The Uhlans glanced contemptuously at Asticot as they mounted the door steps, looked more closely at Warner; then one of them walked, clanking, into the schoolroom, lifting his gloved hand to his helmet in salute.
Sister Félicité tried vainly to quiet the screaming children; Sister Eila, her head high, confronted the Uhlans, both arms extended.
"Stop where you are!" she said coolly. "What do you wish, gentlemen? Don't you see that you are frightening our children? If you desire to speak to us we will go outside."
An Uhlan clumsily tried to reassure and make friends with a little girl who had hidden herself behind the stove. She fled from him, sobbing, and threw herself on her knees behind Sister Eila, hanging to her skirts.
"Pas méchant," repeated the big cavalryman, with a good-natured grin; "moi, père de famille! Beaucoup enfants à moi. Pas peur de moi. Vous est bon Français."
Another Uhlan pointed inquiringly at Warner, who had placed himself beside Sister Félicité.
"Anglais?" he demanded.
"American," said Sister Eila calmly.
"Oh," he exclaimed with a wry grin. "Americans are our friends. Frenchmen have our respect. We salute them as brave enemies. But not the English! Therefore, do not be afraid. We Germans mean no harm to peaceful people. You shall see; we are not barbarians! Tell your children we are not ogres."
He stood tall and erect in his grey, close-fitting uniform, looking curiously about him. The plastron of the tunic, or ulanka, was piped with yellow, and bore the galons and the heraldic buttons of a Feldwebel. The shoulder strap bore the number 3; the boots and belt were of tan-colored leather; all metal work was mat-silver; spurs, saber, were oxidized; and the oddly shaped helmet, surmounted by the mortar board, was covered with a brown holland slip bearing the regimental number.
The children had become deathly silent, staring with wide and frightened eyes upon these tall intruders; the Sisters of Charity stood motionless, calm, level-eyed; Warner, wondering why the Uhlans had entered the school, had drawn Sister Eila's arm through his, and remained beside her watching the Germans with undisturbed curiosity and professional interest. Afterward his well-known picture of the incident was bought by the French Government.
The Wachtmeister in charge of the peloton turned to him with a sort of insolent civility.
"Wie viel Kilometer ist es bis Ausone?" he inquired.
Warner made no reply.
"Wie heisst dieser Ort?" The Wachtmeister had raised his voice insolently.
"Saïs," replied Warner carelessly.
"Sind hier deutsche Truppen durchmarschiert?"
Warner remained silent.
"Sind deutsche Truppen im Walde?"
"There is no use asking an American for information," said Warner bluntly. "You'll get none from me."
Instantly the man's face changed.
"So! Eh, bien! Qui cherche à s'esquiver sera fusillé!" he said in excellent French. "Unlock every door in the house. If there are any dogs tie them up. If they bark, you will be held responsible. Don't move! Keep those children where they are until we have finished!"
He nodded to a trooper behind him. The Uhlan instantly drew a short hammer and a cold chisel from his pouch, knelt down, and with incredible rapidity ripped up a plank from the hardwood floor, laying bare to view the solid concrete underneath.
"Sound it!"
The trooper sounded the concrete with the heavy butt of his chisel.
"All right!" The non-com touched his schapska in salute to the Sisters of Charity. "Take your children away before noon. We need this place. German troops will occupy it in half an hour." Then he swung around and shot an ugly glance at Warner.
"If you are as neutral as you pretend to be, see that you are equally reticent toward the French when we let you go… You may be American, but you behave like an Englishman. You annoy me; do you understand?"
Warner shrugged his shoulders.
"What do you mean by that gesture of disrespect?" demanded the Uhlan sharply.
"I mean that you ask improper questions and you know it!"
"I ask what I choose to ask!" he said angrily. "I think I shall take you with us, anyway, and not leave you here!"
