CHAPTER XVII
TWO OFFICERS
A week later two young officers were guests at the farm house on the Aisne, one of them an American aerial lieutenant, the other a lieutenant in the French cavalry.
Following his telegram within a few days, Lieutenant Ralph Marshall had arrived to spend a short furlough, ostensibly with the entire group of American Camp Fire girls, although in reality his visit was to Peggy Webster. Notwithstanding the fact that he and Peggy were not supposed to be engaged, chiefly because of Peggy’s youth, they shared a different conviction from their families.
The other young officer was none other than “Sally’s soldier.” Absurd as the title appeared, particularly to Sally herself, nevertheless under this name he was discussed secretly and at length in the Camp Fire household.
Toward late afternoon on the day after Sally’s enforced confession, accompanied only by Old Jean, Miss Patricia Lord had tramped across the fields to the French château and had there interviewed its inmate with a directness and a searchlight quality worthy of a public prosecutor.
As a result she had received more valuable information than Sally Ashton had acquired in the hour of their mutual and confused avowal. Among other things Miss Patricia had learned that the wounded officer’s extraordinary outfit was due to the fact that he believed it would make his escape more feasible.
But whatever the details of his story, he was able to inspire Miss Patricia with sufficient interest and faith to admit him as a temporary guest at the farm house in spite of the absence of Mrs. Burton.
However, although undoubtedly a guest, he was a guest according to rules and restrictions laid down and adhered to by Miss Patricia and her household.
In the first place, until he had completely recovered he was to remain in his room at the farm house, cared for only by old Jean with occasional visits from Miss Patricia. Under no circumstances was he to see or meet for the present a single one of the Camp Fire girls. This rule was particularly to be observed with regard to Sally Ashton.
Miss Patricia made no effort to conceal her intention of making a thorough investigation of the account of his life the French officer had imparted to her. She knew it would not be so difficult to verify his statements. It was possible to communicate with the commander of his regiment and also his friends, as he claimed to have lived in the French country not many miles away from their neighborhood in the valley of the Aisne. After his recovery doubtless he would be able to find a number of his former acquaintances by returning to his old home.
It was in his favor that the French officer entirely agreed with Miss Patricia’s attitude in every particular save one. But he was wise enough not to argue with her concerning this. In truth, thirty-six hours after his installation at the farm house, the young Frenchman and Miss Patricia had become surprisingly intimate friends. One could explain this by stating that the officer had a delightful sense of humor and a valuable appreciation of character. Miss Patricia announced that no friendship could have been possible between them if Lieutenant Fleury’s mother had not had the good sense to have him taught English by an English governess when he was a small boy. His accent Miss Patricia considered as peculiar as her own French one, nevertheless they were able to understand each other amazingly well.
One brilliant morning Miss Patricia entered the French officer’s room bearing a cup of bouillon to find him staring out a window which he had just opened in order to let in the air and for another purpose which Miss Patricia instantly suspected.
“Breaking parole,” she commented tersely.
The young officer had not heard her entrance. In return he swung round and laughed.
“Is that fair, Miss Lord? A cat may look at a king, comme cá why not at a number of queens? Besides, don’t you realize it is a miracle for a French soldier to be able to dream that these devastated fields of France are soon to become green and fruitful again? Having lost everything in the early days of the German invasion, my family, home, my small fortune, nevertheless I rejoice that for other French soldiers there may be a happier future when they return to their former homes, thanks to the great hearts of the American people!”
The young officer’s deep feeling and his quiet self-contained manner caused a lump to rise in Miss Patricia’s throat and a mist before her eyes. Therefore her manner became more belligerent than ever.
“Here, sit down and drink this,” she commanded. “I suppose you consider that you have entirely recovered your strength and that I am the veriest old termagant not to permit you to enjoy your convalescence with a group of more or less charming American girls. But as a matter of fact I am really protecting you as well as the girls. We have lived without masculine society, unless you wish to count old Jean, ever since our arrival at the farm house. So whatever your impression, I am afraid you would soon be overpowered with attention once I allowed you to leave this room.”
