that we may be permitted to humbly gaze upon it without attempting
to speak to any one. I wonder in which direction we ought to go to
discover it?”

The girls had gone several yards now and Barbara stopped and wheeled
about.

“There is a pine forest over there to the left that is so lovely it
won’t matter if it brings us out at the end of nowhere. Only we ought
to drop bits of paper behind us like Hop o’ My Thumb for fear of
getting lost.”

“I have a fairly good bump of locality,” the other girl answered.

Then in spite of the fact that they were two feminine persons, neither
of the girls spoke again until they had walked at least a mile. Having
come unexpectedly upon a shining pool of water, it was then impossible
not to utter exclamations of delight.

Nona dropped down on her knees and stared into the depth of it. “Have
you read ‘Peleas and Melisande,’ Barbara?” she asked. “It opens in the
most exquisite fashion with Melisande gazing down into the depth of the
pool and crying over something she has lost. One never knows exactly
what it is, but I always thought the entire story meant a reaching
after the light. I suppose that is what war is, though it is a cruel
and horrible way of searching for it.”

Barbara nodded, although she did not know exactly what her friend was
talking about. There was a poetic streak in Nona Davis that no other
one of the four girls possessed. During her lonely childhood she seemed
to have read an odd assortment of books. Of course she had not the real
information that Eugenia had, but what she knew was more fascinating,
at least according to Barbara Meade’s ideas.

“Well, I hope that war may never cross the border line into these
forests,” Nona added thoughtfully, “although I can imagine any one who
knew them could play hide and seek with an enemy for a long time. There
is a little hut over there that seems deserted; let’s go and see it.”

As Barbara had been standing she of course had a better view than her
companion, but Nona obediently followed her.

The little hut was empty. It was merely a tumbledown shack of logs
and stones. However, some one must have inhabited it at one time or
another, because there were signs of a fire and a few old pots and
pans, weather beaten and rusty, that had been left about. Moreover,
there was a moth-eaten fur rug that may have formed a bed.

Yet it was lonely and uncomfortable looking, so the girls did not care
to linger. Besides, if they were to see the old French chateau during
the morning they must find a place where it was more likely to be.

Discovering a path that appeared to have been more used than any other,
they followed it. In ten minutes after they came to the edge of the
clearing and there about a quarter of a mile beyond was the outline of
the chateau.

“I suppose it is intruding to go nearer,” Barbara said plaintively,
“but I can’t get the least satisfaction from this bird’s-eye view.”

“No doubt of it,” Nona answered, “yet I propose that we take the risk.
These are war times and very few servants are left about any of the old
places, so we may escape without being seen. I feel it is our duty, as
long as Eugenia is not along, to see all that we can before our work
begins. Then we’ll have no chance.”

The chateau was in a measure a disappointment, because after all it
looked more like an old-time fortress than a dwelling house, and
besides was dreadfully dilapidated.

“But once one was accustomed to this idea, it really became more
interesting,” Nona finally argued.

A part of the chateau must have been erected in the fourteenth or
fifteenth century when feudal warfare was still carried on in France.
The stone tower had loopholes for windows with iron bars across, so
that the approach of an enemy could be discovered and he might be
attacked with slight danger to the inmates of the castle. This tower
was in a fairly good state of preservation, but the rest of the house,
where the living apartments were situated, was almost a ruin. There
were signs of poverty everywhere. The servants’ quarters were deserted,
there were no stables, nothing to suggest the prosperity that should
accompany so famous a possession as the old chateau represented.

Indeed, the two American girls were so engaged in discussing the
situation that they were not aware of anyone approaching. Unexpectedly
they found a woman past middle age moving slowly toward them. She was
alone save that she was accompanied by an immense silver-gray dog,
which to Nona’s gratification she held by a leash. For in spite of
her bravery in other matters, Nona was ridiculously and unreasonably
fearful of dogs.

“Gracious!” Barbara whispered, half amused and half terror-stricken.
“That must be the mythical countess herself. Shades of Eugenia, what
shall we say or do?”

But the older woman gave them little opportunity for a decision.

She was small and slender, dressed in black, with a lace shawl over her
head coming down into a point upon her forehead. Underneath were masses
of carefully arranged snow-white hair. The Countess’ face was almost as
white as her hair; there was nothing that gave it color save her lips
and a pair of somber dark eyes. Her expression was sad and aloof.

She must have recognized the two girls as Americans and known for what
purpose they had just come to the neighborhood. Nevertheless, she
passed by them without speaking, save for a slight inclination of her
head. In spite of her kindness the evening before, assuredly she had no
desire for further acquaintance.

When she was out of hearing Barbara and Nona gazed at each other like
two forward children.

Then Barbara took off the small silk cap she was so fond of wearing.

“I am taking it off to Eugenia, Nona,” she explained. “Thank fortune, I
did not intrude my western personality upon the great lady. I can just
imagine how she would have treated me if I had undertaken to thank her
for her kindness and what she would have thought about American girls
in general. Eugenia put it mildly. Well, as a greater person than I
am once remarked, ‘it takes all kinds of people to make a world.’ And
methinks before this war nursing experience is over we shall have met
a good many varieties. But let us get back to the little blue and gray
farmhouse as soon as possible. Goodness knows, I would rather live
in it than in a tumble-down chateau! Besides, I wish to apologize to
Eugenia.”

However, the girls had only started on their return journey when some
one came hobbling along behind them.

It was François and he carried a basket on his arm.

Nona inquired a shorter way home and the old man explained that as
he was on the way to their house, he would like to be permitted to
accompany them. There was a road that was only half as long as the
route they had taken.

Naturally the girls were glad enough for the old man’s escort,
especially as he was full of reminiscences of the neighborhood which he
loved dearly to impart.

In his basket was another offering from the countess. Old François
explained that if she had passed them without seeming to notice their
presence, it was not that she intended being unkind. She was lonely and
depressed. All her kinspeople were at the front as well as her only
son, who was the last to bear the family name. Moreover, they had been
poor before, but now that all their farm people had gone off to the war
and there was no one left to work in the fields, where was a single
franc to come from? Besides, were not the Germans so near the line that
if the worst took place they would overrun the countryside and destroy
the little that was left?

Finally the girls discovered that the old man and his mistress were
actually the only two persons remaining in the old chateau. When
François was compelled to be away the countess had only her great dog
for protection.

The picture was a pathetic one and Nona and Barbara felt less aggrieved
by the older woman’s coldness. One could hardly wonder that she did not
care to meet or talk to strangers.

“But aren’t you afraid to be here on this great place alone, François?”
Nona asked, more to persuade the old man to go on talking than because
she was interested in her question.

The old peasant shook his head enigmatically. But he was a garrulous
old fellow and immensely pleased with Nona’s ability to speak French.

“We will be in no danger,” he said, bobbing his head and then shrugging
his old shoulders until all his bent-over body seemed to be moving at
once, “even if the barbarians should devastate our land. If this should
happen the American girls must flee to old François for protection.
They could say what they liked about the Red Cross insuring them from
danger, he knew a better way.” But what the way was François would not
tell, although both girls teased and implored him to confide in them
all the way back to the “House with the Blue Front Door.”




CHAPTER VII _Nicolete_


For the following week the four girls were too busy to think of
anything save their hospital work and their household responsibilities.

But one afternoon about four o’clock one of their officer friends
suggested that they pay a visit to the French line of trenches in
their immediate neighborhood. Not the firing line, but the second line
trenches where the reserve soldiers slept, ate, smoked their cigarettes
and even edited a daily paper.

For some little time there had been a lull in the fighting, so there
could be little danger in such a tour of inspection. Yet if there had
been, the Red Cross girls would have given it scant thought. They were
becoming so accustomed to the conditions of war that even Barbara
Meade confessed herself a little less of a coward. Indeed, they were
beginning to understand why many soldiers take their daily existence so
calmly and cheerfully, until actually they are bored, or homesick, or
both, unless fighting is going on or the prospects of it near.

Trenches, you probably know, are not arranged in parallel lines, the
one exactly behind the other like long pieces of ribbon. They often
form a series of intricate underground passages, some of them crossing
and recrossing each other, so that in one battle front in France where
there were one hundred and forty miles of trenches there were only
twelve miles directly facing the enemy.

Naturally the Red Cross girls could only see a very small section of
trench life during one afternoon’s visit.

“But the briefness of the excursion was the chief thing to recommend
it,” Barbara Meade insisted afterwards, although interested at the time.

Following their soldier guide, the girls walked through a deep, wide
tunnel with a wooden paving at the bottom, such as one used to see in
old-time village streets.

Inside the light was dim and gray, broken by shafts of sunlight
filtering down through flimsy roofs of straw and branches of trees,
placed above the openings to conceal the French trenches from the
German air scouts.

Eugenia and Nona kept together at first with Barbara and Mildred close
behind them. Every few feet of the way, however, one or all four of
them would stop for conversation with the French soldiers.

Among the men there were several who had made pathetic efforts to turn
their mole-like quarters into semblances of homes. One young fellow had
actually swung a faded photograph of his mother upon a wooden peg which
he had hammered into the earth. So “Ma Mère” had become the mascot of
his trench. Because of her presence, the other soldier declared, not
one German shell had fallen into their ditch.

Moreover, many good Catholics had iron or wooden crosses suspended
above the small heap of possessions each soldier was allowed to keep in
his trench. These were his knapsack and rifle, sometimes a few papers
and magazines, perhaps a writing pad and pencil and a small roll of
first-aid appliances presented by the French Red Cross Society.

Of necessity a soldier’s existence inside a trench must be a quiet
one. Many of them are compelled to turn night into day, so they sleep
while the light shines and stay on guard at night when there is always
greater danger of attack. However, as it was late afternoon when the
Red Cross girls made their tour of inspection, it was about the time
the soldiers enjoyed their recreation. Only the sentries appeared to be
doing active duty. Many of the other men were smoking or joking with
one another, some of them were even drinking afternoon tea after the
fashion they had acquired from the English Tommies.

As the four American girls, preceded by their guide, approached,
walking along through the center of the trench as if they were on a
city street, first the soldiers stared at them with surprise and then
with pleasure. It was an odd sight to see a petticoat in such a place!

Naturally the soldiers wished to shake hands with their guests, to ask
questions about their wounded comrades, and in many cases to tell them
how they had conquered the difficulties in their underground existence.

Yet how differently the four girls were affected by the experience!
Barbara Meade felt extraordinarily depressed. Even if the soldiers did
make the best of things, she could not help thinking that many of them
were just young boys who ought to have been whistling and working in
the sunshine, or else studying or playing upon college grounds.

Mildred also found it difficult to behave as cheerfully as she would
have liked. However, Nona and Eugenia were really too entertained by
what they saw and heard to reflect upon anything save the wonder of the
scene about them.

The American girls were at present nursing in that portion of France
where the trench system has been known to the outside world as “The
Labyrinth,” so intricate and maze-line are its passageways.

But it was almost at the end of their journey when Barbara Meade made a
discovery that in some odd fashion made a stronger appeal to her than
any of the wonders they had seen. Their trip had of course been made
through one of the rear trenches at some distance from the German line.
Now they had come to the last ditch they were to be allowed to enter.
It was less deep than the others and sloped gradually to the earth
above. Moreover, the light now shone more distinctly, so that just at
first the girls were a little blinded after the darkness. It was always
perpetual twilight in the deeper trenches until night fell.

Barbara stood for a moment with her eyelids fluttering and a curiously
intense expression on her face. Then she reached out her hand and
touched Mildred Thornton, who chanced at the instant to be nearest her.

“I can’t understand,” she whispered. Then without finishing her
sentence she wrinkled up her small nose in an absurd fashion, sniffing
the heavy underground air.

“I suppose our trip has gone to my head,” she murmured, “but do you
know I thought I just smelt a delicious odor of flowers. Do you suppose
it is because the air here is different?”

Eugenia also sniffed. “Flowers!” she repeated indignantly, overhearing
the remark. “Really, Barbara, I don’t see how you can manage to be
foolish so many times.” Nevertheless, she slipped her arm inside the
younger girl’s, noticing that she looked pale and tired.

At this time the officer who had been acting as their escort moved on
ahead with Nona and Mildred following him.

A second later and Eugenia also stopped, arching her thin nostrils.

For there standing just in front of Barbara was an unexpected figure.
He was a boy of about nineteen. But instead of having the dark hair and
eyes of most young Frenchmen, he was blond, with pale gold hair, blue
eyes and the faintest down of a future moustache. Moreover, he held
a bunch of old-fashioned flowers in his hand, which he was thrusting
toward the two strange young women.

“There, I did know what I was talking about, after all!” Barbara
ejaculated faintly to her companion. However, Eugenia had a habit of
paying no attention to one when she chanced to be in the wrong.

“Thank you,” she remarked graciously to the young soldier as she
accepted his flowers, for Eugenia could be gracious when she chose.
“But do tell how you managed to find a bouquet at such a time and
place?”

She was speaking her best school French, but in spite of her peculiar
accent the soldier somehow managed to understand.

“Out of my _own_ garden,” he replied, with a faint lifting of the blond
mustache.

The young soldier looked like a grown-up baby, Barbara thought, with
his fair curly hair, his pink cheeks and his china-blue eyes.

“You see there are long hours here in the trenches when we men have so
little to do, one suffers the _grand ennui_,” he explained to Eugenia.
“So my friends and I have made a garden. If you have a minute more to
spare will you come and see?”

Obediently the two girls followed until the soldier led them to the
opening in the trench that led up to the outside world. Already Nona
and Mildred and the young officer had disappeared.

But there like a sunken garden about four feet below the earth were two
beds of bright old-fashioned flowers and small stunted evergreens. The
gardeners had left a pathway of earth in the center of the trench, just
as one might in any ordinary garden.

Barbara rubbed her eyes. She was pretending to be overcome with
surprise, but in reality felt the tears coming. For some reason she
could not explain it struck her as terribly pathetic that the soldiers,
hiding in these trenches for such tragic work, should spend their spare
hours making the dark world beautiful.

Eugenia was bent upon understanding the situation.

“Did you actually plant seeds here in such a place and under such
conditions and make them grow?” she demanded. “Whatever made you think
they would blossom?”

The French soldier smiled. He seemed rather to enjoy the questioning,
since it showed the proper interest and admiration for his work.

“I brought back the first plant from our garden when I had been at
home on sick leave,” he explained proudly. “Then without thinking
or expecting the flower to live, I thrust my plant into the earth
where there was a little sunlight. Then the _pauvre petite_ grew and
flourished and so I wrote home for others. Later my comrades grew
interested. They brought water for my plants and saved their tobacco
ashes to put around them. Then they too asked that more plants be sent
them. Some we found by the wayside in our walks through the woods. We
have been lucky because no German shell has dared destroy our garden.”

The young fellow looked so pleased that even Eugenia, who was far less
sentimental than Barbara, felt touched. It might be ridiculous to
spend one’s time tending a garden when there was so much more important
work to be done, but then the French are an artistic and a sentimental
people. One had read of the soldiers in the trenches planting gardens
in their spare hours without really believing it until now.

But Eugenia was impatient to be gone. The other three girls expected
to return home immediately, but she wished first to pay a short visit
to the field hospital back of the trenches to inquire about one of her
patients.

However, when once they were safe upon the face of the earth again,
both girls uttered exclamations of surprise. But neither of them
showed the least desire to move away. For there just ahead of them was
a stretch of level green country with about fifty soldiers forming a
circle within it. They were not lounging or talking, but were alert and
interested. They were watching something or someone who must be in the
center of the circle.

Barbara and Eugenia discovered that Nona and Mildred had joined the
group. They were equally absorbed. Indeed, when the two girls joined
them, Barbara had to stand on tiptoe to find out what was going on.
Neither of her friends paid the slightest attention to her. Indeed, it
was only through the kindness of a soldier who moved aside to make room
for her and Eugenia that they were able to see what was taking place.

There in the middle of the green space was such an entrancing figure
that Barbara fairly gasped with surprise and pleasure. Eugenia frowned
with a mixture of disapproval and interest.

A girl of about fifteen or sixteen was dancing for the entertainment of
the soldiers. She was slender, with straight black hair, loose to her
shoulders. On her head was a scarlet cap and she wore a thin blouse and
a short skirt the color of her cap. As she whirled about in her dance
now and then she would snatch the cap from her head. Then the girls
could see that she seemed to bend and sway almost without effort. Her
eyes were large and dark and her lips a bright red, yet in spite of
the exercise of the dance her cheeks remained pale.

“She is like a poppy dancing in the wind, isn’t she, Eugenia?” Barbara
whispered admiringly.

Eugenia looked severe. “I must say I cannot approve of such an
exhibition,” she commented.

For once Barbara agreed. “I don’t _approve_ either, but the girl is
entrancing. I wonder who she is and what her name can be? The soldiers
behave as if she had danced for them before.”

At this moment Barbara heard a voice at her elbow and turning
discovered the young Frenchman who had presented them the bunch of
flowers.

His pink cheeks were pinker than ever and his eyes bluer. Once again
Barbara decided that he was a glorified, grown-up baby. He held a
little spray of mignonette in his hand which he tossed toward the
little dancer.

“She is Nicolete,” he whispered excitedly. “At least that is what I
have chosen to call her. No one knows who she is or where she comes
from, only that she dances for us here nearly every afternoon at this
hour.”




CHAPTER VIII _Who Goes There?_


Eugenia stayed later at the hospital than she expected. The patient she
had left a few hours before was not so well and wished her to be with
him. So she sat holding the boy’s hand and talking to him gently until
he had fallen asleep. It was curious that Eugenia, who was always so
stern with well persons, was wonderfully sympathetic with her patients.
She was firm, of course, but only when she felt it necessary for their
good. For Eugenia was not a “butterfly” nurse, the name that has been
applied to the fashionable society women who have been caring for the
wounded as much for their own entertainment as the soldiers’ good.

So somehow, in spite of her American French, the boy she had
been tending preferred her to remain by him rather than his own
countrywoman.