"You'll only get into trouble with my Government and your own – "
"Take that man!" shouted the Uhlan in a passion. "I'll find out what he is – "
A shot rang loudly from the road outside; the Uhlans turned in astonishment, then ran for the door where their comrades flung them their bridles. They seized their lances and scrambled into their saddles, still disconcerted and apparently incredulous of any serious danger to themselves. Then another Uhlan who had cantered off down the road suddenly fired from his saddle; the others, bending forward, scanned the road intently for a moment; then the whole peloton swung their horses, spurred over the ditch and up the grassy bank, trotted in single file through the hedge gate, and, putting their horses to a gallop, headed straight across the meadow toward the river and the quarry bridge beyond.
They had reached the river willows and were already galloping through them when, far away toward the south end of the meadow, a horseman trotted into view, drew bridle, fired at the Uhlans, then launched his horse into a dead run toward them, disengaging his lance from which a pennon flew gayly.
After him, bending forward in their saddles, came two score riders in pale blue jackets, lances advanced, urging their wiry horses, spurring hard to intercept the Uhlans.
But the Germans, who had gained the bridge, were now galloping over it, and they disappeared amid a distant racket of shots.
To the spectators at the school door, it all looked like a pretty, harmless, unreal scene artistically composed and arranged for moving-picture purposes; the wide, flat green meadow was now swarming with the pale blue and white laced dolmans of French hussar lancers. Everywhere they were galloping, trotting, maneuvering; a section of a light battery appeared, drew rapidly nearer, went plunging across the meadow hub-deep in wild flowers, swung the guns and dropped them at the bridge, making the demi-tour at a gallop.
Back came the caissons, still at a gallop; the dark, distant figures of the cannoniers moved rapidly for a moment around each gun; a tiny figure held up one arm, dropped it; crack! echoed the report of the field-piece; up went the arm, down it jerked; crack! went the other.
From a front room overhead Warner and Sister Eila were leaning out and watching the lively spectacle along the river.
"It looks to me," he said, "as though the Germans were in the cement works… By George! They are! The yards and quarries are alive with their cavalry! Look! Did you see that shell hit the stone crusher? There goes another. The big chimney on the Esser Works is falling – look! – down it comes! Our gunners have knocked it into dust!"
Another section of artillery came plunging into view across the meadows, the drivers spurring and lashing, the powerful horses bounding forward, and the guns jumping and bouncing over the uneven ground.
It was like a picture book – exactly what the layman expects of a battle – a wide, unobstructed view over a flat green meadow, artillery at a gallop with officers spurring ahead; brilliantly uniformed cavalry arriving in ever-increasing squadrons, some dismounting and deploying, others drawn up here and there under serried thickets of lances. But there was no smoke, only a dusky, translucent haze clinging for a moment to the gun muzzles; no enemy in sight save for a scrambling dot here and there among the quarry hills where, from the cement works, a cloud of dust rose and widened, veiling the trees and hillsides.
For a while the lively rattle of the fusillade continued, but in a few minutes a six-gun battery arrived and went into ear-splitting action, almost instantly extinguishing the German fire from the quarry. A few more ragged volleys came, then only dropping shots from their carbines as the hussars rode forward and broke into a gallop across the quarry bridge.
More cavalry was arriving all the while, dragoons and chasseurs-à-cheval, all riding leisurely toward the quarry. More artillery was coming, too, clanking and bumping up the road, a great jolting column of field batteries, not in a hurry, paying little attention to the lively proceedings across the river, where the German cavalry was retreating over the rolling country toward the eastern hills and the blue hussars were riding after them.
The artillery passed the school and continued on toward Ausone. Behind them came infantry with their swinging, slouchy stride, route step, mildly interested in the doings of the cavalry in the meadow, more interested in the Sisters of Charity leaning from the schoolhouse windows and the excited children crowding at the open door.
Not very far beyond the school a regiment turned out into a stubble field and stacked arms. Other regiments swung out east and west along the Route de Saïs, stacked arms, let go sacks, and went to work with picks and spades.
More artillery rumbled by; then came some engineers and a pontoon train which turned out toward the river opposite the school after the engineers had opened a way through the hedge stile.
Sister Eila and Warner had returned from the upper story to stand on the doorstep among the children.
"One thing is certain," he said in her ear; "Sister Félicité will have to take the children away tonight. The infantry yonder are intrenching, and all these wagons and material that are passing mean that the valley is to be defended."