Lieutenant Fleury finished his bouillon with a proper degree of gratitude and enthusiasm before replying.
Afterwards he gazed at Miss Patricia for several moments in silence as if carefully considering a number of important matters.
The young French officer was of more than medium height, had dark eyes and hair, and except when he was talking, his expression was grave and sad. His arm remained bandaged.
“Miss Patricia, I do not wish to meet all your Camp Fire girls. I agree with you I am not strong enough to make myself agreeable to them. But I do wish to see one of them again. You are aware that I mean Miss Ashton. If ever a man had cause to be grateful to a girl – ”
“Nonsense!” Miss Patricia interrupted, picking up the empty cup as if she were intending to leave the room immediately. “Sally was a goose and ran the risk of being the death of you instead of saving your life as you like to think. Besides, she has not the slightest desire to see you; she told me this herself. She feels now that she was ridiculous. She should never have paid any attention to the disjointed tale of an ill man, or to the promise which you seem to have exacted of the poor child in your original interview. As for being grateful to Sally, that is also a waste of energy when you have none too much to spare. The one dream of every girl in the world these days is to be allowed the privilege of caring for a good-looking soldier. Sally had her opportunity under particularly romantic and nonsensical circumstances. Besides, men will always be grateful to Sally Ashton for something or other as long as she lives, grateful because she is pretty and soft and selfish and, dear me, I suppose she is what one calls essentially feminine! I confess I have rather a tender feeling toward the child myself.”
And without further answer to his request Miss Patricia hurriedly departed.
Outdoors at the same time Sally was occupied in the garden digging in a desultory fashion. As soon as there was no further danger of the ground freezing the Camp Fire girls were planning to plant a garden.
Sally was alone at her task and alone because she preferred solitude.
After her fantastic escapade had been disclosed to the other Camp Fire girls, those of them who had been particularly annoyed by her mysterious behavior were frankly regretful of their condemnation. They did not whole-heartedly approve of what she had done, but no one doubted Sally’s good intention or the unselfishness of her motive. Aside from Yvonne, whose attitude continued puzzled and distrustful, each girl individually had approached Sally with a carefully veiled apology. However, Sally, who was not in a friendly state of mind toward the world at present, received their advances coldly.
The only two persons whose opinion she really valued were Aunt Patricia’s and Mrs. Burton’s. Aunt Patricia had been kinder and more understanding than any human being could have dreamed possible. Mrs. Burton had not yet returned from her journey into southern France. Indeed, no word had been heard from her in a number of days, so that not alone did Aunt Patricia suffer from uneasiness. The great German drive so long expected was fanning the long line of the French battlefront into fiercer and more terrorizing flames. At any hour the greatest struggle in human history would once more burst upon the world.
An hour later Sally Ashton knocked shyly upon Lieutenant Fleury’s closed door. She did not do this in accordance with her own wishes, but because of an urgent appeal made by Miss Patricia.
As a matter of fact, for some days Miss Patricia had been haunted by the story of his life, since the outbreak of the war, which the young French officer had recounted to her. He was not conscious of asking for sympathy, nor did he consider his story unusual. Nevertheless it occurred to Miss Patricia this morning that she was unwilling to add loneliness to the difficulties which he must face during the hours of his return to health. Up to the present time he had been too engaged with his soldiering to allow much opportunity for reflection.
Miss Patricia was also convinced of the truth of what Lieutenant Fleury had told her of himself, although she had no thought of not adding the necessary proof to her instinctive conviction. But in the meantime if he really earnestly desired to see and talk to Sally Ashton and to express his gratitude, what possible harm could come of allowing them an interview? Their acquaintance had been achieved under such remarkable circumstances, to meet in a more ordinary and formal fashion would doubtless be best for them both. Afterwards they would not develop fantastic and untruthful ideas concerning each other.