She was very tired when she slipped away. She had come to the field
hospital at eight o’clock in the morning, worked until four, then spent
two hours in the trenches and afterwards another two hours at nursing
again. For it was after eight o’clock when she started for home.

Naturally no one appreciated that Eugenia was returning alone. Of
course, in war times the Red Cross nurses had grown accustomed to
caring for themselves as well as other persons. Nevertheless, this
evening the circumstances were unusual. Eugenia was a stranger in a
strange land. She had only recently come to this portion of France,
was unfamiliar with the country, which was filled with regiments of
soldiers. Moreover, the night was uncomfortably dark. Had the doctors
or attendants at the field hospital known of her departure, one of them
would have insisted upon accompanying her.

However, no one is sensible when tired. So for some reason, although a
little nervous at the prospect ahead of her, Eugenia got away without
being seen. She was determined to give no trouble. Of course, if she
had been Barbara, or Nona, or Mildred she would have considered it
fool-hardy, almost wicked, to have attempted walking a mile in the
darkness alone. But with Eugenia Peabody the case was different. No one
had ever thought of looking after her in her life, and surely no one
would begin now.

The first part of her trip home was along a path through the open
fields. As Eugenia hurried on toward their little adopted home she
began wondering if the girls had missed her at supper time. This was
the pleasantest hour in all their day. Then possibly because she was
weary she decided that they had probably been glad to be relieved of
her presence. For no one of the American Red Cross girls really cared
much for her. Of this Eugenia was convinced. Nona and Mildred both
tried to be kind and Barbara behaved as well as she could, except on
occasions when she felt especially antagonistic.

Once or twice Eugenia stumbled, not because there were difficulties
in her way but because she was thinking so deeply. What could be the
trouble with her nature? As she was in a mood of severe truthfulness
with herself she realized that no one had ever loved her a great deal
in her entire life.

Left an orphan when she was a few years old, she could not recall her
mother or father. Of course, her Aunt Rebecca, who had brought her up,
had been reasonably fond of her. But Eugenia was convinced that she had
never been an attractive child.

Yet why, tonight of all nights, should she fall to thinking of herself?
And why in this darkness and in a foreign land should she have such a
clear vision of the little girl in the old New England town?

One thing she recalled most distinctly: she must have always looked
old. Strangers used to discuss her and people used always to expect
more from her than from the other children of the same age. Moreover,
she had always been painfully shy and this shyness had colored her
whole life.

As a child she simply had to pretend to feel superior and to be
serious-minded, because she did not know how to play and laugh like
the others did. Since she had been grown up, and for the same reason,
she had gone on behaving in the same way.

Often here in Europe with the other Red Cross girls she had wished to
be as gay and nonsensical as they were. Yet she never knew how to relax
into a frivolous mood.

Once the tears actually started into Eugenia’s dark eyes. She realized
that now and then she had even been jealous of her three companions.
Nona and Barbara were so pretty and charming and Mildred had qualities
finer than these two possessions. Besides, the three girls made her
feel so dreadfully old. This is never an agreeable sensation after
twenty, however much the teens may aspire to appear elderly. Then
Eugenia managed to smile at herself, although it was a kind of twisted
smile. It occurred to her to wonder if she had failed to like Barbara
Meade because it was Barbara who had first suggested that she must be a
great deal older than the rest of them.

Deliberately Eugenia now began to walk slowly. She did not wish to
arrive at home in her present mood. Having passed through the fields,
she was now on her way through the lane that led through an open woods
directly to the “House with the Blue Front Door.” Dozens of times
Eugenia had made this trip in the daytime, but a country road has a
very different appearance at night. Moreover, the trees made the lane
seem far darker than the path through the open fields.

It was stupid not to have brought her electric flashlight! However,
nothing had so far disturbed Eugenia’s progress. Not one wayfarer or
soldier out upon leave had she encountered, although the neighborhood
was thickly populated with men and women living on the outskirts of the
entrenchments.

Eugenia hoped that if she should meet a passerby he might be a soldier.
There were but few of them who would not respect her uniform. However,
she was beginning to forget her previous nervousness, for this lane was
not a frequently traveled one. It merely led past their little house
into the heavier woods beyond, where Barbara and Nona had told of their
discovery of the deserted hut and the pool of Melisande.

There was no moon and Eugenia was making little noise. She had a
fashion of being able to get about almost soundlessly, a characteristic
she had cultivated in the sick room until she could move almost as
quietly as an Indian.

Then suddenly she began to feel more sensible and cheerful. Home was no
longer far away and even if no one loved her very devotedly, at least
the girls would have saved supper for her. Food would go a long way
toward dispelling her blues.

Unconsciously Eugenia was moving more rapidly. She had almost broken
into a run before she became aware of footsteps behind her. Then,
although pausing for about half a second to find out, she could not
decide whether one or half a dozen persons were following her.

It was most unreasonable of Eugenia. She had no cause for thinking
that the presence of other persons traveling the same lane meant
they were in pursuit of her. But have you ever given way to an attack
of melancholy? Then you know that invariably it leaves your nerves
unstrung and ready for a collapse.

Certainly Eugenia did not consider herself beautiful or attractive,
yet even in the midst of her self-depreciation she had not thought to
bewail her own lack of judgment. Nevertheless, almost at once after
hearing the steps she started to run. This was, of course, the most
ridiculous thing she could have done. A moment’s thought and she must
have appreciated the fact. These were war times and the suggestion that
one wished to escape a pursuer was in itself a sign of guilt.

Immediately Eugenia increased her speed, at the same instant the
persons or things behind her gave chase. The next moment a voice rang
out. Something it said in French which held a tone of authority.
However, Eugenia paid it not the slightest attention. Only a quarter of
a mile beyond lay “The House with the Blue Front Door,” so her one idea
now was to reach it.

“Barbara! Barbara!” Eugenia called faintly, though just why she should
have endeavored to summon the smallest and apparently the most timid of
the Red Cross girls, far be it from Eugenia to understand either then
or afterwards. Fright sometimes makes one do extraordinary things.

But imagine the stately Eugenia running through the night with her
nurse’s coat forming a kind of sail behind her, her bonnet in her hand
and her heavy hair unbound and falling down her neck, crying out to
Barbara for protection.

But Barbara herself could not have run faster, for now Eugenia had real
cause for fear. A great something was pounding nearer and nearer her.
The sound it made was scarcely human. Then again a voice shouted a few
words sharply in French. In her terror Eugenia could not comprehend
their meaning. Nevertheless, she must have hesitated for an instant,
for immediately after something struck her on either shoulder. Falling,
she was thus unable to see what had happened, but remained mute with
the horror. The tremendous thing still hovered over her so that she
dared not speak or move.

Naturally an eternity seemed to have passed over Eugenia. However, it
was only another moment before a light flashed in her face.

“Sacre cœur!” she heard a voice exclaim. “Une femme!”

Then the great creature that had pinned her down moved away and Eugenia
felt a hand upon her arm.

“I beg a thousand pardons,” a voice said in English. “You will never be
able to forgive me. But why did you not halt when I called out to you?
I am a French officer and feared you were a runaway soldier or a thief.
They come now and then to our camp. But that I should allow you to be
struck down by my dog! Monsieur le Duc, I am most bitterly ashamed of
you. You at least should have known better.”

This last remark was addressed to the dog, in order to gain time and to
help cover the young French officer’s chagrin and confusion. With his
light he had of course discovered that Eugenia was wearing a nurse’s
uniform, which made his act the more unpardonable. Nevertheless, as he
apologized he was struggling to help her to arise.

By this time Eugenia was more or less herself again and moreover was
exceedingly angry. She was frightened and hurt by her experience, but
more, her dignity was upset as it had never been before.

Eugenia disdained the French officer’s assistance. Quickly as possible
she got up on her feet, though still unable to speak because of a queer
contraction in her throat and odd shaking of her knees. One glance
she deigned to give at the great beast that had so frightened her.
She could only see the outline of an immense dog, that appeared as
apologetic as the man since his master’s rebuke. But Eugenia would not
look at the young officer. However, it would have done little good, for
she could not have seen him with any distinctness in the darkness.

Yet Eugenia would have been both amazed and annoyed if she had dreamed
of how clearly the offender could see her. He had managed to turn his
flashlight upon her in such a way that he had a perfect vision of her
without being seen.

Curiously Eugenia was looking unusually handsome. Her cheeks were
brilliantly flushed and her dark eyes glowing with a mixture of
emotions. Moreover, she had beautiful hair when it was unbound,
although few people realized it after she had twisted it into a tight
rope to adorn her head.

“I presume your mistake was unintentional,” she remarked in an icy
voice, “but please in future be more careful of the victims of your
mistakes.”

Surely Eugenia had forgotten that she was speaking to an officer in
the French army, for her tone was that of a severe elder addressing
an erring child. She did not at present know the officer’s rank, age
nor condition of life. But one is by no means sure that any possible
consideration would have influenced Eugenia in her present mood.

“No, I prefer to find my way home alone,” she continued in answer to
her companion’s humble request to accompany her.

So Eugenia walked on with her head very high for the rest of the
journey, pretending not to know that the officer and his dog were
keeping at a respectful distance in order to afford her a safe escort.

This was scarcely necessary “after the pot was in the fire,” Eugenia
thought, recalling an old New England expression. She was no longer
frightened now that she could see the light in their own little French
farmhouse.

Yet to the surprise and consternation of the three American Red Cross
girls, Eugenia burst into tears the moment Barbara had opened the blue
front door.




CHAPTER IX _A Conversation_


Eugenia sat in an old oak chair in the farmhouse dining room while
Barbara swept and dusted.

It was the morning after her experience in the woods and actually she
had confessed to a headache and had decided not to go to the field
hospital for her daily nursing.

At present the four American girls were on day duty and remained at the
hospital from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, their
places being taken by other nurses at that hour. But each girl had one
day of rest and by chance this happened to be Barbara’s.

Eugenia had been asleep when Nona and Mildred went away to work and
only in the last half hour had crept downstairs. All her life every
now and then she had been subject to wretched headaches which left her
speechless and exhausted. But so far since coming abroad her three
girl companions had not been aware of them.

Now every now and then while Barbara worked she glanced toward Eugenia.
It was difficult to recognize the severe and energetic Miss Peabody in
this white-faced, quiet girl. For Eugenia had never since the beginning
of their acquaintance looked so young. For one thing, she was wearing a
beautiful violet cashmere kimono Mildred had presented her during their
stay in Paris. She had never worn it until now. At least the gift had
not come directly from Mildred or Eugenia would never have accepted it.
But Mrs. Thornton had written from New York asking that Mildred’s new
friends receive some little gifts from her, and Mildred had chosen four
kimonos. They were too pretty for nursing use, so the other girls had
been enjoying theirs in the evenings alone at home.

Eugenia had never consented to relax even to that extent when work was
over and there was no possibility of company. Now, however, her costume
was not of her own choosing, for after Barbara had taken a cup of
coffee to her room and persuaded her into drinking it, she had dressed
her in the new kimono without asking permission. Also she had brushed
and plaited Eugenia’s heavy hair into two long braids.

“Funny for a New England old maid to be able to look like an Italian
Madonna simply because her hair is down and her head aches,” Barbara
thought to herself after one of her quick glances at Eugenia.

She made rather a fetching picture herself, but Barbara was at present
entirely unconscious. Simply because it happened to be the most useful
costume she owned for the purpose, she was clad in a French peasant’s
smock of dark-blue linen, and wore a little white cap at a rakish angle
on top of her brown curls. Her hair was now sufficiently long to twist
into a small knot at the nape of her neck, where delicate tendrils were
apt to creep forth like the new growth on a vine.

Finally Eugenia, opening her eyes and catching sight of Barbara, at
this moment on tip toes in her effort to dust the tall mantel-shelf,
said unexpectedly:

“You are very pretty, Barbara dear, and just the kind of a little woman
that men are apt to care for. I wonder if you ever think of marrying,
or do you mean to go on nursing all your life? Now and then I have
thought that Dick----”

But her sentence was interrupted by Barbara’s dropping the candlestick
which she was dusting and then turning to stare at her companion.

“Why, Eugenia, I thought you were asleep,” she began reproachfully.
Then showing the dimple which she so resented, she added slyly, “But
what on earth made you speak on such a subject? I never dreamed that
you ever had a thought of such a thing in your life.”

Barbara bit her lips. No wonder Eugenia considered her a goose, for
certainly she seemed possessed of the fatal gift of saying the wrong
thing.

Eugenia was no longer pale. Indeed, a wave of hot color had turned her
entire face crimson.

“Am I so unattractive as all that?” she asked slowly, forgetting her
headache for the instant and feeling a return of the mood that had
troubled her the evening before, until the excitement of her adventure
had driven it from her mind.

“Do you know, Barbara, I was trying to decide just last night what was
the matter with me. Now I know you don’t like me, but I think you are
fair. Tell me why you suppose I have never even thought of love and
marriage and the kind of happiness other girls expect. I’m not so very
old, after all! But you are right in one idea. I never, never have
dreamed of it for myself. For one thing, no one has ever been in love
with me even the least little bit in all my life!”

In spite of the tactlessness of Barbara’s speech actually Eugenia was
speaking without the least temper, when ordinarily she was given to
showing anger with her companion under the slightest provocation.

In consequence Barbara felt entirely disgusted with herself, and what
was worse--ridiculously tongue-tied.

“Oh, I did not mean anything like that,” she stammered. “That is--at
least--why, of course you are as nice as anyone when you let yourself
be, Eugenia. But you do seem cold, as if you considered other people
not exactly worth your attention. And--and----”

Not feeling that she was making out a very good case for herself,
Barbara put her duster down and came and sat on a wooden stool near the
older girl.

“I am an idiot, Eugenia,” she insisted scornfully. “No wonder Dick
Thornton always declares I have never grown up. Besides, I don’t
believe you have never had any one in love with you, not even a young
girl-and-boy affair. No girl ever lives to be as old as you are
without----”

Again Barbara stopped short, biting her lips.

But Eugenia only shook her head and laughed. “I am the exception that
proves the rule. Besides, my dear, you came from the west and not
New England, and you weren’t, as people have so often said of me,
‘born an old maid.’ But never mind, I won’t ask any more embarrassing
questions.”

Eugenia tried to speak lightly, half amused and half hurt by the
expression of chagrin on Barbara Meade’s face.

“By the way,” she added, in an effort to change the subject, “how is
Dick Thornton? I have been meaning to ask you what you have heard from
him.”

This time the younger girl flushed, but so slightly that Eugenia did
not appear to notice it.

“I have heard nothing at all,” she returned honestly. “But I don’t
suppose Dick is better, as Mildred and Nona have both had letters and
say there was nothing important in them.”

Suddenly Barbara took Eugenia’s hand.

“You have more experience than the rest of us,” she began with unusual
humility. “I wonder if you think Dick has a chance of ever using his
arm again?”

The other girl hesitated. Certainly she had no right to believe that
Barbara felt more than the natural interest in Dick that they all
had for Mildred’s brother and their own friend. And, as Barbara had
just suggested, Eugenia was not supposed even to think on romantic
subjects. Nevertheless, her voice was unusually gentle as she replied:

“I don’t really know one thing in the world about it, Barbara, but Dick
is young and has lots of determination and most certainly I have not
given up hope.”

Eugenia had another twinge of pain in her temples at this second and so
closed her eyes. Although hearing a knock at their back door, she did
not open them even when Barbara left the room.

A moment later, hearing a strange sound, she was surprised by a sudden
sense of terror, almost of suffocation. Yet surely she must be in a
kind of nightmare brought on by her illness, since the sound suggested
the footsteps which had pursued her the night before and brought on the
same unreasoning fear.

Clutching the sides of her chair, Eugenia stared ahead of her.

There in the doorway, leading from the kitchen into the principal room
of the farmhouse, stood an immense dog. It was odd the manner in which
he surveyed Eugenia. There was suspicion, distrust and withal an air
of apology in his manner.

The dog was a magnificent creature, a great Dane, silver-gray in
color with a heavy silver collar about its throat, engraved with what
appeared to be a coat of arms.

Ordinarily Eugenia had a strong affection for animals, so it was absurd
of her to be so nervous because of her experience the evening before.
Nevertheless, she felt again that she could neither speak nor move.

Yet at this moment Barbara danced in, pushing aside the big dog as
fearlessly and unceremoniously as if he had been a Persian kitten. She
held a number of letters in her hands and a big bunch of autumn leaves.
Behind her, with the eternal basket on his arm, hobbled old François,
the French servant from the home of the owner of their farmhouse.

He looked like a little old brown gnome with his crooked legs, his
stooping shoulders and brown peaked cap almost the color of his skin.

“François is better than a fairy godmother--he is a fairy godfather!”
Barbara exclaimed delightedly. “He has brought us letters and good news
of all kinds this morning. You are sure to feel better when you hear,
Eugenia. But how did you happen to bring Duke over with you, François?
I thought he was supposed to stay at home and take care of his mistress
when you were compelled to leave her alone.”

Eugenia listened with only mild attention. Evidently this dog belonged
to the countess upon whose estate they were living. He could scarcely
be the creature that had behaved so unceremoniously with her the night
before.

But François’ little black eyes were twinkling. “Monsieur le Duc is
able to be with me because Madame is _not_ alone today,” he explained
proudly.

Eugenia frowned. “What a pompous, ridiculous name to bestow upon a dog,
no matter how splendid he happened to be! But wasn’t there something
familiar in his title? Surely it was the same name that the young
French officer had used to his dog the night before!”




CHAPTER X _Chateau d’Amélie_


“My dear Eugenia, you might as well confess that you are desperately
interested. If you say anything else we won’t believe you,” Barbara
declared positively.

Three days afterward, between four and five in the afternoon, the four
American Red Cross girls were leaving the little French farmhouse
together, and evidently with some definite intention. Nevertheless,
the journey could have nothing to do with their nursing, since the
faces and the costumes of three of the girls suggested a gala occasion.
Eugenia, however, having entirely recovered her health and poise, had
returned to her former manner and character. Yet she too was wearing
her best dress, recently purchased in Paris, and was looking sternly
handsome.

