CHAPTER XXII

Paulette, when she left her parents, threw a scarf about her shoulders and ran across the courtyard to the gate house. She longed for the sympathetic love of old Nanine, on whose bosom she had always found consolation.

The long summer twilight was graying off into night, and the tall black poplars above the garden wall showed black against the darkening sky. From the low window, thrown open to the soft night air, came a yellow shaft of lamp-light that lay in a square patch on the neat gravel walk.

As Paulette's small heels crunched against the pebbles, a figure suddenly started out of the shadows and a man's voice called softly:

"Who comes?"

The girl drew back, startled.

"It is I, Paulette," she answered. He came closer and Paulette stared unbelievingly into his face.

"Jacques!" she cried.

"Yes, Mam'selle," answered the man, grinning broadly, "from Belgium--from prison!"

The girl gave a quick gasp.

"Captain le Cerf--what of him?"

"I have news of him, Mam'selle, but I must report to the General first!"

Paulette swayed, and put out her hand to steady herself against the wall.

"Maurice!" she whispered the name under her breath as though half afraid of what the news might be. "Tell me! Quick!" but Jacques shook his head stolidly.

"First the General," he said, and turning on his heel, started toward the house.

There was nothing for her to do but follow. At the door he stood aside to let her pass.

"Will you tell your father I am here, Mam'selle?" he asked.

She looked at him piteously.

"Give me my news," she begged.

"What I have to say must be said to the General, Mam'selle," and Paulette, the daughter of a soldier, knew he was right. But she was trembling and breathless when she opened the salon door.

Her mother was still sitting as she had left her in the chair near the table, her hands in her lap, the lamp-light accentuating the silver of her hair. Her eyes were closed and there were weary shadows under them.

The girl went softly to her side and laid a loving hand on her shoulder. The knowledge that she soon was to have news of Maurice, had softened her heart for a moment, and driven out the bitterness she felt.

Madame opened her eyes with a start.

The girl's cheeks were flushed, the hand on her mother's shoulder shook. Madame looked at her apprehensively.

"What is it!" she asked. These were days when the most insignificant happenings might have the direst foreboding.

"Jacques is back! He is in the hall. He is waiting to see father!"

Madame rose hastily to her feet.

"Jacques? Is it possible?"

"It is, mother! He is here! He has news of Maurice!"

At the sound of her excited voice, the General opened the door of his study.

Paulette waited for no more than the question in his eyes.

"Jacques is here," she cried, "he is waiting to see you! Oh, father, ask him quickly his news from Maurice!"

The General looked from one to the other in surprise as the boy entered and stood at attention.

The girl clung to her father's arm, and Madame smiled kindly.

"I understand you were a prisoner," began the General.

In the full light of the lamp, they could see how loosely the young soldier's dusty uniform hung on his square shoulders. The skin across his cheek-bones was tightly stretched, and there were lines about his mouth that must have come from suffering. His chin was blue with a week's growth of beard.

"I have a message from Captain le Cerf," he said.

Paulette clung to her father's arm, trembling with expectation.

"What is it?" asked the General patting the shaking hand reassuringly.

"It's a long story, Monsieur."

"Tell it in your own way, then," he said, motioning him to a chair.

Jacques seated himself stiffly, and began.

"We were prisoners in the same camp! It was just outside Liège. Soon after I got there, I saw the Captain. He had been wounded."

Paulette, her eyes black and burning in her white face, followed every word with pitiful eagerness.

"I was given permission to take care of him. There was an English nurse there. She was very kind to the prisoners. She told us how it would be possible for some of us to get away. We made our plans, and yesterday, two others and myself got across the border. The Captain would have come also if he had been strong enough, but he will be here soon," he hastened to add, when he saw the look in the girl's eyes, "and when it has all been arranged, a message will be sent to Division Headquarters at St. Quentin, giving the name of the town and the time when he will reach the frontier."

Paulette was shaking with emotion.

"Escape!" she breathed. "If he only can!"

What a vindication of her pride in Maurice this would be. To escape, to show the Germans how futile their efforts were to hold him. Her eyes sparkled and the blood surged to her cheeks. To trick the hated enemy that held him, what a triumph!

Then she thought of his wound, and her momentary elation left her. Fear returned.

"Is he better? Are you sure he is better?"

"Yes, Mam'selle, or I would not have left him!"

Madame rose.

"I must tell Nanine," she said, "that her son is here!" She rang, and after a brief interval came the old woman's knock.

For a moment, the Breton peasant woman stood facing them, then with a glad cry, she stumbled toward the young soldier.