The young Sister nodded and whispered to Sister Félicité, who looked very grave.
Some odd-looking, long, flat motor trucks were lumbering by; the freight which they carried was carefully covered with brown canvas. Other trucks were piled high with sections of corrugated iron, hollow steel tubes, and bundles of matched boards and planking.
For these vehicles there was a dragoon escort.
"Aeroplanes and material for portable sheds," said Warner. "They intend to erect hangars. There is going to be trouble in the valley of the Récollette."
He turned and looked out and around him, and saw the valley already alive with soldiers. Across the river on the quarry road they were also moving now, cavalry and artillery; and, as far as he could follow eastward with his eye, red-legged soldiers were continuing the lines of trenches already begun on this side of the river.
An officer of hussars rode up, saluted the Sisters and Warner, glanced sharply at Asticot, who had flattened himself against the vines on the schoolhouse wall, and, leaning forward from his saddle, asked if the German cavalry had been there that morning.
"Six Uhlans, mon capitaine," said Warner. "They ripped up a plank from the floor; I can't imagine why. You can see it through the door from where you sit your saddle."
The officer rode up close to the steps and looked into the schoolroom.
"Thank you, Monsieur. You see what they've done, I suppose?"
"No, I didn't understand."
"It is simple. The Esser cement works across the river built this school two years ago. It's a German concern. While they were about it they laid down a few cement gun platforms – with an eye to this very moment which confronts us now."
He shrugged his shoulders:
"The Esser cement works over there are full of gun emplacements in cement, masquerading as pits, retaining walls, foundations, and other peaceful necessities. A British officer discovered all this only a few days ago – "
"Captain Halkett!" exclaimed Warner, inspired.
The Hussar glanced at him, surprised and smiling.
"Yes, Monsieur. Are you acquainted with Captain Halkett?"
"Indeed, I am! And," he turned to the Sisters of Charity, "he is a good friend of all of us."
"He is my friend, also," said the Hussar warmly. "He has told me about Saïs and how, masquerading as a quarry workman one evening, he discovered gun platforms along the Récollette and among the quarries. You understand they were very cunning, those Germans, and the cement works and quarries of Herr Heinrich von Esser are all ready to turn those hills yonder into a fortress. Which," he added, laughing, "we may find very convenient."
Sister Eila, standing beside the horse's head, stroked it, looking up at the officer out of grave eyes.
"Is Captain Halkett well?" she asked calmly.
"I think so, Sister. I saw him yesterday."
"If you see him again, would you say to him that Captain Gray is at the Château des Oiseaux recovering from an accident?"
"Yes, I will tell him, Sister; but he must be around here somewhere – "
"Here!" exclaimed Warner.
"Why, yes. Our aëroplanes have just passed through. A British Bristol biplane is among them in charge of a flight-lieutenant – Ferris, I think his name is. Captain Halkett ought to be somewhere about. Possibly he may be superintending the disembarkment and the erection of the sheds."
He pointed northwest, adding that he understood the sheds were to be erected on the level stretch of fields beyond the school.
"However, I shall give him your message, Sister, if I meet him," he said, saluted them ceremoniously in turn, cast another puzzled and slightly suspicious glance at Asticot, and rode away.
"I should like to find Halkett," said Warner. "I certainly should like to see him again. We had become friends, you see. Shall we walk back that way across the fields, Sister Eila?"
Sister Eila turned to Sister Félicité. Her color was high, but she spoke very calmly:
"Had I not better remain with you and help you close the school?"
Sister Félicité shook her head vigorously:
"I can attend to that if it becomes necessary. I shall not budge unless I am called to field duty."
"But the children? Had I not better take some of them home?"
"There's time enough. If there is going to be any danger to them, I can arrange all that."
Sister Eila hesitated, her lovely head lowered.
"If we could find Halkett on our way back," said Warner, "I think he would be very glad to hear from us that Gray is alive."
Sister Eila nodded in silence; Warner made his adieux; the Sisters of Charity consulted together a moment, then the American and Sister Eila went out through the rear door and through the little garden. And at their heels shuffled Asticot, furtively chewing a purloined apple.