“Then I might as well not answer you at all, Barbara, since you have
made up your mind already what I should reply,” she answered curtly.
Without intending to be ungracious she stalked off in front of the
little procession.

The other two girls laughed, but Barbara, making a little grimace, ran
on until she was able to catch up with Eugenia. She was beginning to
think now and then that the older girl’s manner was more severe than
her emotions. Now she gave her arm a little shake.

“Don’t be so superior, Miss Peabody from Boston! You must make
your confession along with the rest of us. So tell me the honest
truth--‘hope I may-die-if-I-don’t’ kind--aren’t you terribly pleased
that the Countess, whose guests we have been for some time, has
condescended to be willing to meet us and has asked us to have coffee
with her this afternoon at her chateau?”

Still Eugenia demurred. “Oh, I presume it will be a novel experience.
Nevertheless, I don’t think we show proper pride in accepting an
invitation before the Countess has called upon us. It isn’t the way we
do such things at home. If it comes to a question of family, of course
I am an American, but the Peabodys of Boston----”

Barbara’s laughter rang out deliciously. She was in the gayest
possible humor and suggested a little woodland creature in her brown
cloth suit and hat with a single scarlet wing. What had become of the
serious-minded young American woman devoting her life to the care of
the wounded?

“But it isn’t a question of family, Eugenia, or how should I dare live
and breathe in the same world with you, any more than with a French
countess?” she protested. “But please remember that we have accepted
a great deal more from this same Countess than a simple invitation to
spend an hour with her. We are living in _her_ house, we have been
eating a goodly portion of her food. Oh, I know this is because we
are in France to nurse the soldiers she adores! Still, I can’t see
that this cancels our obligations. Besides, she is a much older woman
and----”

Eugenia put her one disengaged hand up to her ear.

“I surrender, Barbara, in all meekness! But really, it is not necessary
to produce so many arguments for doing a thing you are simply crazy
to do. You merely wish to gratify your curiosity. You know, I don’t
believe that we should be engaging in frivolous pursuits like paying
visits upon strangers, when we are here in Europe for such serious
purposes. Still, I don’t suppose that an occasional break really
interferes with our work.”

“Certainly not,” Barbara finished with emphasis. Then she skipped along
beside her taller companion like a small girl endeavoring to keep up
with a large one. “Besides, Eugenia, think of how wonderful the news
is! The Germans are actually retiring of their own accord! There hasn’t
been any fighting in our neighborhood for over a week now. No wonder
the Countess Amélie feels like having guests at last. François says
that she has not been so cheerful since the war began. I don’t know
how you feel, Eugenia, but Mildred and Nona and I think it a wonderful
experience to see the inside of an old French home which was in
existence long before the French Revolutionary days. It seems that this
Countess has never even gone to Paris, nor visited anyone except her
old family friends who are also members of the nobility. She won’t even
acknowledge that France is today a great Republic. She still tries to
live like the _grande dames_ of the days before the Revolution.”

Eugenia fairly sniffed. Also she held her shoulders straighter and her
head higher.

“Then she must be a very absurd old woman and I am more than ever sure
that I shall not like her. The idea of not realizing that a republic is
the only just form of government in the world! I wouldn’t be anything
except an American----”

Once more Barbara smiled, patting the older girl’s arm soothingly.

“Of course you wouldn’t, my dear, and neither would any of the rest of
us, except perhaps Nona. She is really an old-time aristocrat, although
she would rather perish than think so. But just the same I don’t see
why one should not be interested in contrasts in this life! What could
be greater than the gulf between this old French aristocrat and us?”

“What indeed?” answered Eugenia, more wisely than she then knew.

For at this moment the interest which the four girls had been feeling
in their new hostess temporarily died away.

According to Nona’s and Barbara’s suggestion, and in spite of the
distance, they were approaching the chateau through the woods, which
the two girls had visited the day after their arrival in this portion
of southern France.

November had come, but the autumn was so far deliciously warm.
Difficult it was to imagine a world at war on this afternoon and in
this particular forest! For, by some freak of fortune, this woodland
had so far escaped the ravages of the German shells. Over it and around
it they had ploughed their devastating way. But until now the birds
prepared their winter nests here undisturbed in the tall trees, and the
pool of Melisande remained unbroken save by its own ripples.

Again the girls walked more quietly along the path under the trees than
in the open country. They were thinking perhaps of different things,
while their eyes were absorbed in the loveliness about them. For after
months of nursing, sometimes amid horrors and suffering one could not
afterwards discuss, it was healing to both soul and body to inhale the
sweetness of the earth and air.

Southern France was unlike the land lying to the north and close to the
Belgian frontier, where the Red Cross girls had for some months past
been nursing the British soldiers. That was an orchard and a vineyard
country, this a land of forest and of golden grain fields. Many of the
trees were pine and cedar, yet there were occasional maples and elms,
and here and there a chestnut.

A small branch of scarlet and yellow leaves dropped near Eugenia’s
feet. It was a far call to her New England home, yet somehow the color
and the atmosphere of the woods awakened home memories. Unconsciously
Eugenia stopped and thrust the bunch of leaves inside her belt.
Against the blue of her costume they shone like flame, making her eyes
and hair show darker by contrast and bringing a brighter tone to her
clear but pale skin.

Noticing the attractive effect of the careless decoration, the three
other girls were far too wise to mention the fact to Eugenia, or
assuredly the leaves would again have been trampled under foot.

However, they had other interests more engrossing to absorb them.

Barbara and Nona led a short detour for a sight of the old hut that
had interested them on their previous walk. But Mildred and Eugenia
were both a little scornful of the story that this was a hermit’s
hut, uninhabited for a number of years. This afternoon it was so
self-evident that some one was now living in it that Eugenia hurried
the others away. No one could be seen at the moment, but there was a
pile of fresh ashes in front of the house, a stack of freshly gathered
wood and chips by the tumbled-down door, and a scarlet cap caught in
the top of a tall bush.

Moreover, because it was growing late and their invitation was for
five o’clock, Eugenia could not be persuaded to linger by the tiny
lake which Nona had christened by the poetic title of the “Pool of
Melisande.” The pool one might visit on another afternoon, but perhaps
there might never come a like opportunity from the Countess.

Indeed, as the four girls finally approached the ancient stone
house never would they have confessed to one another how nervous
they were feeling over the next hour. Nona Davis was perhaps least
self-conscious. Life in the southern part of the United States among
a few conservative old families is not unlike that of the almost
forgotten nobility of old France.

The path to the Chateau d’Amélie, whose title came down from the first
countess of the name, was as overgrown with weeds as any deserted
farmhouse. Yet who would look down at their feet when trees more than a
hundred years old stood guard along the avenue leading to the ancient
portico? And in crossing a rickety bridge could one think of the loose
planks, knowing that the muddy water that flowed under it was once the
moat that surrounded the feudal palace?

Nevertheless, Barbara had to stifle a laugh when at length François
opened the iron-bound wooden door admitting them to the chateau. For
instead of his peasant’s blouse and peaked cap, this afternoon François
wore a livery which must have been handed down to him by a majordomo
at least twice his size. His small, bent-over form was almost lost in
the large trousers, while the tails of the long coat with its tarnished
gold lace hung down past his knees.

Moreover, François’ manner was equally changed. Gone was the friendly
light in his little dark eyes, the protecting, almost patronizing
manner which he had grown accustomed to using in his devoted service
to the American Red Cross girls. This old Frenchman had his nation’s
gift of feeling the part he was called upon by fate to play. Today old
François felt himself a servant of the days of the great Louis XIV.
Apparently he had never seen his lady’s guests before.

Hobbling along, François conducted the visitors toward the drawing
room through a cold, gray stone hall. There was no furniture to be
seen except two tall, carved chairs and an enormous shield, hanging
suspended from the wall.

Inside the drawing room, however, there was a kind of shabby splendor,
very interesting to the four American girls, no one of whom had seen
anything like it.

On the floor was a great rug of tapestry showing nymphs and dolphins
carrying wreaths of fruit and flowers woven into the design. The blue
and rose and brown of the colors had so faded that they were lovelier
than any artist’s palette could have painted them.

The four girls sat down in chairs covered with tapestry of the same
kind, which they guessed must be almost priceless in value. But there
were only a few other articles of furniture in the room--a beautiful
old cabinet, a mahogany table inlaid with brass, a Louis XIV sofa,
while on the walls were not more than half a dozen pictures by French
masters. Nevertheless, the room was complete in beauty and elegance.
So the American girls did not dream that once it had been crowded with
rare treasures, sold one by one to meet the family necessities.

However, there were only a few minutes in which the guests could make
a study of their surroundings. Very soon their hostess entered with
old François bowing before her as if she had been an empress. She was
accompanied by a young man in the uniform of a French officer.

The Countess Amélie wore a dress of black silk and on her head a cap of
lace with the Marie Antoinette point in front. Her hair was exquisitely
white and her eyes dark. In spite of the natural coldness and hauteur
of her expression she was evidently trying to appear friendly.

Her four guests bowed gravely as she shook hands with them, welcoming
them to her home. However, it must be confessed that Eugenia’s bow was
even more stiff than her hostess’s.

Also Eugenia frowned, while the other three girls smiled. For the young
officer, whom the Countess Amélie afterwards introduced as her son, was
Captain Henri Castaigne, whom they had met through Lieutenant Hume in
Paris, and upon whom they had seen bestowed the Cross of the Legion of
Honor.




CHAPTER XI _The Prejudice Deepens_


“Then you knew we were here?” Nona questioned half shyly.

Nona and Barbara were seated on a wide window seat with Captain
Castaigne beside them. A little further on Eugenia, in a carved,
high-back chair, was watching the group but taking little part in the
conversation. Mildred and the Countess Amélie were on the opposite side
of the great room, still having their coffee and chatting amiably,
though in not an animated fashion. For the Countess would have scorned
to speak any language but her beloved French, and while Mildred’s
French was good it was not very rapid. Nevertheless, her manners were
undeniably sweet and unaffected and the Countess plainly approved of
her more than any one of the other girls.

Captain Castaigne smiled at Nona.

“Well, I had my suspicions,” he answered, with the faintest gleam
of amusement in his dark eyes. “Moreover, I received a letter from
Lieutenant Hume telling me that four American Red Cross girls had
disappeared from Paris and were nursing somewhere in southern France.”
The young officer bowed his head with a pretense of penitence. “Also
I must confess that I have asked a few questions of old François. You
see, I have only recently been transferred to a regiment near my own
home, else I should have prayed for the privilege of calling upon you.
But not having seen any one of you until this afternoon, I could not be
sure my surmise was correct.”

In her throne-like chair Eugenia’s shoulders assumed a straighter pose,
while her face turned unexpectedly scarlet.

“Are you entirely convinced you have seen _no one_ of us since our
meeting in Paris?” she inquired so suddenly and in such a peculiar
tone, even for Eugenia, that Nona and Barbara turned to glance toward
her in surprise.

Not having spoken in the past ten minutes, her eyes were now fixed upon
the young French officer with an expression which Barbara Meade at
least recognized. It plainly expressed disapproval.

Nevertheless, there was no reason why Captain Castaigne should
instantly become embarrassed. Up to this time he had been a delightful
host, gracious and gay. Certainly his manners were not like those
of an American or an Englishman, but Nona and Barbara instinctively
understood that his fashion of paying pretty compliments and his
somewhat devoted air as he talked to one, were simply characteristics
of a foreigner.

Now, however, he blushed and stammered like a school-boy. With
Eugenia’s gaze upon him he crimsoned and cast down his eyes.

“If I _have_ seen one of you before I am sure I have not recognized
you,” he returned with unnecessary humility. “I have been at work with
my soldiers most of the time since receiving my new command. I only
return to the chateau occasionally to see my mother.”

Eugenia’s nostrils arched slightly in a way she had when angry.

“Do you usually pay these visits in the daytime or in the evening?” she
questioned, with what seemed to the other two girls rather too much
curiosity. For these were war times when one was not supposed to ask
questions that were not absolutely necessary.

Still the young officer showed no resentment.

“I have no regular hour, Mademoiselle. Whenever I can be spared I
desire to be with my mother. There are only the two of us and we have
been much separated. First there were the years devoted to my training
as a soldier and since has come the cruel fortune of war.”

From the opposite side of the room the Countess Amélie must at this
moment have guessed that her son was speaking of her. She looked toward
him with such a combination of pride and devotion that it was almost
touching. Her whole face softened.

But Eugenia did not observe her.

“I am not so sure we have not met each other in this neighborhood quite
recently,” she continued with extraordinary coldness. Nona and Barbara
became more and more surprised. For although Eugenia was not cordial
with strangers, she was usually civil. Vainly they were searching
their minds for some remark with which to turn the current of the
conversation when Eugenia went on:

“I was on my way home to our little farmhouse the other evening, after
nursing at the field hospital until quite late. I met some one, an
officer, I think. It was then too dark for me to see his face, but I
have been wondering ever since----”

At this moment Eugenia’s speech was interrupted, but not by one of her
companions. For the heavy door of the drawing room was pushed slowly
open and a great dog walked majestically into the room.

He paused for an instant to gaze at his mistress. Then receiving her
silent permission, he started a pilgrimage about the room.

Nona shrank behind the smaller Barbara, for in spite of her usual
bravery she had a nervous fear of dogs. However, this great Dane was
not to be feared by guests inside his own domain. As he padded from
one visitor to the other it was plain that he was greeting each one of
them in turn. Mildred came first and was allowed to lay her hand on his
head, then Nona and Barbara. Afterwards the dog moved toward Eugenia.
Within a few feet of her he paused, his ears and tail visibly drooping,
and turned imploring eyes upon his young master.

Whatever the signal that passed between them, the next moment the
splendid creature sank down at Eugenia’s feet, burying his head between
his forepaws. His whole attitude indicated a prayer for pardon.

Immediately after Captain Castaigne got up and walked over toward
Eugenia. He stood silent for half a moment, evidently hoping that she
might relax from her severity.

Never in his life had he met such an extraordinary and difficult young
woman! As he had been under the same impression five minutes after
their introduction in Paris, why should Fate be so unkind as to cause
them to see each other again? And then to place him in such an awkward
position as he now found himself!

“I owe you ten thousand pardons, Mademoiselle. Ah, more than that, for
I consider my own act unpardonable!” he exclaimed. “Until you spoke I
had been hoping that I might be mistaken, and that it was _not_ you
whom I caused to suffer the other evening.”

The young Frenchman cast his eyes imploringly toward Eugenia, clasping
his hands together in a dramatic fashion.

If only Eugenia had been able to smile at this moment, how much simpler
the future would have been! But remember, Eugenia had a Puritan
conscience, and a Puritan conscience often exacts its pound of flesh in
payment for sins from other people as well as from itself. Moreover,
Eugenia disliked Captain Castaigne’s manners and appearance intensely.
To her he appeared theatrical and insincere. A simple, straightforward
American apology she believed she would have accepted at once. But this
young aristocrat with his too perfect features and physique must suffer
for his offense. No doubt the other girls would have forgiven him.
He looked like the type of man most women would deal gently with, so
Eugenia felt it would undoubtedly be good for him to be snubbed by her.

As she now stared severely at the young Frenchman in answer to his
pleading, she looked like all the Pilgrim fathers’ portraits that hang
on old New England family walls melted together into one face. Of
course, he did not understand her in the least. Lieutenant Hume had
explained that the Miss Peabody he had met in Paris was an old maid
from Boston. But this conveyed nothing to Captain Castaigne’s mind. Old
maids in France were not in the least like this young woman and he had
a very vague idea of where Boston was and of what the city could be
like. However, he did know that he had offended against a Frenchman’s
and an officer’s code of manners and was therefore willing to make any
possible apology.

“You will understand that not only did I not know you: I did not
realize that you were a woman or I should never have sent my dog to
interrupt you. Why, why did you not halt when I called out to you? If
only you had given one little sign, made the least sound! I thought I
should have fainted when I beheld a figure upon the ground and in the
uniform of a Red Cross nurse, the uniform I respect most in all the
world.”

There could be no doubt of Captain Castaigne’s sincerity at this
moment. Nona and Barbara, who were listening with intense interest to
his plea, were deeply moved by the tribute he thus paid the Red Cross
work. But if Eugenia felt this she did not reveal it.

“I prefer not to discuss the accident,” she returned, rising from her
chair and preparing to leave. “Certainly I realize that you would not
have desired to injure me personally had you known I was a Red Cross
nurse. But I cannot see that you are justified in sending that great
beast of a dog to attack wayfarers, simply because you do not chance to
know who they are.”

Barbara and Nona had also gotten up intending to withdraw with their
friend. Actually at this moment Barbara had the temerity to giggle,
although no one but Nona was aware of it. It was so absurd to hear
Eugenia lecturing a French officer with regard to his duties and
privileges. It was even funnier to see the spirit in which he accepted
his snubbing!

“But, Mademoiselle,” he continued, shrugging his slender shoulders,
decorated with the gold braid of his rank, “surely you must appreciate
that in these war times we have many dangerous visitors to our
entrenchments. One cannot permit a wanderer to remain at large who
refuses to give an account of himself? Besides, my dog would have
injured no one. He had his orders merely to hold the prisoner until I
could reach him.”

Captain Castaigne laid his boyish hand on the head of the great
dog, who at once rose up clumsily and stood beside him. “Some day,
Mademoiselle, I shall pray that my dog and I may do you a service to
atone for our mistake. To many a wounded soldier Le Duc has brought
aid on the battlefield. In any case the offense was mine, while his
only that of obedience to a stupid master. Say at least that you
forgive my dog?”

The young officer spoke so winningly that even Eugenia was compelled to
relent slightly. However, she still retained an uncomfortable vision
of herself, face downward upon the ground with this young Captain
Castaigne holding the light above her and gazing down on her prostrate
form.