"Jacques," she cried, and the joy and love in her voice brought a lump into the boy's throat.

"Mother," he said huskily, as she rocked him in her stout old arms, "Mother!"

Nanine was oblivious of the presence of the others. She was the first mother, the primeval woman with her child. The maternal love that goes out alike from high and low, from civilized and savage, was in her voice and eyes.

Presently she held him away from her.

"I knew they couldn't keep you," she said fondly. "I knew you'd find your way back to me. Are you well? Did they give you enough to eat?" she turned to the others. "He always wanted such a lot to eat!"

Jacques grinned sheepishly. His mates too, had found this out.

Paulette broke in eagerly.

"Tell me about Captain le Cerf, was he comfortable? Were they kind to him?"

The old woman looked at her, surprised.

"What are you saying, Mam'selle? Did the good Lord bring them together?"

Jacques nodded and turned to the General.

"We were all well treated. The hardest part was not getting any news. They told us things were going against us, but we knew they were lying."

His mother's eyes devoured him.

"How were you taken?" asked the General.

"Four others and myself were detailed one night to cut some barbed wire. Their star-shells discovered us to the _Boches_. Three of our men went down, the other and myself were captured and taken to a prison camp in Belgium. Among the prisoners the men and officers are kept separated, but one day when I was doing some of the work they had set me at, I recognized Captain le Cerf as he passed near me with a hospital orderly. I suppose you've heard that he was taken in the first attack on Liège. He'd been in the hospital a long time when I got there, as his wound had been serious. You will be glad to know, my General, that in Belgium there is a band of men and women whose good work it is to try and smuggle French prisoners and their own men of military age, out of the country. There's an English nurse--one of God's angels we call her--who is at the head of this band. She's helped a lot of us. But you see, when it came to Captain le Cerf's turn to be helped to escape, he was still so weak it was impossible for him to make the attempt. I was next, so it was arranged that if I got through the lines, I was to bring you word that you might expect him. They're going to get him across as soon as they can!"

"When--where?" broke in Paulette.

"That I cannot tell, Mam'selle. The next man that is passed through will know the exact time and place where Captain le Cerf will reach our lines!"

"Good!" said the General. "Now tell us how you made your own escape." And Jacques, a little nervously, though proud of his momentary importance, launched into his story.

"This English nurse was to give me all the particulars, but so that I could get near her, I had to be in the hospital, and I'm a pretty healthy man," his shoulders squared a little. "I was given some medicine and told to take it and pretend to be sick." He made a wry face at the memory. "I didn't have to pretend. They got me to the hospital, and while their doctor was near, my nurse was just like any other nurse, but as soon as he left, she leaned over me and whispered my instructions. You know, sir, that the nurses have to report all deaths; well, I was to die--and when I came to again, she'd have a _Boche_ driver's uniform ready for me. That night they smuggled me out. As far as those _Boches_ know, I'm lying out under one of their little crosses. I reported where I was told to, as an ambulance driver. My uniform and accent were unquestioned, and I was put in charge of an ambulance and detailed to pick up the wounded. A man can feel as sorry for a wounded _Boche_ as for one of his own, and an ambulance driver sees a lot of suffering. I had to make many trips before the time came when our _Poilus_ came charging across No Man's Land. I was in the front trench with my stretcher-bearer at the time. When I saw our men coming, I pretended to be wounded, and dropped. They took the trench. I tore off as much of the field gray as I could and told them who I was. I was ordered to report to my own regiment, and my commanding officer sent me here!" Jacques told his story with the simple directness of the man whose life is action, not words. Paulette had followed eagerly. Her mother's eyes were wet as she listened. Old Nanine, her ample bosom rising and falling with the breathless wonder that this son, who was still a child to her, had come through so much, murmured half aloud, a little prayer of thanks for his safety.

The General nodded his approval.

"Good!" he said. "Report yourself to Colonel Rambeau at St. Quentin. Tell him when word comes from Captain le Cerf, that my orders are that you are to bring it here immediately. Be careful with it, it is important that it does not get into other hands."

Jacques saluted.

"I shall leave word that you may come directly to Mademoiselle," continued the General, smiling indulgently on his daughter. "That is all."

"Nanine," said Madame, rising, "you must want to talk to your boy."

As the mother and son hurried along the path to the gate house, the door opened, and Angéle appeared in the shaft of a light that poured out.

For a moment she stood and watched them, and then with a cry, ran and threw her arms wildly about the boy's neck.

Nanine turned with a sigh and went into the house, leaving the girl to sob in her sweetheart's arms, and it was some time before she called:

"Come in, Jacques is hungry!"