At the moment of Sally’s arrival Lieutenant Fleury was despondent. It was true he had managed to escape from the Germans and could congratulate himself that he was not a prisoner and might hope within a reasonable length of time to return to his own regiment. Nevertheless what an extraordinarily stupid adventure he had stumbled into in his sub-conscious effort to seek the neighborhood of his former home!
He had come out of the experience a thousand times better than he had any right to hope, yet had he not involved an American girl in what must have been an extremely disagreeable and ungrateful task?
At this moment of her entrance into the invalid’s room Sally Ashton did not appear to have been seriously affected by her experience.
Her hour of working in the garden in the warm late winter sun had given her cheeks the color they frequently lacked, or else it was her embarrassment at meeting the young officer. Sally’s hair was also curling in the delicious and irresponsible fashion it often assumed, breaking into small rings on her forehead and at the back of her neck in the fashion of which she at least pretended to disapprove.
“Miss Patricia said you wished to speak to me. I am glad you are so much better,” she began in a reserved and ceremonious fashion as if she and the lieutenant had met on but one previous occasion before today.
In truth it seemed impossible to Sally that the French officer whom she was facing at present had been the ill and disheveled boy she had found in hiding at the château and nursed back to comparative health.
In announcing that Sally did not desire to see the young French officer again, Miss Patricia had been correct. Sally considered that she had made a grave and foolish mistake and preferred, as most of us do, that her mistake be ignored and forgotten.
Yet Lieutenant Fleury had no idea either of ignoring or forgetting Sally’s effort in his behalf.
Immediately in reply to her knock he had risen. His serious expression had now changed to one of boyish gratitude and good humor.
“Yes, I did wish to speak to you; you are kind to have come,” he returned, although in reality surprised by Sally’s extremely youthful appearance. He had only a confused memory of her face bending above him during his delirium. They had enjoyed but one conversation when he was entirely himself. On that occasion he had supposed his rescuer a young woman of some years and dignity, and Sally at present looked like a school girl. Indeed, she was a school girl when at home in her own part of the world if one can count college and school as one and the same thing.
After coming in from the garden this morning she had hastily changed her everyday Camp Fire dress for a white flannel of which she was especially fond, and without observing that the skirt had shrunk until it was extremely short.
“I wished to tell you once again how more than grateful I am to you for your great kindness,” the officer continued, smiling in spite of his serious state of mind at the unexpectedness of Sally’s appearance. Looking at her now, it was hard to believe that she had ever assumed the arduous burden of nursing a wounded soldier under more than trying conditions. Yet if Sally had not been immature, she would have never have shouldered such a responsibility!
She was smiling now and dimpling in an irresistible fashion.
“Will you make me a promise?” she demanded. “It is the one thing I ask of you. If you are really under the impression that I was good to you when I was merely risking your life, then promise never to refer to what I did for you as long as you live and never mention the story to anybody who could have the faintest chance of knowing me. You see,” Sally continued, her manner becoming more confidential, “I realize now that from every point of view I was foolish. It is kind of you to have turned out to be some one whom Miss Patricia and all of us are able to know, for you might have been a most impossible person.”
The young French officer laughed. As he recalled their last meeting and this one his benefactress struck him as a person who had the gift of provoking laughter.
“I think this a good deal to require of me,” he returned. “I will do what you ask only on condition that you – ”
“That I promise to allow you to do a favor for me some day?” Sally completed the unfinished sentence. “I suppose that is what you were about to say, wasn’t it? Of course you can do whatever kindness you like if you have the chance. But it does not seem probable. After you go away from the farm I can’t imagine any reason why we should ever see each other again. Besides, you would do whatever you could for me whether I gave you permission or not.” Here Sally smiled a second time.
For an instant the French officer stared, nonplussed.
But he was not the first person whom Sally had puzzled. She was so matter of fact and so sure of herself one could not tell whether she was extremely simple or correspondingly subtle.
Since her companion regarded her as a child, he could have but one impression.
When finally he held out his hand, Sally hesitated an instant before placing her own inside his. His exhibition of French courtesy and gratitude at their last meeting had been slightly embarrassing. But this time the lieutenant only held her hand gravely.