Nevertheless, she accepted the large paw that Duke stretched forth
to her. As the eyes of Eugenia and the dog met, the ghost of an
understanding passed between them.

The next instant, after saying farewell to their hostess, she departed,
the other three Red Cross girls following her.

“What a very objectionable young woman,” the Countess Amélie remarked
to her son in French, when speaking of their guests a short time
afterwards. The young officer did not inquire which one of the four
girls she meant.




CHAPTER XII _Not Peace But War_


Later that same evening the girls were seated in their living room at
the farmhouse. It was almost bed time, so heavy curtains had been drawn
across their small windows, shutting out all possible vision of the
outside world.

But wearing their four new kimonos the girls were grouped in
characteristic attitudes about a small fireplace on the right side of
the room.

Suddenly, after a warm afternoon, a November rain had fallen, bringing
with it cold and dampness. So, although a fire in France is regarded
as a great luxury, the American girls felt compelled to have one. It
was not of the generous kind to which they were accustomed at home, but
was built of carefully hoarded sticks and pine cones old François had
brought them from time to time as valuable gifts. Therefore, the girls
were huddled closer to the fire and to one another than under ordinary
circumstances.

Just at present, however, there was no talking going on, which was
most unusual, since Nona and Barbara were especially addicted to this
feminine habit, while neither Eugenia nor Mildred were extraordinarily
silent. However, at the moment both Mildred and Nona were writing
letters, while Barbara was reading a queer, old-fashioned book she had
discovered stored away in the attic of their little farmhouse. It was,
of course, written in French, and she was supposed to be improving her
vocabulary. But the French was so peculiar that now and then she was
forced to stop to consult a dictionary.

Eugenia was also reading, although her literature was of a more serious
character. She was studying a series of reports the Red Cross societies
of Europe had recently issued. The papers offered important information
and advice to the Red Cross nurses, and Eugenia was too deeply
interested in her profession to neglect any chance for improvement.

She and Mildred were at a small table by the fire with the lamp between
them, while Nona and Barbara were mounted upon sofa cushions, which
they had placed on the bare floor.

By and by Barbara glanced up at the alarm clock on the mantelpiece.
It was standing side by side with a tall French clock of silver gilt
that must once have been a bridal offering. However, the French clock
had these long years been silent, while tonight the plebeian American
timepiece ticked resolutely on.

Seeing the hour, Barbara yawned, closed her book and then, clasping her
hands over her knees, began rocking slowly back and forth.

No one at first paid the least attention to her.

“It is nearly bed time,” she announced finally, “and I do wish
everybody would stop what they are doing and let us talk for a while.
Somehow tonight I feel as if we were four girls away at a foreign
boarding school, instead of four young women intent upon caring for the
wounded. How wonderful if by chance we were nearing the end of this
impossible war!”

After this there was another instant’s silence, though each girl was
keenly aware of Barbara’s last speech. Nona looked up toward the little
wooden crucifix, belonging to the owners of the farmhouse, which had
been left in its honored place upon the wall. Her lips said nothing,
but the appeal of her spirit went deeper than words. Mildred’s eyes
suddenly blurred with tears. She had been writing to her father,
whom she adored, and all at once the time seemed endless since their
farewell. But Eugenia merely put down her papers and sat watching the
younger girl on the floor.

Except for the fall of the rain the night was very still. There was no
thunder and lightning and no wind.

Perhaps it was because of what she had just been reading, or the
discomfort of her visit earlier in the afternoon, but Eugenia was
feeling curiously unstrung. Somehow Barbara’s innocent remark disturbed
her.

“I don’t think there is any chance of the war’s being over for many a
long day, Barbara,” she returned curtly. “Just because we have been
having a lull in the fighting lately you must not feel that work is
over. That is, not unless you want to go home. I often think that best
for all of you three young girls. If you can feel like a boarding
school miss, Bab, certainly you are an infant. But it is good of you to
include me among the pupils in view of what you really think about my
age.”

Barbara laughed, although a little surprised and touched by a portion
of the other girl’s speech. For had not Eugenia called her Bab and laid
her strong, fine hand on her hair? Barbara rather liked the feeling
of Eugenia’s fingers. They were firm and yet gentle tonight. Always
Barbara knew that they were singularly handsome hands, and more than
that, they were hands revealing unusual ability. They were not small,
but slender and long, with beautiful almond-shaped nails and a curious,
vibrant quality at the finger tips.

Barbara took one of them in her own and studied it curiously.

“You have wonderful nursing hands, Eugenia. One feels as if they could
take away pain and almost bring people back to life. Of course, I know
you are right about the war. It isn’t over just because of the heavenly
quiet we have been having lately in this neighborhood. But do let us be
frivolous while we can. Mildred, you have finished your letter, haven’t
you? Nona, when will you ever be through? To whom on earth are you
writing that you can have so much to say? Whoever he or she is I wish
could see you. You look like a Fra Angelico angel in that flowing blue
robe tonight.”

Just long enough to blow a kiss Nona looked up. “Oh, I am writing
to Dick Thornton,” she explained casually. “I had a letter from him
the other day asking me to tell him just what we were doing. He said
Mildred would never tell him half enough.”

A strange little lump mysteriously caught in Barbara’s throat. Dick had
not yet written her and she had thought they were as intimate friends
as he and Nona. Then the smile that was characteristic of her ability
to see things truthfully hovered around her lips. After all, did she
really desire Dick Thornton to behold Nona tonight? Never had she seen
her looking prettier! She had on a blue crêpe wrapper the color of the
Italian sky, her pale yellow hair was unbound and hanging in a single
long curl down her back. Moreover, the fire had flushed her cheeks and
made her dark eyes shine.

Then noticing that Eugenia’s eyes were studying her gravely, Barbara
shook her head and laughed.

“I have a perfectly delicious piece of gossip to confide, if you will
all listen. If you don’t I’m going to bed this minute.”

Nona sealed her letter.

“What on earth are you talking about, Barbara?” she demanded. “How can
you have heard any more gossip than the rest of us? You can’t have
found a lost will or a lost romance in that old book you dug out of the
attic.”

Having at last gained the desired attention of her audience, the
youngest of the four Red Cross girls was not disposed to hurry.

“Well, no, not exactly,” she hedged. “And yet I have been amusing
myself fitting the two stories together. Remember the young girl we saw
dancing for the soldiers the other afternoon?”

“Goodness, yes,” Eugenia replied. “But what a surprising person you
are, Barbara. She is about the last person in the world I would have
guessed you had in mind. What on earth made you think of her again?”

Holding up three fingers, Barbara counted them out slowly. “One, two,
three things made me think of her. Now listen to me attentively, for
‘hereby hangs a tale.’ And perhaps if we exercise enough imagination we
can turn it into the oldest romance of the Troubadours, those poets of
old Provence whose names stand high in the records of song and story.
Remember the tale of ‘Aucassin and Nicolete’ is over seven hundred
years old! We may have to make a few changes to fit it into modern
times.”

Mildred Thornton made no effort to stifle her yawn.

“Oh, goodness gracious, do go on and get to your story or I shall
retire to bed. At least I remember that the blond young soldier told
you the little dancing girl’s name was Nicolete. It was odd for you to
come across the poem so unexpectedly tonight. I read it long ago in my
literature class at school. But where, please, is ‘Aucassin,’ the hero
of your tale, and where, for that matter, is Nicolete? You told me that
she was supposed to disappear after her dance and no one knew what had
become of her,” Mildred protested.

Barbara turned appealingly to Eugenia. “Do make Mildred hush and not
take the fine flavor from my romance,” she begged. “The young soldier
may not have known where the young dancing girl lives, but I do.
Indeed, we all passed her home this afternoon. Didn’t you see a little
scarlet cap on the bayberry bush outside the old hut in the woods?
Well, Nicolete has been living there recently, with an old grandmother,
or an old woman of some kind. She is the adopted daughter of some
mysterious person, I am told. You recall that Nicolete was a slave
girl owned by a viscount?”

Eugenia got up slowly out of her chair.

“I don’t mean to be rude, child, but really I have to attend to some
things before I go to bed and your story seems rather far fetched. Tell
us who Nicolete’s adoring lover is and wait until tomorrow for the
rest.”

Barbara shrugged her shoulders petulantly.

“Of all the disagreeable audiences this is the worst!” she asserted. “I
thought maybe you might be interested in something except horrors. The
story is that this little gypsy girl is really very much in love with
Captain Castaigne, whom we saw this afternoon. That is, she may not be
exactly in love with him, but the soldiers think she is. His mother is
terribly angry, because, of course, they belong to one of the oldest
families in France while she is ‘Poor Little Miss Nobody of Nowhere.’
Then another romantic point is that the little blond soldier who gave
us the flowers is enamored of Nicolete. Monsieur Bebé is what the
other soldiers call him, so I wasn’t so far wrong in thinking he looked
like a baby.”

Barbara did not observe that Eugenia was frowning majestically and that
Mildred Thornton looked rather bored.

Nona, however, was smiling good-humoredly.

“Hurry up and finish, Barbara. Is Captain Castaigne pining away for the
fair Nicolete, refusing to be a knight or to bear arms for his country?
I thought he was supposed to be an extraordinary young officer,” Nona
questioned.

Undoubtedly Barbara was crestfallen.

“I suppose that is the weakest part of the story,” she confessed. “I
don’t know whether Captain Castaigne cares for this particular Nicolete
in the least. He does not care for anything but his beloved country, I
believe. But if you won’t be interested in my romance, please listen to
the first part of my poem,” Barbara begged, picking up her discarded
book. “There is a translation here of the first verse:

  “Who would list in right good verse
   Tale of grief full sad to hear,
   Of two children young and fair,
   Nicolete and Aucassin;
   Of the woes he had to bear
   And the doughty deeds to dare
   For his love with face so clear?
   Sweet the song, the fable rare,
   Courtly and well served the fare;
   No man is so full of care,
   None so wretched, none so bare,
   So o’erdriven by despair
   But the hearing will repair,
   Give him jollity to spare,
   So rich the tale.”

As she finished the verse Eugenia reached down and taking hold of
Barbara lifted her to her feet.

“You are perfectly absurd with your little love tale, dear, and I don’t
see the least point in it. Still, it has been nice and restful to have
had a quiet evening like this. Perhaps it is better for us to forget
the tragedies about us now and then. Besides, I expect I need more
education in romance. But go upstairs to bed, all of you at once. I’ll
close up the house for the night.”

Eugenia shooed the three girls away as if they had been chickens and
she a guardian hen. But after they left her she did not start upon her
task at once. Instead she stood with her hands clasped looking down
into the fire.

Outside the rain must have ceased for she no longer heard the noise of
it. Indeed, the world seemed strangely quiet to ears accustomed to the
cannonading she had heard so often in the past months.

But she was not thinking of this at the present moment, but of her
visit to the chateau earlier in the afternoon. The call had not been
an agreeable one, for she had never felt more ill at ease. However,
Eugenia made up her mind that she would never accept an invitation
there again. She might then escape meeting either the Countess or her
son. And with this thought in mind she stopped to put out the last
flickering flames of the fire.

There she remained crouched in the same position for five minutes,
while upstairs in their bedrooms the other three American Red Cross
girls were almost equally inanimate. For after the quiet of the night
their ears and hearts were suddenly stunned by a burst of terrific
artillery firing. It was as if all the heavy guns of all the armies in
Europe were concentrated upon this particular quarter in France.

By and by Eugenia rose up wearily with her face whiter and older than
it had been for some time.

“I am afraid the Germans have not retreated of their own accord,” she
said, unconsciously speaking aloud. “We may have some hard days ahead
of us. But if they do manage to force the French line of trenches and
reach us, I shall not care so much if only the other girls can get
away. It will not so much matter with a woman as old as I am, and I
shall be glad to be useful.”




CHAPTER XIII _Danger_


All night the bombardment continued. Now and then the girls slept, but
more often they lay awake, wondering just where the fighting could be
taking place and if the field hospital could be in danger.

But at daylight the noise grew less and three of the girls fell into
deeper slumber than they had known since saying good-night to one
another.

But Eugenia did not wish to sleep again. Very quietly she got up and
went about their little house hiding away their stores of provisions.
Then she locked up odd windows and doors that might by chance be
forgotten. Afterwards she investigated her own bag of nursing supplies
and saw that everything that might be needed for emergency work was
there.

Although it was still between five and six o’clock, Eugenia next made
things ready for breakfast and then went upstairs and waked the other
girls. Well she knew that their services would be needed earlier than
usual that morning! The night’s fighting meant many more wounded, who
would be brought to them for succor as soon as possible.

Therefore, once they were up and dressed, the girls naturally wished to
be off to their work at once. Yet against their wills Eugenia insisted
that they eat unusually large breakfasts. She even packed a basket of
food for them to take to the hospital, although their noonday meal was
always given them there.

However, nothing was said at breakfast about her proceedings, but
later Barbara followed Eugenia about their little house, regarding her
suspiciously.

Desultory firing was still going on; occasionally one could hear the
cracking of a score of rifles or the shriek of a bursting shell. But
this had become a common experience in the past nine months to the
American Red Cross girls and would hardly explain Eugenia’s unusually
serious view of the situation.

Finally Barbara managed to corner the older girl in the kitchen, where
she laid her hand quietly on her arm.

“Tell me, Eugenia, please, have you any special reason for believing
that the fighting is to be more serious in this neighborhood than any
we have yet seen? Have the soldiers or officers told you to expect
unusual trouble? Tell me the truth. I would rather know, and I think
I can promise not to be such a coward as I was when our war nursing
started.”

For a moment Eugenia hesitated. Her face was serious but not severe
this morning and the two expressions were very unlike.

“I am going to tell you exactly the truth, Barbara, when I say that no
one has given me information of any kind. I have only heard, just as
you have, that after months of fighting in this locality the Germans
evacuated their trenches and moved back of the line of their own
accord. But the truth is, I have been feeling horribly uneasy ever
since I became aware of the impression this had made on the French army
near here. I have always feared it was a piece of clever strategy on
the part of the Germans to gain time and perhaps to bring up more guns.
And all last night, while the cannonading was going on, after weeks
of comparative quiet, I became more and more convinced of my idea. Of
course, it may be absurd, but just the same I have the feeling that we
ought to be prepared for perhaps the most strenuous times of our lives.”

Suddenly Eugenia placed her hands on either side Barbara’s cheeks,
which had grown round and rosy as a child’s again, with the weeks of
outdoor life and the easier work.

“I want you to promise me something, Barbara; promise for yourself
and if you can to use your influence with the other girls. If by
chance the enemy should conquer this part of France and our field
hospital be forced to move further back, you will go back with them.
But if anything should happen to make this impossible, go to the
Countess Amélie and remain with her. She is a stranger, but she is an
older woman and I’d feel ever so much happier to have you under her
protection.”

Trying her best to show no signs of uneasiness at Eugenia’s speech,
nevertheless Barbara Meade’s face unconsciously whitened and her blue
eyes grew dark.

“That is a rather impossible promise,” she returned, smiling, although
her voice was not quite steady. “Of course, I am not convinced that
you are right in your fears in the first place, but if you should
be, why are you asking me to influence the other girls to leave this
neighborhood? You have a great deal more influence that I have. Do you
mean that you don’t intend to go with us?”

At this the older girl walked across the room and stood for a moment
by the one window which looked out upon the woods. If she had wished
to reply at once it would have been impossible. For at this instant a
tremendous shell exploded at no great distance away, shaking the little
house and making a noise that was almost deafening.

Yet neither girl mentioned the occurrence to the other.

When it was over Eugenia turned quietly around.

“I expect to remain here if I find I can be more useful. But after all,
I may be talking like a foolish old crow croaking over misfortunes that
never come. Goodness knows, the French have repelled numbers of attacks
before! Even if the Germans have reinforcements they will probably
drive them back. I only wanted us to be prepared to meet the worst. But
I’m dreadfully sorry if I have frightened you unnecessarily, so perhaps
it will be best not to speak of my foolishness to the other girls. Now
let’s hurry and be off.”

But Barbara would not be hurried, neither would she be silenced.

She sat down for a moment on the top of a high wooden stool, her feet
swinging in the air, looking like a little girl of fourteen, in spite
of the fact that she wore her nurse’s cap and uniform.

“I think you forget that we are Red Cross nurses,” Barbara argued
thoughtfully, talking not so much to her companion as to herself. “So
even if the Germans do take the trenches in this vicinity and occupy
the French country, we shall be perfectly safe. Our Red Cross badges
are our protection.”

The older girl put her arm across the younger one’s shoulder, not
affectionately, but protectingly.

“More than probably you are right, Barbara. But somehow I’d feel
happier not to have you girls too near here. Many of the houses may
be burned and the German soldiers excited by their triumph. It would
be the same in any conquered country, I have no doubt. I do not mean
that I think the German soldiers more brutal than other men under like
conditions. But remember, we have been living in an enemy’s country and
nursing their soldiers and even if ninety-nine of the soldiers were
considerate, one might be rough and unkind. Of course, I can’t make you
promise to do what I ask against your will, but if the danger comes
will you remember what I have said and try and be prudent?”

And Barbara nodded as she got off her stool.

“I won’t say anything to the others, but I am going to put the Red
Cross flag on our little house before we leave,” she answered, speaking
in the most matter-of-fact tone. “It can’t do any possible harm and
I think might have been a good idea all along to advertise us to our
neighbors. Dear little ‘House with the Blue Front Door,’ I hope we may
not leave you in many months! Somehow I have grown deeply attached to
you!”

A little while afterwards the four girls started for the field
hospital, which was situated about a mile on this side of the last row
of the French trenches.

Although they had been up for some time, it was not more than half-past
six when they set out. The air was still and heavy with smoke. It would
have been difficult to decide whether the noise of the distant guns or
the ominous lull in the firing was more trying to the nerves.

But the girls did not discuss the situation as they walked along.
Indeed, they did not talk at all, but plodded quietly ahead, intent on
the work before them and saving all their strength until then.

