CHAPTER XXXIV

When Nanine and Paulette came down the great stairway a few minutes later, the girl was trembling with excitement. She was dressed in the field uniform of an army nurse. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes feverishly bright. The letter telling of her commission had just reached her that morning and the long-prepared costume was donned for the first time.

"Are you sure you remember the message, Nanine?" she asked. "Tell me again what it said."

Patiently the old woman repeated the words.

"I have told you, dearie," she said, "'Sains--to-morrow--at daybreak!'"

"Sains, that's not far away! But I must be sure, Nanine. I must be sure! I must see the note. Where is it? Where is it?"

Nanine crossed heavily to the little desk. Not finding what she sought, she uttered a sharp exclamation. The girl flew to her side.

"What is it, Nanine? What is it?" she cried fearfully.

The old woman looked up at her blankly.

"It's gone!" she gasped.

Paulette echoed her words, her eyes wide and frightened.

"Gone?"

Nanine rummaged frantically.

"Oh, my dearie," she wailed, "I put it here, a bit of paper with 'Sains--to-morrow--at daybreak' written on it. Where can it be? Where can it be?"

Paulette stood watching her breathlessly.

"Nanine," her voice shook, "there is something wrong!"

The old woman stopped in her search.

"Will harm come to him, dearie?" she quavered.

"Oh, Nanine," cried the girl, terror beating at her heart, "I don't know--I'm afraid!"

"_Mon petit chou!_" soothed the old woman. "What does the loss of the paper matter? I remember the words, 'Sains--to-morrow--at daybreak,'" but her deep breast rose and fell with some of the terror that was shaking her young mistress.

"Someone has stolen it!" said Paulette miserably. "What good does it do for you to remember? Maurice will be taken back to prison, perhaps shot!" The thought sent her hand to her throat in terror.

"Shot!" Nanine stared at her, frightened. "What shall we do?" she cried.

"We must get word to father."

In all Paulette's short life her father had always been her refuge in time of trouble. He would know what to do.

"Oh, Nanine, why didn't you bring it to me at once? Why didn't you?"

The old woman shook her head sadly. For the sake of those few last moments with her boy this new trouble had come upon them.

"Perhaps Madame can help us," she said; "let us ask her!"

"Where is she?" asked Paulette eagerly. "Go find her at once! I'll go to her room, she may be there!"

The old woman hurried out and Paulette had just crossed the threshold into the shadows of the outer hall when, through the long window, came Marie. Paulette turned and watched her curiously as she went straight to the little desk.

The sunlight of the garden was still in Marie's eyes, and she did not see the girl standing in the doorway. One glance was enough to show her that the note was gone. The Fate of France was on the knees of the gods. She had done her best. Turning, she found herself facing Paulette, whose eyes blazed with rage and hatred.

"So," she cried, "it's you!"

Marie recoiled. For a moment she failed to recognize the girl in her nurse's garb. When she did, her face went white.

"I knew I suspected you with reason," went on Paulette furiously, "no one else could have taken it. No one would be interested. Here, we are all friends, working for each other, but you----" and at the scorn in her voice, Marie cowered away from her.

"Don't--please," she breathed.

Paulette shook her roughly by the shoulders.

"Where is it?" she cried, "the paper that was here; where is it?"

Marie's heart stopped beating. What could Paulette know of the paper?

"God!" she gasped.

Her sister-in-law looked at her, sorrow struggling with hate.

"Why did you? Why did you?" she asked. "What have I done? What has Maurice done?"

Marie leaned away from her in astonishment.

"Maurice?" she asked.

"My sweetheart," went on Paulette, "in a German prison. He was to escape! You have stolen the note telling where he is to be. What have you done with it?"

Marie started. In a flash she understood that she and Paulette were thinking of different things. Von Pfaffen had undoubtedly found her own note. But if there had been two notes? Would this not create confusion and suspicion in his mind and so defeat her plan after all?

"Listen," she said hurriedly, "I did not take it! I swear I did not take it. If someone has it, we must get there before it is too late! We must save Maurice. Where is he?"

"How can I trust you?" began Paulette bitterly.

For a long moment the two women stared at each other. At last Marie spoke.

"Tell me--where is he?" she repeated. "Tell me, or you will regret it all your life!"

There was something so convincing in the tone of her voice that Paulette found herself believing in spite of herself. Unconsciously their positions were changed; it was Marie who now stood firm and sure of herself, Paulette who trembled.

"He will be at Sains--to-morrow--at daybreak," she whispered.

Marie's eyes slowly dilated, her face froze into the expression of an ancient Greek tragic mask. From the depths of her very soul came a groan of anguish. Tensely she repeated the words:

"Sains--to-morrow--at daybreak!"

She had thought her plan so sure, so certain to aid her husband's cause, but whichever way she turned, she seemed doomed to bring misery to those she loved. She knew that Von Pfaffen was already well on his way to the enemy. The words she had written were stamped on her memory. What evil spirit had made her choose Sains? Sains, where to-morrow at daybreak, Paulette's sweetheart, having risked his life for liberty, would only be reaching this haven of safety as the guns of the enemy were turned against its walls.

Paulette looked at her, frightened.

"What is it?" she whispered. At last Marie spoke, the words coming through her stiff lips in jerking, staccato tones:

"You must go to him," she said; "you must go now, at once."

Go to him herself! The thought staggered her. The difficulty! The danger! The horrible country she must cross before she should arrive at Sains, where battles were even now raging!