“You are right, Miss Ashton, whatever was possible to show my gratitude to you I should do, with or without your permission. If I am spared when the war is over I may even create the opportunity which you seem to doubt my ever having. When the war began I had a sister who was, I think perhaps only a few years older than you. If you can ever make up your mind to regard me as she would have done, it would mean a great real to me.”
Sally was beginning to feel bored. She thought her companion was very conventional and a little stupid.
She had not the faintest desire to adopt an unknown young man as a brother. Sally knew herself sufficiently well to realize that the sisterly attitude would make but little appeal to her as long as she lived. And she hoped that her interview with the rescued officer might be entertaining. Life was dull now at the farm with Mrs. Burton away and her own occupation, which had been exciting even if fatiguing, withdrawn.
“What happened to your sister?” Sally inquired politely, although intending to make her escape as soon as possible should their conversation continue on such sentimental lines.
“She was killed in the retreat when the Germans conquered this part of France at the outbreak of the war. I had gone to the front to join my regiment, so Yvonne and my mother were alone except for my little brother and a few women servants. Our château was destroyed.”
The French officer paused because Sally was looking at him with a curious expression as if an idea which she may have had in her mind for some time was now slowly crystalizing into a fact.
“Your sister’s name was Yvonne Fleury and your château was not far from here, was it not?” Sally demanded.
The young officer nodded. He did not care to discuss his past history with Sally or with any one else in the world. There was nothing to be gained by recalling the inevitable tragedies of the war.
Sally did not appear seriously distressed. Unless she happened to be an actual witness to suffering it did not touch her deeply. Besides, at the present time she was smiling oddly, as if she were pleased and displeased at the same time.
“I don’t think that you need adopt me as your sister,” she remarked.
Until this moment they had both continued standing.
Now Sally made a little motion toward the invalid’s chair which Miss Patricia had removed from their sitting-room to bestow upon her patient.
“Suppose we both sit down,” she suggested, taking the only other chair at the same instant.
“There is something else I wish to talk to you about if you feel you are strong enough to hear. It may prove to be good news. I suppose it seems a strange coincidence, although some people would call it an act of Providence, but I am sure I don’t understand such things. It is just barely possible your sister Yvonne Fleury was not killed. When we were crossing to France from the United States we met a girl on shipboard named Yvonne Fleury, whose home, the Château Yvonne, had been destroyed in the early part of the war. As she believed her brother had been killed at the front, she had gone to New York City, where she had been living with some friends for several years. She told the entire family tragedy to our chaperon, Mrs. Burton, who afterwards told the story to us, hoping we might be especially kind to Yvonne because of her unhappiness. The other girls have been, but Yvonne and I do not like each other and she has been very disagreeable to me. Still, if she turns out to be your sister, it does not matter. Under the circumstances I suppose I ought to say nothing against her.
“I have been thinking of this for some time, ever since you told me your name, but of course there may be nothing in it. I only thought if you might like to meet this Yvonne Fleury–you see she came here to the farm and is living with us–I will speak first to Aunt Patricia and together you can decide.”
In reality Sally was not so unsympathetic or so childish as at present her words and manner suggested. During her long speech she had been watching the young officer narrowly. She had arrived at her present conclusion by putting certain facts together in a practical and commonsense fashion. There was more than a possibility that she might be wrong, so there was no reason for working oneself up into a state of hysteria or of heroics. Moreover, Sally had been entirely frank. She understood that the French officer would be overjoyed if Yvonne should prove to be his sister, but Sally herself would have felt no enthusiasm over the same discovery. As a matter of fact, she had no particular interest in Yvonne’s opportunity for happiness through her aid.
She was worried, however, because her former patient suddenly appeared so white and shaken by her words, when only a few moments before he had looked so remarkably well.
Sally moved slowly backwards toward the door.
“I’ll go and find Aunt Patricia; perhaps I should have spoken to her first of my idea. Then after you have talked with her if you would like me to find Yvonne and ask her to come to you – ”
With these words, having managed to reach the half closed door, Sally disappeared.