A short distance from the field hospital they were met by two of the
hospital assistants. One of them joined Eugenia, the other kept in the
group with the other three girls. They were two American college boys.

“Things are pretty lively around here, Miss Peabody. I suppose you have
been hearing the racket all night. The news is that the Germans have
captured thirty yards of the first line of the French trenches, but of
course we are expecting the Frenchies to get them back again. Still, it
might have been wiser if you had stayed in your own place today. Your
house is a little farther back.”

Eugenia smiled in a friendly fashion at her companion. She was
surprisingly popular with the staff at the field hospital, although
ordinarily having little to say to them except upon matters concerning
her nursing. But the young fellow who had walked out to meet them was a
Harvard University boy who had come to France to assist with the field
hospital work. He was one of fourteen or fifteen young fellows who were
able to take down or set up one of the new field hospitals, consisting
of some twenty tents, in about half an hour.

Naturally as he and Eugenia hailed from the Bay State, there was that
bond between them.

“Have they been bringing in many wounded this morning?” Eugenia asked
as quietly as if she had been discussing an ordinary topic.

Her companion nodded. “It has been pretty bad,” he returned, trying to
speak with an affectation of carelessness. The fact is he had intended
studying to be a surgeon after graduating at college and of course
should not be upset by a few wounded men. But it wasn’t very jolly to
see a lot of fellows suffering and not to be able to help them.

“Then I expect we had best hurry,” Eugenia answered. Afterwards neither
of them spoke again. Yet the young man looked at Eugenia admiringly.
Perhaps she was not as much of a beauty as two of the other American
Red Cross girls. Nevertheless, she wasn’t bad looking in her way, and
certainly a man would like to have her take care of him if he happened
to be bowled over. You could always count on her being right there
when the time came, and knowing exactly what to do. One couldn’t help
admiring efficiency in this world wherever one saw it.

Certainly the American boy had been right in his statement. Conditions
at the field hospital were pretty bad when the four girls arrived there.

All the beds in the tents were filled with the wounded. Yet every five
or ten minutes another injured soldier requiring immediate care would
be borne to the hospital by his companions until long lines of them
were stretched out upon the grass. Moreover, one knew that there were
perhaps hundreds of others lying hurt in the trenches to whom no relief
could be given until the fighting ceased.

Now there seemed little prospect that a lull could come until the
night. Then perhaps the bombarding would not be so continuous.

However, the Germans must have previously located the weak points in
the enemy’s defences since the cannonading had begun the night before.

Three or four hours passed and no one appeared to think there could be
danger at the field hospital. Perhaps they were too busy to think at
all. Besides, the firing seemed to be directed upon the trenches, so
that only an occasional shell, failing to hit its mark, shrieked over
them or burst at a distance too far away to cause alarm.

But it must have been about noon, though no one knew the exact hour,
when suddenly news came that the French had been forced to retreat
from the front trenches to the second line. Then immediately after the
Germans directed a number of their large guns, not upon the trenches,
but upon the little town of Le Prêtre, which lay behind the field
hospital, the forest and the chateau of the Countess Amélie.

Nor did the shells and shrapnel continue to pass over the hospital.
Indeed, they sometimes seemed to be the actual target of the great
guns, though this was of course not true.

One of the white tents was torn to pieces and a doctor and two nurses
hurt.

Barbara had just come out of this tent on an errand for the surgeon.
After the explosion she found herself standing but a few yards from the
débris, with Nona Davis running toward her.

“The field hospital is to be moved, Barbara dear, and they wish all of
us to go along with them. Eugenia and Mildred cannot leave, but you and
I are to go back to our little house and pack up the things we actually
must have. Everything and everybody connected with the hospital must be
on the move in the next half hour. There is a chance that the French
may retreat beyond the village, so as to force the enemy out of their
trenches into the open fields. Come, we must run for it. I don’t see
how we shall ever manage to get to our home and back in such a short
time. But we can help to bring up the rear.”

Nona slipped her arm through Barbara’s and the two girls started back
for “The House with the Blue Front Door.”




CHAPTER XIV _The Parting of the Ways_


The two girls reached the farmhouse in a shorter time than they had
believed possible and at once rushed upstairs to their rooms. There
they dragged out their suit-cases, and Mildred’s and Eugenia’s as well,
and began packing them with the clothes they felt to be absolutely
necessary for their work.

They knew the wounded must first be removed from the field hospital,
with only the nurse and doctors who would have charge of them. But
there would also be other motor cars to transport the additional
nurses, physicians and hospital assistants. Moreover, since all the
tents and the supplies must afterwards be gotten away this would surely
require a fair amount of time. So in case they were late and missed the
first of the departing cars, they would certainly be stored away in one
of the later ones.

“I do wish we had asked Eugenia and Mildred to wait until we returned
to the hospital before they leave,” Barbara called from beneath the bed
in Mildred’s room, where she was dragging out a pair of shoes.

“It wouldn’t have made any difference if we had asked,” Nona answered.
“Mildred is to go in one of the first motor ambulances with the
wounded, as she has charge of two critically ill soldiers. And of
course Eugenia will do whatever she thinks wisest. Certainly she won’t
wait for us if she thinks it best to go first.”

“I am not so sure of that,” Barbara replied, and then there was a
silence lasting for several moments.

Afterwards Barbara and Nona wondered why they were not more frightened
during this half hour. The fact is that they had not yet appreciated
the seriousness of the French retreat, nor the great task of moving the
field hospital beyond the present danger line.

Moreover, they were too busy to think clearly on any subject, and a
time of action is seldom a time of fear.

Except for the two girls moving hastily about, the little farmhouse
was delightfully quiet and peaceful after the dreadful morning at the
hospital. Once the thought flashed through Barbara Meade’s mind: “If
only they might stay here in the little ‘House with the Blue Front
Door’ and take their chances with the enemy!” They would be under the
protection of the Red Cross. However, as they had received their orders
from an authority higher than Eugenia’s, like soldiers they must do as
they were commanded, without considering their personal inclinations.

So Barbara, having finished Mildred’s packing, took her suit-case
downstairs by the front door. She then went up for Eugenia’s, which
Nona had by this time completed. It was heavier than the other and she
staggered a little and had to stop to recover her breath after she had
placed it alongside Mildred’s.

Therefore, she chanced to be standing just beside the front door when
the first knocking on the outside began. Nona had drawn a great,
old-fashioned bolt across the door after entering, chiefly with the
idea that they should not be disturbed at their tasks.

Barbara did not open the door at once.

This knocking was not of an ordinary kind, such as one would expect
from a visitor. It was very insistent, never stopping for a second; it
was indeed, a kind of hurried tattoo.

“Who is there?” Barbara demanded. But before any one else could reply
Nona called from upstairs.

“Please don’t open the door, Barbara, at least not until we are about
to start. There isn’t an instant to waste in talking to any one.”

In consequence Barbara turned away, but immediately after she
recognized the voice of old François.

“Open, open!” he shouted, first in French and then in English, having
acquired a few words from his four American girl friends.

Then Barbara drew back the latch and François tumbled in.

The old fellow’s brown face was ashen and the pupils of his little
black eyes were dilated with fear.

He had evidently been running until he was almost out of breath.

“The French are retreating, all our army at once: They are tramping,
tramping through the fields and the woods. Madame the Countess says you
are to come to the chateau immediately. Soon the Germans will be here
and then----”

The old French peasant flung out his withered hands and rolled his eyes
upward. Words failed to express his pent-up emotions.

But Barbara shook her head quietly.

“You are very kind, François. Tell the Countess Amélie we are most
grateful for her thought of us. But we are going to the rear with the
field hospital staff and in any case we should be safe as Red Cross
nurses. Go back to her now, for she needs you more than we do. This
must be a terrible experience for her.”

Old François straightened his crooked back against the front door,
which he had most carefully closed after entering.

“But you must come and at once, Mademoiselle. For the Countess is ill,
perhaps dying from the shock of the news we have just received,” he
insisted. “Her son’s, Captain Henri’s, regiment has been destroyed.
Some of the men have been taken prisoners, the others killed or
wounded. And we have had no word from our young captain since the
fighting began.”

The old servant’s face worked with emotion and his eyes filled with
tears.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Barbara murmured pitifully, and then realizing the
inadequacy of words at such a time, turned to Nona, who had at this
instant come downstairs, carrying her own and Barbara’s bags.

“What shall we do, Nona?” Barbara demanded. “We should have started
back to the field hospital before this. And yet if we go now and leave
the Countess ill with no one to look after her, it seems too cruel!
Suppose I go with François and you return to the hospital and explain
what has delayed me. Tell Eugenia where I am. Somehow I feel that
perhaps the Countess Amélie needs my care more than the soldiers do
today. There are so many other nurses to look after them, while she is
old and alone.”

Nona’s dark eyes looked troubled, nevertheless she shook her head.

“I don’t agree with you, Barbara. We ought to be at our posts. We have
promised our services to the soldiers; besides, I could not let you go
alone to the Countess. Don’t you know that when the German soldiers
overrun this countryside the chateau will be one of the first places
to be seized? It is the most important house in the neighborhood and
the German officers are sure to take up their headquarters there.” Nona
held out her hand to François.

“I too am sorrier than I can say, but we can’t do what you ask of us,”
she declared, “we must go back to our work. Please try and make the
Countess Amélie understand. Now good-by, François, and may we meet
again in happier times. You must move away from the door and let us be
off, for we are dreadfully late already from talking to you.”

But old François did not stir.

“You have lived in Madame’s house, you have eaten of her food, and yet
when she may be dying you will not serve her. Because you wear on your
arm the badge of the _Croix de Rouge_, does it mean that you care only
for soldiers? Because Madame is a woman and an old one, you feel no
interest in her! Truly if she dies this war will have killed her, for
one does not die only from wounds of the flesh.”

Barbara’s blue eyes had slowly filled with tears during the old
peasant’s speech. But now a resolute line formed about the corners of
her pretty mouth that only showed there occasionally.

“I am going to the Countess, Nona,” she remarked quietly. “You must do
whatever your conscience prompts you to do. Mine tells me that we have
accepted a great deal from the Countess and now she needs me more than
any one else. If the hospital staff consider me a deserter, I cannot
help it. Besides, I almost promised Eugenia that I would go to the
Countess Amélie if the Germans conquered this part of the countryside.
It was for another reason I promised, but tell her, please, and she
will understand. Good-by; I’ll join you as soon as possible. Don’t
worry about me.”

Barbara stooped and picked up her bag.

“I’ll find my way to the chateau alone. Fortunately, I know the way,”
she added. “François, you must go with Miss Davis, so as to carry
the other suit-cases. Then you’ll come back to Madame as quickly as
possible.”

Taking a watch out of her pocket, Nona now glanced at it.

“I am coming with you, Barbara. Already we are nearly an hour behind
the time when the field hospital expected to be on its way. If I return
now I shall either find that everybody and everything has departed,
or else it will merely be an additional trouble to dispose of me at
the last. A day’s loss of _my_ services cannot make such a great
difference. So we can first find out how greatly the Countess Amélie
needs us, and then tomorrow, one or both of us must somehow manage to
rejoin the army. The French retreat may not be so universal as we fear.”

By this time the blue front door had been flung open by François,
so that outside the girls could hear the tramping of many feet. But
the feet were moving with a rhythmical swing that proved the French
soldiers were at least retreating in good order. So far there had been
no rout by the enemy.

Now François was in the greatest hurry of the three. He had taken
Barbara’s bag out of her hand and now laid hold of Nona’s. Then he set
off, trotting so rapidly down the path, in spite of his age and crooked
legs, that the two girls could scarcely keep up with him. Afterwards he
led their way into the woods, skirting along by the edge of the trees
and keeping safely out of sight of the soldiers, although numbers of
them were marching through the same woods on the farther side.

It was by this time early in the afternoon, but the girls found the
chateau undisturbed. Indeed, the autumn sun shone down upon it with
the same tranquillity as though the world had been at peace instead of
war. Across the neglected lawn a peacock stalked as majestically and
disdainfully as if the old gardens had been filled with the belles and
beaus in the silks and satins of a more picturesque age.

However, the two American girls were living in a too tragically
workaday world. They had no thought and no time for beauty, since a
shorter and more compelling word urged them on.

The lower part of the old chateau was deserted, and as neither Nona nor
Barbara knew the way upstairs, François preceded them. He opened first
the door of the Countess Amélie’s room, but found it empty. Without
hesitating, he then turned and walked quickly down a narrow corridor to
another room at almost the opposite end of the house. Knocking at this
door and receiving no answer, he crept in softly, beckoning to the two
girls to follow him.

But this room was so vast that neither Nona nor Barbara immediately
discovered its occupant. Evidently it was a man’s room and must have
covered the entire southern end of the chateau. Yet it was almost bare
of furniture of a conventional kind. On the walls old muskets hung and
bayonets of a bygone generation. The floor was of stone, uncarpeted,
and there were only two chairs, a tall chest of drawers and a single
iron bed in the apartment. If the young Captain Castaigne was a dandy,
as Eugenia considered him, certainly there was nothing about his room
to suggest it!

But Barbara was first to reach the bed, because she first saw that
the Countess Amélie had thrown herself upon it. She may have fainted
earlier in the day and thus alarmed François, but at present she
showed no signs of serious illness. Her face was drawn with suffering,
nevertheless she attempted to rise and speak to her guests as soon
as Barbara approached. The Countess Amélie belonged to the ancient
aristocracy of France whose women went to the guillotine with smiles
upon their faces. It was a part of their pride of class not to betray
their deeper emotions.

Yet Barbara found the small hand held out to her extremely cold, and it
was with an effort that the older woman found herself able to stand.

“I am more than glad you have been able to reach the chateau, Miss
Meade,” she began. “Doubtless you know as well as I do that our
French army is in retreat and that the German army may occupy this
neighborhood at any hour. But where are your other two friends? I
promised my son that in case of danger I would send for you. He could
not contemplate the thought of your being alone if the barbarians
overwhelmed us.”

The Countess spoke quietly enough, yet there was bitter antagonism in
her voice. One could hardly expect a French woman to feel otherwise
at an hour like this. Remember also that this was a portion of France
near the border of Alsace-Lorraine, which the Germans took as a part of
their booty at the close of the Franco-Prussian war.

The French people had not recovered from the bitterness of that defeat
when the great war began.

Barbara was looking somewhat nonplussed at finding that the Countess
was not in need of her services as a nurse, so she allowed Nona to join
her and make the first reply.

“We were under the impression that you were ill and needed us, or we
should not have come,” Nona answered. “The field hospital has been
moved and we intended leaving with them, so we should have been as safe
as possible. Our friends, Miss Thornton and Miss Peabody, have gone on
with the staff. Still, we appreciate your wishing to protect us,” she
ended gently.

In reality, both Nona and Barbara were deeply chagrined at the position
in which they now found themselves. Yet there was no doubt that the
older woman had meant to be kind. Besides, nothing could be gained by
making a protest now.

Both girls accompanied the Countess Amélie out of the room.

“I am alone here, except for François,” she explained. “If the Germans
come this way, doubtless my chateau will be one of the first places
which they will require for their own use. Therefore, it is necessary
that we be ready to leave at once. You need not be frightened;
François, will go with us, and there is a secret passage leading away
from the chateau, through which we can make our escape without danger.
I am going to ask you to help me pack a small store of provisions, as I
think we will be happier with work to occupy our hands.”

Not a word of her anguish over her son’s uncertain fate, nor a protest
at being forced in her old age to turn her back upon the home of her
ancestors! Surely this was aristocracy of the spirit as well as of
class, Nona and Barbara both thought to themselves, although neither
said a word to the other upon the subject.

That afternoon, between five and six o’clock, François brought word
that the German army had captured the last line of French trenches and
would soon overflow into the countryside.

Ten minutes later the Countess Amélie, Nona, Barbara and François,
voluntarily deserting the chateau, started upon an uncertain journey to
overtake the retreating French army.




CHAPTER XV _The Other Two Girls_


Just as Nona and Barbara had anticipated, Mildred Thornton rode away
with her two patients in one of the first motor ambulances that
hurriedly withdrew from the field hospital to remove the wounded from
the scene of danger. But by another strange mischance Eugenia was left
behind.

She had, of course, continued to assist with the hospital work so
long as there was anything for her to do. However, she had previously
insisted that she be allowed to depart in one of the last of the motor
vans. For the truth is she was unwilling to desert the neighborhood
until Nona and Barbara, having returned from the farmhouse, were able
to go along with her.

So during the last quarter of an hour, when only the tents were left
to be piled upon the last trucks, Eugenia, having no more duties to
perform, wandered a short distance away. She only went about an eighth
of a mile along the path that led in the direction of the farmhouse
and there sat down under a tree to wait for the other two girls and to
watch for a prearranged signal.

Until she began to rest Eugenia really had no idea of how tired she
was. She had been up and at work since five o’clock that morning under
conditions that would have exhausted the strongest person in the world.

Now there were deafening noises reverberating all about her, while
over her head hung a heavy pall of smoke, sometimes darkening the
atmosphere, but now and then lifting enough to permit a shaft of light
from the November sun to shine through.

At present the firing suggested that the fighting was still at some
distance away, nevertheless the girl realized that the battle must be
drawing nearer and nearer, for already a portion of the retreating
French army had passed within sight of the disbanded hospital.

Eugenia was not conscious of being as greatly depressed by the French
defeat as the other three American Red Cross girls had been. Her chief
thought was the appalling increase of the wounded that this day’s
battle must have caused. At this moment there must be hundreds, perhaps
thousands of boys and men lying wounded and dying in the fields and
trenches with no one to bring them aid.

“If only one could do _more_ to help!” the girl murmured, clasping her
hands wearily together in her lap, but at the same time keeping her
eyes fixed upon the path ahead.

“Why in the world don’t those children come on?” she next asked
impatiently. “Certainly they should not have been trusted to undertake
our packing. I don’t doubt they are putting our new Paris clothes into
the bags!”

