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 fran?ois had brought them from time to time as valuable gifts. therefore,[151] 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.
[152]
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[153] 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,[154] 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,[155] 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[156] 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.
[157]
“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.
[158]
“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[159] 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[160] 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:
[161]
“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.”
[162]
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.[163] 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.”