"Oh, how can I go?" she cried, covering her eyes. "Out there in the midst of all those horrors! How can I?"

"There is no time to lose," urged Marie, "you are going to the man you love."

Slowly Paulette lifted her brown head.

"Can I? Dare I?" she murmured.

In the distance she could hear the sound of the guns, which all morning had been growing louder and louder, sometimes swelling into a roar which seemed to shake the very earth.

Marie put her hand on her arm, her whole body vibrating with emotion.

"Listen," she said, "the Germans are to make an attack on Sains to-morrow at daybreak!"

Paulette uttered a cry.

"How do you know this? What are you? Who are you?"

"Don't ask me how I know," went on Marie, "don't ask me anything, only for God's sake go to Sains! Warn the town! Warn the commanding General! O hurry, hurry, there is not a moment to lose!"

Paulette stared at her fiercely, her hatred and distrust returning and blazing from her eyes.

"I knew you were a spy," she cried. "I knew I hated you with reason. Tell me how you know this, tell me, tell me!"

Into Marie's heart came a great sadness, her punishment was beginning. How could this girl believe her? Would anyone ever trust her?

"Your note was stolen," she said. "The one who has it is taking it to the enemy! I know! I tried to help my husband's cause, but in doing so I have endangered Maurice's life. Oh, Paulette, I thought that what I did was for the best. Don't look at me like that. Some day you will understand!"

Paulette was wild with rage. This woman whom they had made one of themselves, whom her parents had taken to their hearts and given the position due the wife of their beloved son, had betrayed them. But there was a punishment for such as she.

"I'll have you shot," she panted. "I'll have the soldiers drag you to prison for the spy that you are----" but Marie was at her side.

"Paulette," she said earnestly, "will you allow your hatred and distrust of me to stand in the way of doing a great service for France and saving Maurice? There is no doubt that the Germans will attack Sains to-morrow at dawn. I need not tell you what it would mean to your countrymen to know this and prepare for their coming. If you do not heed me, you will never know happiness again! This is the opportunity of your whole life to serve the cause you love. Do not cast it aside! Go to Sains! Save the city! Save your love, then come back and do whatever you will to me, only, for God's sake, hurry!"

Her voice was so earnest, so vibrant with the desire that prompted her, that in spite of her suspicion the girl paused and looked into her eyes.

"If I could only trust you," she said.

Quick to sense the momentary lowering of the barriers, Marie put a pleading hand on her arm.

"You can," she said, "oh, do believe me. The cause you love is as dear to me as to you. You must go, there is no other way!" Her eyes rested on the little insignia on the collar of the girl's costume, and mentally following her gaze, Paulette became suddenly aware of her uniform. This would be the means of reaching Maurice. Her hands would nurse him after all. He would be her first patient.

Her eyes cleared of the vision of blood and terror, the hatred and distrust died in her heart. Her shoulders squared with the strength of her father, her chin lifted with her mother's poise.

"I'll go," she said. "I am a soldier's daughter! I am to be a soldier's bride! I'll go!"

"Go now," urged Marie; "it isn't far. I swear I didn't take it. Won't you believe me? It isn't your happiness that is threatened. Oh, believe me! Believe me!"

"If I am only in time," breathed Paulette, as she turned to go.

Marie followed her to the window.

"Little sister," she pleaded, "you at least I would save unhappiness. God speed!" and suddenly, believing, Paulette turned and flung her arms about her neck, then with her head held high, she went out through the garden.

Marie watched her go. How many partings there had been in these short hours. She watched Nanine close and bar the heavy gates after the slender figure, drying her eyes with the back of her hand as she did so.

"'Sains--to-morrow--at dawn!'" the words were burned into her brain. Her head went down on her arms across the little desk.

From the depths of the garden, Madame saw the girl go through the gate, and hurried into the salon. Her quick step in the hall roused Marie. She rose to meet her.

"She has gone, _ma mère_," she told her gently; "she has gone to the man she loves."

"Gone--my little Paulette, gone? Out there, without a word to me," her face was suddenly old, gray, the lines about her mouth seemed drawn with a shaded pencil.

"A message came this morning," said Marie; "it told of Maurice's escape. Someone has intercepted it, and Paulette, fearing for his safety, has gone to him."

"We have been waiting for this message," said Madame, "but Paulette, alone! Out there!" She looked toward the horizon from whence came the deep-throated roar of the guns, savage and menacing.

Quite suddenly she broke down. Bowing her proud head in her hands she wept bitterly.

Marie stood beside her, silent, until just as suddenly she gained control of herself again. The white head rose proudly, the bright brown eyes shone bravely through their tears.

"I am glad she has gone," she said. "I would not have it otherwise. She must go to help the man she loves, if she can! I'm glad she was brave enough to go."

Marie looked at her wonderingly. How fine she was, how strong and true. Why could she not have been as brave as this? She saw herself as she had been, a pitiful, weak creature, almost ready to sell her soul to tie herself like a millstone about the neck of the man she loved. She knew that even now she was dreading the scorn she would see in this kind face when she knew all the truth concerning her. But she thought of Gerome, with his lofty ideals; she thought of Paulette forgetting her dread of the horrors "out there," taking her young life into her hands willingly, eagerly, to serve, if she could, both France and the man she loved, and she knew that she, too, would accept her martyrdom gladly for the cause that was theirs.