As she made this speech, believing that she heard some one approaching,
Eugenia half rose. Then the next instant she was up and standing with
her back braced against the tree, upon which she had been previously
resting. For bounding toward her, with his tongue hanging out and his
head lolling from side to side, was the dog belonging to Captain Henri
Castaigne.

After her past experience it was impossible for Eugenia not to feel
nervous, for the silver-gray brute was of enormous size and strength.
Yet when the dog reached her side, for the second time he crouched down
at Eugenia’s feet. This time, however, instead of hanging _down_ his
head, he turned his gray-brown eyes upward upon the girl’s with such a
depth of entreaty that, without knowing why, she was moved.

“It is all right, Duke, I forgive you all the past, even if I have not
forgiven your master!” she exclaimed, speaking in a friendly tone,
although scorning to use the dog’s French name. “But do run home now to
your mistress. For this, I trust, is a final farewell between us, as we
shall probably never meet again.”

Even though she spoke thus lightly, Eugenia was conscious that there
might be a possible tragedy in the fact that Duke could not return to
his master. Perhaps Captain Castaigne was even now among the missing.

However, the great Dane gave no sign of having heard Eugenia’s
command, but instead gave her another look of profound appeal. When
she showed no indication of having understood his meaning, he got up
and caught her dress firmly between his teeth. Then not ungently but
authoritatively he began dragging her along with him.

For the first moment Eugenia was too surprised to make any special
resistance. The next she called out angrily to the dog to let go; and
then, finding he had no idea of obeying her, tore her coat from between
his clenched teeth.

Duke’s answer was to gaze at her reproachfully and then to gather a
larger portion of her clothing in his mouth and start off faster the
second time, with the girl obliged to follow.

Naturally Eugenia was angry. This objectionable dog appeared designed
by fate to be a nuisance to her. Yet she was unable to make up her mind
what to do. She could tear herself away again with another disastrous
result to her clothing; besides, the dog would doubtless seize hold
on her again. And to struggle with the enormous creature could only
bring misfortune upon herself, since there was no doubt of Duke’s
determination.

So for twenty yards or more Eugenia moved along without further
protest, then she concluded to call and summon some one to her
assistance. No one chanced to be in sight, but there were, of course,
several of the hospital workers not far away, so that in case Duke
turned dangerous a shot would quickly put an end to him.

With this thought in mind Eugenia again looked at the dog. He was such
a magnificent creature it would be a tragedy to kill him. Besides, was
she not so sick at heart at all the unnecessary waste of death that she
would not voluntarily destroy the tiniest spark of life?

Something of this feeling must have at this instant communicated itself
to Duke’s intelligence, for suddenly and of his own accord he released
Eugenia’s dress. But instead of leaving her he walked on a few steps
further, stopped, turned around again and made a second appeal and
then went slowly on a few feet more.

Afterwards Eugenia decided that she must have been abnormally dull at
this time. But then her attention had been so concentrated upon the
hope of Barbara’s and Nona’s immediate return. For it was not until
Duke had made his third demand that his purpose finally occurred to
her. Of course, he wished her to go with him to find some lost place or
person.

Eugenia never considered the possible distance that she might be
expected to travel, for all at once she seemed curiously under the
domination of the dog’s desire. For she straightway put her hand
reassuringly upon Duke’s collar.

“It is all right, old fellow, I understand at last and will come along
with you,” she said aloud.

Then in a perfectly matter-of-fact fashion Eugenia moved along by
the dog’s side. Soon after she knew that he was leading her in the
direction of the French trenches which were directly within the firing
line. However, it did not strike her that she was facing any greater
peril than she and the field hospital staff had been enduring all day.
For one grows accustomed to war’s horrors as well as to most other
things.

Nevertheless, Eugenia flinched many times as the dog led the way,
walking now and then beside men’s bodies that did not stir either at
their approach or after their passing. Yet Red Cross nurses must learn
a certain amount of stoicism to be of real value in their work.

Once or twice Eugenia wondered if she could possibly manage to finish
the task Duke required of her in time to leave with the last of the
field hospital staff, yet it was odd how secondary this idea became.

Some other guiding force had taken possession of her at the time, for
the purpose in hand seemed the one thing supremely worth while.

Only through one’s imagination can the picture of a battlefield be
really seen, for even when the eyes behold it, the spirit must act as
its interpreter.

For nearly a year Eugenia had been nursing the soldiers in this worst
of all possible wars, yet it was not until this afternoon that she had
ever visited a battleground while the fighting was going on.

But fortunately the field to which Duke brought her was no longer a
center of the firing. The field lay just behind a trench which but a
few hours before had been a target for German artillery. However, the
trench had already been captured, so that many of the soldiers who lay
dead upon the ground had been killed during their effort to retreat.

Therefore the accident that occurred was not one which could have been
reasonably expected.

With his great head bowed Duke was treading slowly, as if he realized
the ugliness of the human tragedy surrounding them. Neither was Eugenia
thinking of herself; nevertheless, a moment later and she lay stretched
upon the battleground, as still and unconscious as any of the recumbent
figures by whom she had so lately passed.

There for hours Duke stood sentinel beside her, yet not knowing whether
he should go or remain. For while love compelled him in one direction,
his sense of honor constrained him to stay by the companion who had
fallen by his side.

Did Duke realize his own responsibility in the catastrophe, that his
honor prevailed?

The entire afternoon passed and finally evening came and yet Eugenia
did not stir. She looked an incongruous figure on the field of the
dead. For although she wore her nursing cloak it had floated open as
she fell, revealing her woman’s uniform with the cross of crimson upon
her arm.




CHAPTER XVI _The Discovery_


But between eight and nine o’clock on that same evening Eugenia opened
her eyes. She was unable to think clearly at first and stared in
amazement at the canopy of blue sky above her head. What had become of
the familiar ceiling of her room at the farmhouse?

But then her head was aching dully so that it made her more
uncomfortable to try to think at all. She did not even wish to call for
the other girls, because Barbara would probably come to her in a little
while. She remembered that Barbara had been especially kind when she
had just such another absurd headache a short time before.

Closing her eyes again, Eugenia rested. But something warm and soft
seemed to be moving about near her face, breathing over her in a
curious, enveloping fashion impossible from a human being. It was like
a damp cloud.

Putting out her hand, Eugenia touched Duke’s moist nose, and then
almost instantly returned to a knowledge of the situation.

She recalled in detail the events of the past afternoon, but could
find no explanation for her own presence here upon the ground among
the wounded. For she was not suffering sufficient pain to suggest
that she had been shot by a stray rifle ball from the enemy’s lines.
Moreover, Eugenia found that she could move both her arms and legs
without difficulty. They were stiff, but that may have been due either
to fatigue or to her position upon the earth. However, the ache in her
head continued so that Eugenia put up her fingers to her temple. There
was a curious something clotted on her hair at the left side, which she
at once knew to be blood.

Then she understood what had happened. A piece of shell from an
exploding bomb must have struck and stunned her into unconsciousness.
However, it must have come from such a distance that it had spent its
force, for she was not seriously injured. Already the slight scalp
wound had closed and was no longer bleeding.

Eugenia rose up slowly to a sitting position, realizing fully the
gravity of her situation. Yet she would not allow herself to reflect
upon its horrors. She must decide what she should best do. Would it be
wiser to stay where she was for the rest of the night or try to seek
assistance? Yet what had taken place in the countryside during the
afternoon while she lay in a stupor? Were the French or the Germans in
possession of the neighborhood?

However, Eugenia was not to be allowed to reach her decision alone. For
no sooner had she gotten up than Duke once more began pulling at her
dress, very softly at first, as one who has respect for an invalid, but
no less insistently.

A dog’s devotion and a dog’s persistence are two qualities worthy of
human admiration and wonder.

At this moment Eugenia felt both. She laid her hand quietly and
affectionately on Duke’s head.

“I can’t go with you again. I am too used up, Duke, to help you find
your friend. You would simply have another victim on your hands. But
you need stay with _me_ no longer. I shall wait here for you until
daylight.”

But though Eugenia waved her hand in token of dismissal and farewell,
the dog did not leave her, although he seemed to appreciate the fact
that she was unable to accompany him. For he gave up his hold on her
and merely sat down reflectively by her side, as if he too were trying
to decide what course it was wise to pursue.

It was plain that Duke was wretchedly unhappy. If he could not show his
grief in a human fashion, he had his own especial methods. When Eugenia
put her arm about his body she could feel the anguished beating of his
heart.

“I wonder who it can be, Duke, that you wish to find so ardently?” the
girl questioned. “Surely some one whom you love very deeply! I am sorry
to be so useless and it is dreadful to think of your friend’s long
waiting for your return, so you must go, Duke, even if I cannot go
with you. Then if you are no longer needed, come back to me.”

Eugenia made this long speech aloud in a pleading tone, nevertheless
she again discovered that it was easier to say what this great dog
should do than to force him to obey one’s will.

Yet while Eugenia was reflecting upon this fact she had her moment of
inspiration. She knew that in many parts of the army dogs had been
trained for searching out the wounded. Only a short time before in the
papers distributed by the French Red Cross Society she had read that
these dogs were sent forth with long ropes tied about their necks, so
that when possible the wounded were thus dragged to places of aid.

Eugenia had no rope, but one often wonders why women are accused of
being without inventive talents. So far it is true that only a few of
their inventions have been of world value; to find them one must seek
among the homes. This American girl at once slipped off her long cloth
nursing coat. It was of strong, well-woven material, yet she managed
within a few moments to tear it into strips and then to knot the strips
firmly together.

Then she tied the long cord about Duke’s neck. One could not tell
whether the dog would understand his mission, or whether the rope would
be of service when Duke reached his goal. Yet in every uncertainty in
life one must simply attempt the thing that seems most intelligent. And
Eugenia felt convinced that Duke would bring his friend back to her.
Then she could decide on what should be done next.

Duke did seem to understand, for as soon as Eugenia had finished her
task and commanded him to be gone, he trotted obediently off until his
great shadow was lost in the distance.

Then the girl lay down again. She had natural self-control and her
nursing had taught her even more. She must sleep if possible and in any
case not let herself dwell on her own presence here within the field of
the dead.

When Eugenia closed her eyes the moon had not risen and the night was
fairly dark. Half an hour later, when she reopened them, a full moon
had flooded the field with light. She could see Duke approaching at
some yards away. He was moving slowly and it was difficult at first
to find out the reason. Eugenia rose quickly to her feet. Yes, it was
evident now: he _was_ drawing someone along behind him.

The girl walked forward to meet the dog and his burden. Then, although
she had been growing daily more accustomed to war and its inevitable
sorrows, she stopped and drew in her breath sharply. The next instant
Eugenia had forgotten everything but that she was a Red Cross nurse
whose purpose was to do whatever she could to relieve suffering.

The figure that the dog dragged along on the ground had the face turned
downward. But when she lifted the body up Eugenia was not surprised to
recognize in the white, still features, the face of young Captain Henri
Castaigne. All along she had thought it probable that Duke could feel
no such intense devotion for any one save his master.

After the dog’s return the young officer had somehow managed to tie the
long strip of cloth about his own body. He must have realized that he
would lose consciousness on his journey to find succor, for he had been
cruelly wounded in both legs.

Never before had Eugenia felt more painfully helpless. There were so
many things which should be done for the young soldier at once and she
was so unable to do any one of them.

Of course, she knelt and felt the action of his pulse and heart,
finding neither so feeble as she had feared. Then Eugenia, who was
given to definite actions, made another decision.

It would be impossible to be of service to Captain Castaigne here in
an open field with no water near, so far as she knew. She had a little
in the canteen in her pocket, but this would only be enough for him
to drink and would certainly be insufficient for the cleansing of his
wounds. Besides, even with the use of the small flashlight every Red
Cross nurse carries, she was unable to discover whether the rifle
balls were still imbedded in her patient’s flesh. Certainly he must be
carried to some place where he could receive proper attention, but in
the meantime Eugenia thanked Providence that she had with her her bag
of first aid appliances. It had been strapped about her waist while she
sat under the tree earlier in the day, waiting to start out with the
field hospital staff. Until now she had no thought or use for it.

Eugenia used the necessary antiseptics and then bound the wounds as
carefully as possible. But she made no effort to bring her patient back
to consciousness. For the purpose she had in mind it would be best that
he feel and know as little as possible.

Once her task accomplished Eugenia again wound her improvised rope
about Captain Castaigne’s waist. Again she signaled Duke to start upon
a journey, but this time she formed a member of the little party.

Her idea was to get the wounded officer back in the neighborhood of
the field hospital, and then if she could find no aid there, somehow
to reach their own farmhouse. From there word could be sent to the
chateau.

But the trip was a terrible one and took longer hours than one could
have imagined. Now and then Eugenia would try to assist by supporting
the young officer’s body with her own strength. But as she could not
lift him entirely this only seemed to make the task more difficult for
the devoted Duke. Often they were obliged to stop and then Eugenia
would kneel down beside the body to find out if the young man was still
alive.

It was about dawn when they arrived at last in the neighborhood of the
former French field hospital, where the four American girls had been
nursing. But Eugenia found few traces of the hospital left. Everywhere
in the vicinity the ground had been trampled under foot. The white
tents had been folded, and like the proverbial Arabian tents, had
silently stolen away. Neither was there a single human being about.

However, Eugenia had anticipated this. But she had also steadfastly
hoped that here upon more familiar ground she might make some useful
discovery.

Ordering Duke to remain quiet beside his burden, Eugenia started upon a
pilgrimage. She must find something to make the trip to the farmhouse
more endurable, more possible for the young French soldier. Yet she
could not make up her mind to desert him in order to seek for help.

At first, the girl could, of course, find nothing. But by wandering
around on the outskirts of the grounds, where the deserted hospital had
formerly stood, Eugenia finally came across an old wheelbarrow. It had
been used for bringing vegetables to the hospital staff, and being of
no value had been left behind.

Scarcely an ideal motor ambulance for a wounded officer. Nevertheless
Eugenia seized upon the wheelbarrow with almost as much enthusiasm as
if it had been. For at least it had wheels and she would be able to
push it.

Naturally this was a hard task, but one should not think upon the
difficulty when a task is to be accomplished.

The blue front door of the little farmhouse was standing open when
Eugenia reached home. Half lifting and half dragging her patient, she
finally succeeded in placing him upon a small couch in their living
room.

Then, being the methodical person she was, Eugenia went directly to the
kitchen, made herself a cup of coffee and drank it. For her strength
had almost given out and she knew not what work might lie ahead of her.




CHAPTER XVII _Recognition_


However, it was nearly noon before Eugenia made the discovery that
the entire French army in the vicinity had retreated, leaving all
the country nearby in the hands of the Germans. Only then did she
appreciate the difficulty of concealing a young French officer in her
home, who would doubtless be taken prisoner if his presence and his
identity were discovered.

Her information came about in this fashion. For two hours Eugenia
worked with her patient, washing his wounds and even managing to
extract a bullet which had lodged near the surface. Also she bathed his
face and poured brandy between his haggard lips until he opened his
eyes, only to close them again in utter exhaustion. Finally, when she
could do nothing more, Eugenia walked to her front door to get some
fresh air. She meant in a few moments to go to the Chateau d’Amélie and
send old François to the nearest village for a doctor. So far it simply
had not occurred to her that François and his mistress might have
deserted the chateau for the same reason that had compelled the removal
of the field hospital.

Outside, like a tired sentinel, Eugenia found Duke asleep in the front
yard. Then while hesitating to wake him, even to keep guard over his
master, she became vaguely conscious that soldiers were marching past.
The next instant she realized that their uniforms were German and not
French and that they wore the eagle triumphant on their shining helmets.

They were passing close to the little “House with the Blue Front Door,”
so that Eugenia wondered why no one stopped to investigate it. Then she
remembered that Barbara had hung the Red Cross emblem outside and that
the soldiers were treating it with extraordinary respect.

Would they continue to do this after discovering that the only person
beside herself under the protection of the Red Cross flag was an
enemy’s officer?

Eugenia was convinced otherwise. Captain Castaigne would be promptly
taken prisoner so soon as she told of his whereabouts and sent to a
hospital within the German lines. And to be moved at the present time
would probably mean the young officer’s death.

Calling Duke inside, Eugenia closed and bolted the blue front door.
Then she considered whether she could manage to keep the young
Frenchman concealed and yet take the proper care of him. It would be
impossible to expect the assistance of a physician, for the nearest
village would assuredly be occupied by the Germans and to demand a
doctor must mean the betrayal of her patient.

It was possible, however, that she could hide Captain Castaigne away
for a time at least, while she remained unmolested in the little
farmhouse, with Duke as her protector. She would explain to the German
officer in command just what had taken place that caused her to be left
behind by the hospital staff. Then there would be little reason for
interfering with her, unless the farmhouse should be required for the
shelter of the soldiers. But as it was small and somewhat out of the
way she hoped it might be ignored.

The chiefly important thing was to wait quietly until the next morning
and then find out Captain Castaigne’s condition. Eugenia meant to make
as brave a fight for his life as possible. If he recovered there would
be time enough to determine whether he should surrender or make an
effort to escape and rejoin his command. Fortunately there were both
provisions and medical supplies stored in the farmhouse. Judge Thornton
had sent fresh orders of both from Paris quite recently.

So for the rest of the afternoon and evening Eugenia sat by her patient
while Duke crouched on the floor near them both. No one disturbed them;
the little house might have been in the center of a vast desert for
any human interest it created. The day before Eugenia had closed its
outside windows and doors, and since had opened only the one window
necessary for light and air.

For the greater part of the night Captain Castaigne was delirious from
a high fever. Eugenia knew that it would be almost impossible for him
to escape blood poison, after the dirt had been ground into his wounds
from the long dragging of his body on the earth.

Nevertheless, now and then the young officer slept the sleep of utter
exhaustion, with Duke and Eugenia both slumbering beside him whenever
this opportunity came.

Eugenia did not question the reason for her care. She had not liked the
young Frenchman at their first meeting in Paris. Certainly their second
accidental meeting in the woods had not increased her liking. Moreover,
she had been entirely out of sympathy with him, with his mother and
with their French ideas and environment on the afternoon of her one
call.

Yet none of these things counted in the least with Eugenia. Captain
Castaigne was a French soldier, one of the men whom she had come to
Europe to nurse in case he needed her care. Therefore he should have
the best it was in her power to offer.

Once, while in the act of giving him medicine to relieve his fever, the
young man murmured his mother’s name and for the instant Eugenia was
moved to sympathy. All the rest of the time her feeling was entirely
impersonal. Captain Castaigne was merely a patient who must if possible
be kept alive and later restored to health. If she had any feeling in
the matter Eugenia was sorry that she had ever made the young man’s
acquaintance before this night.

Nevertheless, at about six o’clock the following morning, after an
entire hour of refreshing sleep, Eugenia opened her eyes to find her
patient gazing steadfastly at her. For the time being his delirium
had passed and she realized that he recognized her and longed to ask
questions but was still too weak and ill to speak.

A half an hour afterwards, after a few sips of clam bouillon which
chanced to be among the household stores, Captain Castaigne said a few
words.

“_What does this mean?_” he asked in painstaking English, appreciating
even in his present condition that Miss Peabody preferred the
conversation to take place in her native tongue.

Eugenia thought quickly. The young officer could not entirely grasp the
situation even if she were able to tell him the entire story. Moreover,
at present the story was too long and too exciting for him to hear.
Also, he might feel burdened by his obligation to her and unwilling for
her to make the sacrifices necessary for his safety if he learned the
truth now.

So she gazed back at him with the quiet serenity that made her so
valuable a nurse.

“You understand you have been hurt? Well, I have been appointed to take
charge of you. You are to see no one else for a time, not even your
mother. Try to sleep now, for you must be as quiet as possible.”

When Captain Castaigne immediately closed his eyes, Eugenia choked back
a sigh of relief. Evidently so far he had paid no attention to his
strange surroundings. It was her presence alone that had surprised him,
and he would probably be unable to make further inquiries for some time
to come. Possibly he would not even recognize her again. For Eugenia
understood the nature of the disease with which she was to do battle
and realized that there might be weeks of continued delirium.

For the next fourteen days Eugenia was correct in her prognostication.
But as they were a rather dreadful two weeks for her she would never
talk of them freely afterwards. All that time she had but faint hope
that the young soldier would live, and except for her patient and Duke
she was completely alone.

However, Eugenia managed to get the young fellow upstairs and into
Barbara’s former blue bedroom, although he was never conscious of the
change.

She was compelled to do this, or else have her patient discovered. For
she was not to remain entirely undisturbed while the victorious German
soldiers overran the entire neighborhood.

One afternoon, three days after their installation, when fortunately
she chanced to be working in her kitchen, a tremendous knocking
sounded upon the blue front door. Immediately Eugenia conceived that
it was some one sent to inquire why a solitary female should remain
sequestered in a house, when supplies and houses were so much needed
for the German soldiers.

A satisfactory explanation would doubtless be difficult; nevertheless
Eugenia, with a blue check gingham apron over her nursing one and a cup
and saucer and dish towel in her hands, opened the front door.

There was something which she hoped looked “old maidy” in this
suggestion of dishes and tea. Nothing to suggest the concealment of a
young French officer!

Outside her door Eugenia encountered a stiff German youth in an
immaculate uniform, bearing an official letter. The letter commanded
Eugenia to report to the officer in authority in the nearest village.
She was to explain her presence in the neighborhood, her occupation,
and above all offer proof of her nationality.

Therefore, before setting out the next morning Eugenia changed the
quarters of her patient. There could be little doubt that some one
would be sent to investigate the interior of the little “Farmhouse
with the Blue Front Door.” One could scarcely expect to keep a soldier
hidden in the only room of any size in the house.

Fortunately Barbara’s room was the most inconspicuous of the four
bedrooms. Besides, Eugenia had a certain scheme in mind which she hoped
might help when the critical moment arrived.

Naturally Eugenia had passports and certificates to identify herself as
an American Red Cross nurse. But she also took with her to the colonel
of the German regiment another paper of a different character. However,
she did not mean to show this before feeling her way very carefully.
The paper was a check for a large sum of money on an American bank in
Boston and signed with her own name.

At the improvised office of the German colonel, Eugenia told her story
as briefly as possible. Moreover, she told the exact truth in regard
to herself in every detail up to a certain moment. This was the moment
when she awakened to consciousness after being struck by a German shell.

There was nothing antagonistic in Eugenia’s manner with the officer.
She explained to him that the little French farmhouse had been allotted
to the use of the four American Red Cross nurses and that the other
three girls had retreated with the French field hospital staff. Then
she asked that she be allowed to remain in their house until such time
as she could communicate with her friends in America. As she was alone
it would be impossible to have German soldiers quartered upon her.

At this moment Eugenia put her hand upon the check in her pocket.

Very frankly she then declared that she realized it to be each person’s
duty to assist with the shelter and feeding of a victorious army. But
as she was unable to do either of these things, would not the colonel
accept money instead? She trusted that he would not be offended by
her unusual suggestion, for it appeared to her the only just and fair
thing to do under the circumstances. Finally after further discussion
and hesitation and another careful study of her passports, the German
officer agreed to do what Eugenia had suggested. However, he insisted,
as a matter of necessary formality, that two German soldiers be sent
to her house next day on a tour of inspection. When they came Eugenia
had the courage to show them into the very blue bedroom where the young
French officer lay concealed. But beforehand, and in spite of her
Puritan ancestry, she explained that this room was her own bedchamber.
Moreover, to prove that she had nothing to keep secret she had entirely
emptied her closet. Her own clothes, beside all those that the other
three girls had left behind, were thrown with pretended carelessness
on top the very bed where Captain Castaigne lay hidden under a pile of
bedclothes.

The young Frenchman was in a stupor from fever at the time, so Eugenia
considered that there could be little risk of his either moving or
speaking. However, if risk there was, she felt compelled to take it.

The German soldiers made no effort to give this special room a thorough
investigation. They merely glanced in, and then, like the proverbial
ten thousand men of King George’s army, marched out again.

After this Eugenia was troubled no further by intruders from the ranks
of the Allies’ enemy. Her next visitor was of a much more unexpected
character.




CHAPTER XVIII _Out of the Depth_


All one night Eugenia feared that Captain Castaigne would die.

This was the fourteenth night after the beginning of his fever and
a crisis in the disease. So for twenty-four hours she did not have
one-half hour of uninterrupted sleep. It was not because the young man
needed her constant care, for indeed he was never conscious of her
existence. When he called it was always to ask for some one else, and
yet it was always Eugenia who answered. Then for a little while at
least the patient would seem to be satisfied.

But if at their first accidental meeting in Paris the four American
Red Cross girls had considered Captain Castaigne absurdly young for
his captain’s commission, what must they have thought of him now? To
Eugenia he appeared like a boy of sixteen.

It is true that he had a tiny dark moustache, but except for this his
face remained smooth. Then his nurse had been compelled to cut off
all his dark hair in order to cool his head, and his slender body had
become wasted and his eyes sunken. Indeed, the features, which Eugenia
had once considered too perfect for a man’s, now frequently made her
think of a delicate cameo, when he lay with his face in profile against
the pure white of his pillow.

Watching him on this night, which she feared might be his last, Eugenia
felt unusually moved.

After all, he must have been a brave and capable fellow to have
received his present rank in the French army while still so young.
Moreover, there was a possibility that Captain Castaigne had more
force of character than she had ever given him credit for. Had he not
rebelled against his mother’s ideas of rank and dignity, and in spite
of his devotion to her refused to keep his title in a country which was
now a republic? Of course, Eugenia could not believe that the young
man really had the true democratic spirit in which she so thoroughly
trusted. Still there was a chance that he might not be so futile a
character as she had first supposed.

Leaning over to wipe her patient’s face with a damp cloth, Eugenia
made up her mind to one thing. If Captain Castaigne died she would go
at once to the German colonel in command of the French village and
confess what she had done. Of necessity she must be punished for her
falsehood and treachery, but surely she would be permitted to send for
the Countess Amélie at the last. The young French officer could be of
no interest to his enemies after his death.

But where the Countess could be hiding, nor whom she could find to
send for her, Eugenia had not the faintest idea. For these past two
weeks she had been so entirely shut away from the outside world. Except
for her one visit to the German colonel she had never left the little
“House with the Blue Front Door” since the night she first brought her
patient into it. Nor had Eugenia received a single line from any one
of the other three Red Cross girls to afford her the faintest idea
of what could have become of them. But she did not worry so much as
she might have done at a time when she was less occupied. Besides,
naturally she believed that the three girls were with the French field
hospital at some point back of the line of the French army’s retreat.

Toward dawn Eugenia knew that the hour of greatest danger to her
patient would arrive. For it is an acknowledged scientific fact that
life is at its lowest ebb with the rising and the setting of the sun.

Therefore, just before this time Eugenia left her patient’s bedside and
went into the room adjoining, which she used for her own needs. There
she washed her face and hands in cold water and, letting down her heavy
hair, plaited it in two braids. She was very tired and yet must prepare
herself to meet the coming hour with all the strength and wisdom she
could muster.

Even as she made her toilet she was aware of the feverish muttering
of the young officer. His stupor had passed several days before, but
since his nurse could not decide whether his weak restlessness and
almost incessant crying out were not worse symptoms. Certainly they
were more trying upon her nerves.

“Ma mère, ma mère,” he was repeating his mother’s name over and over
again, as if he must see her again before his spirit could leave his
body.

Eugenia slipped back and for the hundredth time laid her hand gently
on the young fellow’s brow. Somehow he must be quieted, comforted
into thinking his mother near him. Then if he never returned to
consciousness he would pass out of the world’s alarms with a sense of
her presence.

Do you recall that Barbara Meade had discovered a wonderful, healing
quality in the touch of Eugenia’s hands? It is true that a few people
have this vital, health-giving quality in their hands, which is not
true of others.

Anyhow, Eugenia’s patient grew quieter, although he still murmured a
broken word now and then. He was strangely pathetic, because, however
much he might move his arms and the upper part of his body, his legs
remained lifeless. For now and then when he had endeavored to change
his position the pain had been so great as to pierce through his stupor.

“Mon fils, mon fils,” Eugenia whispered several times. It was all the
French she dared permit herself to speak, and yet the simple words “my
son,” even spoken by a New England old maid, carried their magic.

Yet Eugenia was looking little like an old maid as she leaned over the
French boy--and he was scarcely more than a boy. She wore the violet
wrapper, and as she kneeled her long dark braids of hair lay upon the
floor. She too had grown thin and white from her two weeks’ vigil of
nursing, cooking, taking entire charge of her patient, herself and
the little house. Nevertheless, Eugenia’s face had for some reason
softened, perhaps because she was too weary and too selfless in her
devotion to her patient to feel superior to any earthly thing. At this
moment her eyes were both sad and hopeful, while her lashes looked
longer and darker than usual against the pallor of her cheeks.

Finally Captain Castaigne moved away from the soft pressure of his
nurse’s hands. As he moved with more strength than Eugenia believed him
to possess, for the next instant she watched him even more closely.

He was muttering a number of confused phrases, now and then what
sounded like a command to his soldiers. Then all at once he stopped and
laughed a little foolishly.

“Eugenia Peabody,” he pronounced the words distinctly, although with
a French accent which made the name more attractive than it ever had
before. “Eugenié Paybodé” was the way it sounded to its possessor.

Eugenia stared more closely. Could Captain Castaigne know her once
again? Since the first night after his injury he never seemed to have
been aware of her identity.

A further glance into his eyes showed this was not true. There was no
sign of intelligence there, only vagueness and a confused groping in
the dark.

“Mademoiselle Paybodé, she is what you call in English ‘an old maid.’”

Then the young officer laughed boyishly, as if he and a friend had been
discussing a new acquaintance and found the subject amusing.

Eugenia flushed. It was absurd, but for the moment she felt hurt and
angry. Few of us like to be the subject of a joke and Eugenia was not
gifted with much sense of humor. But a little later she had the grace
to be ashamed of herself. However she might dislike the young Frenchman
whom she had been nursing so faithfully, she must remember that he had
unfailing good manners. Their one unfortunate meeting had been due to a
mistake on his part. Afterwards he had done all that he could to make
amends. Certainly he would be the last person to be rude to her under
the present circumstances if he had known what he was saying! Moreover,
the minute after he continued talking at random upon subjects which had
no possible connection.

Soon after, glancing at her watch, Eugenia got up and crossed the
room. The next instant she returned in order to take her patient’s
temperature. His fever was not so high, but then his pulse and heart
seemed to be growing dangerously weaker. Giving him the necessary
stimulant, she again stood by his bedside, watching and waiting.

Captain Castaigne was no longer talking in his delirium. He had grown
quieter and was staring, yet with an unseeing expression, at the
ceiling overhead. At this moment Eugenia discovered that the dawn had
come at last. A shaft of yellow light had entered the high window and
shone across the wounded officer’s face. It gave him such a curiously
transfigured look that for an instant Eugenia was frightened. But the
next, realizing what had occurred, she walked across to the window and
stood looking out at the country.

The morning wind blew across her face. The dawn was a cold December one
and yet the air was grateful. A little later Duke came and thrust his
great head into Eugenia’s hand. Until this moment he had not left his
place by his master’s bedside since twilight the day before. But now he
too seemed to feel that there was nothing more love or vigilance could
do. One must simply wait.

The landscape was particularly lovely this morning, Eugenia thought. A
white frost lay upon the meadows and trees like a veil, and one could
not see the devastation that the recent fighting must have brought
upon the countryside. Eugenia had the right to feel rather like a
prisoner, and yet she was not at this time conscious of herself. She
was wondering how the Countess Amélie could live when she learned that
her only son had fallen a victim to the enemy who had despoiled her
land and captured her home. She was an old woman and this would be too
full a measure of sorrow.

How long Eugenia stood at the window she did not know. It could
scarcely have been more than a few moments, yet when she turned around
she was not aware of what had influenced her. Perhaps it was Duke’s
desertion, for once more he had marched over to his master’s side.
Here, he stood sentinel with his eyes fixed on the young captain’s
face. He no longer crouched upon the floor as he had been doing for the
past twelve hours.

Straightway Eugenia experienced a sudden rushing of warm blood to her
own cheeks and a flooding sense of happiness and warmth.

For Captain Castaigne was looking at her gravely, yet with entire
recognition.

“I have come back to fight once more for France because of you,” he
whispered. Then, in spite of his exhaustion, he tried gallantly to lift
Eugenia’s fingers to his lips. But finding himself too weak, he simply
lay still and smiled at her.

Utterly ridiculous in a self-possessed person like Eugenia! But because
she felt a sudden overpowering inclination to burst into tears of
relief at her patient’s safety, she frowned upon him sternly instead.

“You are not to stir or speak until I return,” she announced severely,
and then deliberately left the room. Of course, she intended to get
some simple nourishment for the young officer at once, but this was
not the important reason for her withdrawal. Certainly Eugenia did not
so far intend to forget her dignity as a nurse as to show emotion!

At about noon on the same day Eugenia was cheerfully working downstairs
in the little French kitchen, while Captain Castaigne was sleeping
quietly upstairs with the door open so that she could hear his faintest
move.

For the kitchen had to be seriously considered. The supply of food
necessary for an invalid was growing dangerously low in their larder,
and for the next few weeks the wounded soldier must have proper
nutriment. After an hour’s investigation Eugenia decided that she must
go to the village and see what could be done. It would be difficult to
leave her patient alone, but his life was no longer in danger. Time
would bring healing, if nothing of an unexpected nature occurred.

Then Eugenia heard a gentle tapping at her kitchen door. It was much
the same noise that François had been accustomed to make on his daily
visits with supplies from the chateau. For a moment Eugenia hoped that
François might have come unexpectedly to their aid. But on opening the
door, she found a wholly unexpected visitor.

A young girl of about sixteen stood outside. At first Eugenia did not
recognize her. Then she saw that she wore a torn skirt and a little
scarlet cap and that she was singularly pretty and graceful.

Like a flash a picture came before her; it was the figure of a little
girl dancing before a group of French soldiers. What was the name
Barbara had afterwards called her, the name of some character in an old
French romance?

“Nicolete,” Eugenia said suddenly. And drawing the girl inside the
little kitchen, she carefully closed the outside door.




CHAPTER XIX _Eugenia_


This year in the southern portion of France it was March, not May, that
came singing over the land. The days were soft and serene with the
warmth and sunshine of late spring.

In front of the Chateau d’Amélie a peacock walked slowly across the
lawn, spreading his tail and then arching his neck in an effort to
behold his own grandeur. Near him two girls were walking up and down
with a young man dressed in the uniform of a British officer. Not far
away in a somewhat neglected garden a French peasant woman was laying
a cloth on a wooden table and setting out cups and saucers of fine old
china. It was self-evident that an afternoon meal of some kind was in
preparation and that the two girls and young man were waiting for it to
be made ready, and perhaps for other guests as well.

This was all taking place in the very neighborhood which a few months
before had been overrun by the German troops after the retreat of the
French army. But the French had returned unto their own again, at least
in this particular vicinity where the Chateau d’Amélie had stood for
several centuries. Six weeks after their retreat before the superior
forces of the German enemy, the French had retaken their deserted
trenches, after driving the enemy out of the neighborhood. More than
this, they had afterwards forced the Germans to retire a quarter of a
mile further back beyond the borders of Alsace-Lorraine.

Therefore happiness, or at least a degree of it, reigned once more in
this portion of France, and in no place perhaps was there a fuller
share than in the Chateau d’Amélie.

“What do you suppose has become of Captain Castaigne? He promised to
join us at four o’clock,” one of the girls inquired carelessly.

Before her question could be answered a wheeled chair appeared at one
side of the garden with a young man seated in it. His face and figure
suggested a semi-invalid, but his costume revealed extreme care and
elegance. Moreover, his expression was radiant.

“Mes amis, you are more than welcome,” he cried, speaking a rather
absurd mixture of French and English. Then turning to the little old
man at the back of his chair he urged him to hurry, until the chair,
its driver and rider, fairly rollicked over the uneven lawn.

There Captain Castaigne gravely shook hands with his guests, Nona
Davis and Barbara Meade, who had just come to the chateau from the
little “Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door.” Afterwards he smiled at
his friend Lieutenant Robert Hume, who was at present a visitor in his
house.

“Mother will be here in a moment,” he explained. “She has asked me to
beg her adored American girl friends to wait a few moments until she is
able to be with them. The truth is, Madame la Comtesse is at present
engaged in making _petit gateaux_--little cakes, I believe you say.
She would not trust the peasant Emma with so delicate a commission.
But where is Mademoiselle Paybodé? Surely she has not forgotten her
promise!”

Captain Castaigne’s face had suddenly changed; he seemed to be both
annoyed and disappointed. So as usual Barbara spoke impulsively without
thinking beforehand.

“Oh, Eugenia is so tiresome!” she began with a little stamp of her
foot. “Nona and I thought all along up until the very last minute that
she was coming with us this afternoon. Then she insisted that she had a
slight headache and had best rest and read so it would not grow worse.
The truth is, I don’t believe she wanted to come. Besides, she had
the audacity to announce that she thought we would have a better time
without her.”

Then Barbara ceased her confession, conscious that Nona was frowning
upon her and that it was scarcely good manners to have spoken so
freely. When would she ever get over her dreadful western candor?

“I am sure Barbara is mistaken in at least a portion of her tirade,”
Nona interrupted. “Eugenia did have a headache or else she could not
have failed to wish to spend the afternoon with Madame Castaigne.
Really, I don’t think Eugenia is very well, although she will not admit
it. But since we came back to the farmhouse she has never been just the
same. She does not do half such hard nursing as she once did and yet
she is often tired and unlike herself. I expect----” Then Nona stopped
talking and laughed, for she had discovered Barbara smiling upon her
with wicked satisfaction. Having broken into the conversation to stem
the flood of Barbara’s tactlessness, she had now plunged in even deeper
than her friend.

There was no one, however, to save her from the results of her
stupidity, for Henri Castaigne had flushed and looked miserably
uncomfortable as soon as she spoke.

“There is small wonder that Miss Paybodé is not so strong as she once
was. When I think of all that she went through in those miserable weeks
with me, I cannot see how she endured it. It must have killed any one
else. Then there was the secrecy and the long concealment even when I
had sufficiently recovered to have been made a prisoner by the enemy.
Such strength, such courage! Mon Dieu, how shall I ever repay her?”

The young French officer looked so unnecessarily tragic that to save
the situation his three friends laughed.

“Oh, goodness, you don’t have to repay Eugenia! I am sure she really
loved taking care of you,” Barbara interposed. “Besides, I expect she
bullied you abominably. She adores bossing people. But there is my
Countess, I know she wishes to speak to me first, since I’m sure she
likes me best. _Au revoir._” And Barbara ran off in the direction of
the garden, where the figure of the Countess Amélie had just appeared,
leaving her three companions to follow.

Nona then walked along by one side of Captain Castaigne’s chair, with
Lieutenant Hume on the other, while old François pushed nobly in the
rear.

The French officer made no effort to hide his annoyance at Barbara’s
frankness. He was still weak and sometimes a little querulous after his
long illness.

“Miss Meade does not understand, she does not appreciate Miss Paybodé,”
he began. “Even my mother, although she is on her knees to my friend
because of her great kindness to me, even she cannot see all that
Eugenié has been, all that she is----”

This appeared to be a conversation of unfinished sentences, of things
better left unsaid, for Captain Castaigne now looked as if he would
give a great deal to have kept his last remark to himself.

However, Nona Davis had the exquisite tact of many southern girls and
apparently had heard only the first part of her host’s speech.

“Oh, you must not misunderstand Barbara and Eugenia,” she explained.
“Most of the time they disagree on every subject. But the truth is
they are really tremendously fond of each other. Why, now that Mildred
Thornton is in Paris with her brother Dick, I feel quite left out.
Barbara used to weep for Eugenia every night after we made our escape
with your mother and François through the passage under the chateau.
You see when we learned that she was not with Mildred, but had been
left behind, naturally we supposed that something dreadful had happened
to her. And of course Barbara understood how self-sacrificing Eugenia
always is and feared she had given her life for some one else. If you
only knew how happy we all were when we finally learned that you were
both alive and that Eugenia was caring for you!”

“But how did you hear?” Lieutenant Hume demanded. The little party had
now almost reached the garden where the table was spread for their
entertainment, so there was but little time for Nona’s story.

“Oh, we heard through a little French girl, Nicolete. You see, she came
to the farmhouse one day to see Eugenia, and after they had talked a
while Eugenia discovered that she was a friend of Captain Castaigne’s.
Then she told her that he was in hiding. After that Nicolete used to
come every day and bring supplies and seemed devoted to Eugenia. Well,
you remember Madame told you how François finally made his way back
to this neighborhood to try and find out what had become of Captain
Castaigne. You see the Countess was in despair, as naturally we all
believed that Captain Castaigne had been killed or taken prisoner, but
François would not give up. He was unkindly treated by the Germans when
he first came home, but afterwards they allowed him to work for them.
Then of course he saw Nicolete and she told him what had happened. So
we actually knew where Eugenia and Captain Castaigne were before we
were able to get back here. But you can imagine how anxious we used to
feel for fear they would be discovered and something dreadful done to
both of them!”

“It is a perfectly ripping story,” Lieutenant Hume answered
convincingly. But he added nothing more, as Madame Castaigne at this
moment came forward to greet Nona. Actually the old French lady put
both her hands on Nona’s cheeks and kissed her daintily on the lips.
For the two young American girls had become her devoted friends and
admirers during the weeks they spent together after their escape from
the chateau.

An hour later they were still sitting talking cheerfully together
in the old French garden. Only their host had disappeared. Captain
Castaigne had asked to be excused, and as he was still an invalid no
one thought seriously of his departure. Presumably he had retired
to his own apartments to rest. But the young French officer had not
felt like going indoors, although he was not in the mood for further
conversation. As it was still early in the afternoon he had asked
François to wheel his chair down into the woods which lay between the
chateau and the little “Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door.”




CHAPTER XX _The Pool of Truth_


There by the pool on a log with a book in her lap sat Eugenia. She
was not reading, however, although her book lay open. At the sound of
Captain Castaigne’s chair approaching she looked toward him.

The young man’s expression was severe on this occasion, not Eugenia’s.

“I am sorry to intrude upon you,” he began stiffly. “Your friends told
me that you were suffering from a headache; naturally I did not expect
to find you here.”

In response Eugenia smiled good-naturedly, just as one might to a
fretful child. She had gotten up at once and now came forward and took
the young man’s hand.

“I did have a headache, Captain Castaigne. I am too good a Puritan to
have told a complete story. But while I did not feel well enough to
see and talk to a number of persons, I did not desire to go to bed,
where Barbara was pleased to send me by way of punishment. Besides,
I knew your mother would prefer to have the two girls to herself. I
really think she misses them now that they can see so little of each
other. But why talk about me? You are stronger every day, aren’t you?
Can’t you walk with your crutches if François is near? Come, won’t you
try now? I am sure I can catch you if you are too much for François.”

Two spots of angry color appeared in Captain Castaigne’s cheeks.

“I am through with your support, Miss Paybodé,” he returned curtly.
“When I choose to walk I prefer not to be held up by a woman.”

“Oh,” Eugenia answered, and stared at her former patient helplessly.
What had she said or done to make him so angry?

But the next instant the young officer had taken her hand and in French
fashion touched it with his lips.

“Forgive me,” he said, “I am impossible. This, after I depended on you
so long for every care. If you will be so good, I think I should like
to sit there on the log where you were sitting.”

During his illness Eugenia had grown so accustomed to these swift
changes of mood in her patient that she paid no especial attention to
this one. Instead she helped him out of his chair and kept at his side
while he hobbled over to the log she had just deserted.

But when she stood above him looking down upon him with pride and
satisfaction over his achievement he grew angry again.

“If you cannot sit beside me I have no idea of taking your place,” he
protested.

The next instant Eugenia sank meekly down. It rather amused her to have
Captain Castaigne treat her in this fashion.

Just before them was the small lake which Nona and Barbara had
discovered the first morning after their arrival at the farmhouse. It
was shadowy now with the coming of evening, but still the water was
coolly clear. Its beauty soothed one to silence.

It was Eugenia who spoke first.

“I am glad to have this moment here with you, Captain Castaigne,” she
began, with a return to her former manner. “Because I wish to tell you
and have you explain to your mother that Nona and Barbara and I may be
leaving this part of the country in a little while. The truth is, our
services as nurses are not needed here as they were some months ago.
There is little fighting going on and several new French nurses came
down from Paris the other day. Besides this, Mrs. Thornton and Judge
Thornton have grown very nervous and unhappy over Mildred, as well as
the rest of us, in the last few weeks. They have both written to urge
me to persuade the other girls to join me and go into Belgium to help
with the relief work there. You are almost well now, so I shall be able
to say good-by with much greater satisfaction.”

This last speech Eugenia made in a gracious tone and yet her companion
received it ungraciously. And this in spite of the fact that his manner
was usually charming.

“There is no time when you would not say good-by to me with
satisfaction, Miss Paybodé,” he returned. “However, if I am spared
perhaps I may some day show my appreciation of your great kindness.
I have written my colonel to say that I shall be able to rejoin my
command in another week or ten days. I have wasted much valuable
time with two illnesses. Perhaps the third may be my lucky one!” he
finished, casting his dark eyes upward with dramatic intensity.

In reply Eugenia actually patted his knee in a comforting, motherly
fashion.

“Don’t be absurd. You cannot return to your command for two or three
months at least,” she admonished.

“Two or three weeks shall be the limit to my patience,” her companion
repeated, still talking like a sulky boy.

Eugenia frowned. “I shall speak to your mother. She will never allow
it.” Again her manner was that of a New England school teacher.
Nevertheless Captain Castaigne did not smile. Yet he seemed to have
forgotten his age and dignity as well as rank in the army, for you see
he had been a good many weeks under Eugenia’s discipline.

“The day you go to Belgium I shall return to my post,” he muttered.

Eugenia would like to have shaken him. Had he been in the little
“Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door,” she would simply have gotten up
at this instant and left her patient until he had learned to behave
himself. But at present the circumstances were different, and besides
she might not have a chance to talk to him again. So somehow he must be
made to behave sensibly.

“You will do no such thing. You owe more than that to me,” Eugenia
protested unexpectedly. A few moments before she would not have
believed that any earthly thing could have forced her to mention,
either to Captain Castaigne or to any one else, the sacrifices which
she had made for him. But now she had spoken deliberately and meaning
exactly what she said.

Nevertheless the young French officer did not answer immediately.

“Eugenié,” he said finally, and the querulous, boyish note in his voice
had quite gone, “you must listen to me. I have been talking like a
child, but I am scarcely surprised at myself, since you have always
insisted upon treating me as scarcely more than a child. I have borne
with it because I have been ill and you have known me only in that
condition. But, Eugenié, I will endure it no longer.”

The young man’s voice held a quietly determined quality. He was
perfectly courteous and yet his listener understood at this instant why
he was considered one of the most forceful as well as one of the most
popular of the younger officers in the French service.

Nevertheless Eugenia scarcely knew how or what to reply.

“I am so sorry, Captain Castaigne,” she answered. “I have not intended
to fail in respect to you. But perhaps I have unintentionally presumed
on your long weakness and dependence upon me.”

And this from Eugenia! Moreover, her face had flushed and she could not
lift her lids because of the tears in her eyes. Yet she was not really
angry with Captain Castaigne.

The next time he spoke his voice was once more gentle and he even
managed to smile.

“You know that is not what I mean in the least. It is absurd of you
to talk of showing proper respect to me, Eugenié, as if I were your
commanding officer. Surely you understand that when a man cares for a
woman as I do for you, there is but one thing possible between them.
They must love each other fully and equally. I know you have nothing
but a kindly feeling for me, but you shall not go away, when I may
never see you again, without hearing the truth.”

Still Eugenia did not understand! Nevertheless her face grew pale
instead of flushed and her dark eyes gazed into her companion’s almost
curiously.

Yet the next moment, when Captain Castaigne touched her hand with
infinite gentleness and respect, she drew it coldly away from him.

“I quite understand your gratitude, Captain Castaigne. But please
appreciate the fact that it is unnecessary for you to go this far to
express your obligation. I have only done for you what I would have
done for any one in the world under the same circumstances.”

“I am entirely aware of that fact,” the young officer answered curtly.

Then he and Eugenia both maintained a dignified silence for the space
of sixty seconds.

By this time the girl rose up.

“This is our good-by, perhaps. We may not see each other alone again.
You must forgive me if I seem to be cold and unfeeling. Of course, I
should have cared for any one just as I cared for you. But I should not
have been so glad to have been given the opportunity had my patient
been any other person.” Eugenia was trying her best to cast aside the
cold and formal manner which had made her misunderstood all the days
of her life. In her earnestness somehow she looked younger and humbler
than usual. Indeed, she was a very fair and lovely woman standing
there with her hands clasped before her. Her eyes were shining with
the sincerity of her emotion, while her attitude expressed a strange
mixture of dignity and appeal.

“When we first met each other, Captain Castaigne, I confess I had a
wrong idea of you. Now I feel that I could have rendered France no
greater service than to have saved your life. Since I came abroad to
nurse in order to help the little I am able, perhaps my coming has not
been in vain. Good-by.”

She was moving away, when the young officer reached out and took hold
of her skirt.

“Please don’t go for another moment,” he pleaded. “Of course I
understand that so noble a woman cannot love a man who has so little to
offer as I have. Why, in spite of all our lands, my mother and I are
little more than paupers! And if I am spared when this war is over,
perhaps I shall always be lame.”

The girl was standing looking down at the young fellow whose head was
slightly bowed, when instinctively she laid her firm, beautiful hand
on his head with unconscious sympathy and tenderness. She had done the
same thing so many times before during his illness. But Eugenia’s hand
now trembled a little, for she was slowly beginning to appreciate what
Captain Castaigne had been trying to say to her.

Curious, for Eugenia to think first that she had never received a
proposal before in her life, or she might have known better how to
receive it. Then her next sensation was an odd combination of gratitude
and protest.

“I have been very stupid, Captain Castaigne, and you have been very
good,” she answered. “But even if you believe what you have just said
to me, and of course I know that you would not deceive me, you yourself
must realize that nothing but friendship can ever exist between us.
I am several years older than you, and I have no delusions about my
own attractions. You are young and brilliant, but then I need not
enumerate your gifts,” the girl added, smiling with a kind of gentle
humorousness she had never possessed before. “All this is merely
gratitude you feel toward me, and a little affection because of my care
of you. Six months from now I shall be only a memory.”

“Then you _do not_ love me?” Captain Castaigne inquired bluntly. He it
was who had now cast aside all his soft graciousness of manner, the
delicate evasions of the direct truth, that sometimes constitute what
is known as a charming manner. It was Eugenia who, in spite of her
Puritan faith and training, was refusing to meet the issue fairly.

She hesitated because the truth overwhelmed her. The idea of caring for
Captain Castaigne except as a friend had never for a single instant
before occurred to her. Of course, he had filled her life and thoughts
for many weeks, but that was because of the peculiar situation into
which they had been forced by circumstances. Moreover, the thought of
their never meeting again had given her a sense of loss and emptiness.
Yet Eugenia stuck by her colors gallantly.

“That is not the important question, Captain Castaigne, and I cannot
answer you. For always there would remain an impossible gulf between
us. There is your position, your mother’s disappointment, our different
ways of looking at life. Why, you would soon become dreadfully ashamed
of a New England old maid endeavoring to turn herself into a charming
young wife.”

Eugenia glanced into the little pool of water near by, shadowed by the
trees. “Nona has been calling this tiny lake ‘The Pool of Melisande,’
Captain Castaigne, but to me it is a mirror of truth, in which I can
see myself only too plainly. It is growing late and you must not be
out in the cold air. Please let me call François and have him take you
home.”

Receiving no reply but a quiet look of determination, Eugenia summoned
the old man. Then she assisted François to get the young officer back
into his wheeled chair and afterwards stood watching them until they
had both disappeared.

Then, as it was almost twilight, Eugenia turned and began to walk
slowly toward the little French farmhouse. She realized that she had
just deliberately turned her back upon the fairest opportunity life
might ever offer her. Nevertheless, both her conscience and her brain
approved her action.

“There is only one thing which I might have confided and did not,”
Eugenia murmured reflectively. “Perhaps I should have explained that it
would not matter in the least that Henri and his mother have no money.
I have more than enough for us all.” Then as she drew nearer home:
“Never mind, Captain Castaigne will soon have forgotten what he has
just said to me. But perhaps it is just as well that we are soon to go
into Belgium to help with the Red Cross work there, for I may not find
it quite so easy to forget.”

When she reached home it was dark. But as the other girls had not
yet returned from the chateau, Eugenia went upstairs to her own room
without making a light. There she flung herself down upon the bed,
remembering gratefully that because she had a headache, she might
reasonably be allowed to spend the evening alone. Then Barbara would
have no chance to ask questions.

       *       *       *       *       *

The third volume in the American Girls’ Red Cross series is to be known
as “The Red Cross Girls in Belgium.” In this story the four girls will
be at work in an even more tragically interesting land. Here their
adventures and their romances will continue and one of the girls at
least shall find what is at once the end and the beginning of a girl’s
career.

The book will also deal with conditions in Belgium at the present time
and show how the people of the United States have brought aid and
relief to a suffering nation.




       *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber’s note:

Punctuation has been made consistent.

Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in
the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have
been corrected.

The following change was made:

p. 179: ” inserted (the enemy!” They)