CHAPTER XXXI
As they reached the plateau above the school and halted for a few moments to look back across the valley of the Récollette, Warner began to understand.
The cannonading in the north had ceased. On every road, in whichever direction he looked, troops, artillery, and wagons were moving eastward. This was no mere cavalry reconnoissance; it was a serious offensive movement in force toward the east. Eastward and south lay the Vosges; beyond, the lost provinces stretched away in green valleys toward the Rhine.
There lay the objective of this movement which was based on the great Barrier Forts from Verdun to Toul, from Toul to Nancy and Luneville, southward to Epinal, to the great, grim citadel of Belfort.
This was no raid, no feint, no diversion made by a flying corps along the frontier. A great screen of cavalry was brushing back every hostile scout toward the mountains; the contact at the cement works was a mere detail. Nor was this movement directed toward the north, where the Grand Duchy was crawling alive with Prussians already battering at the "Iron Gate of France."
No, the guns of Longwy were not calling these French horsemen north, whatever was happening at Verdun or along the Moselle. Their helmets were moving toward the east, toward the passes of the Vosges where Alsace lay, and Lorraine. Metz, Strassburg, Colmar, Mülhausen, beckoned from every tall tower, every gable, every spire. It was invasion! Armed France was riding toward the rising sun.
Sister Eila's pale, intelligent face was lifted to the distant horizon; her clear, exalted gaze made it plain to him that she, also, had begun to understand.
As for Asticot, he was finishing the core of his apple and watching details in the vast panorama out of his tiny mouse-eyes; and whether he understood or cared to understand no man might say. For the minds of little animals must remain inscrutable.
Near them, on the grassy plateau, soldiers were unloading portable sheds in sections and erecting them; others were leveling hedges, felling small, isolated trees, uprooting bushes, and clearing away a line of wire pasture fencing.
Evidently this plateau was to be a base for some of the airmen operating along the Vosges or possibly, also, north and east from Verdun.
As they moved forward he looked about for a British uniform, but saw none. A soldier informed them that there were no British troops attached to the army of General Pau as far as he knew; two or three cavalry officers politely confirmed the statement, taking Warner to be an Englishman.
It was not until, following the deeply trodden sheep-walk, they passed the silver birch woods that they had any news of Halkett.
A squadron of hussars was already bivouacked there; their wagons were coming across the fields from the Dreslin road; officers, men, and horses had taken advantage of the woods to escape observation from air-scouts; and three batteries of artillery were parked in the Forêt de Saïs, where the cannoniers had already begun to cover everything with green branches.
As they passed through the Forêt de Saïs, out of which a shepherd with his shaggy dogs was driving his flock, they overtook an officer of hussars on foot, sauntering along the same path, a lighted cigarette between his white-gloved fingers.
He stepped aside into the bracken, courteously, in deference to Sister Eila, and lifted his hand to his shako in salute. But when he caught sight of Warner he stepped forward with a quick, boyish smile and held out his hand.
"Do you remember me? – D'Aurès? This is Monsieur Warner, is it not?"
They exchanged a handclasp; Warner presented him to Sister Eila.
"This is exceedingly nice," said the American cordially. "We – Sister Eila and I – are returning to the Château. I hope you will come with us."
"If I may venture to pay my respects – "
"You will be welcome, I know." He added, laughing: "Also, the ladies will be most interested in the fate of their horses and their automobiles."
The Vicomte d'Aurès reddened, but laughed:
"The Countess was most gracious, most patriotic," he said. "But one could expect nothing less from a De Moidrey. Nevertheless, I felt like a bandit that evening. I left them only a basket wagon and a donkey."
"Which have been greatly appreciated, Monsieur," said Sister Eila, smiling. And she told him about the removal of Captain Gray from the school to the Château.
"Oh, by the way," exclaimed D'Aurès, "we have a British aviator with us – a friend of yours, Sister Eila, and of Mr. Warner."
"Halkett!"
"Yes, indeed. It appears that Captain Halkett has specialized in this region, so he has been assigned to us. I have the honor of a personal acquaintance with him."
"Where is he?" asked Warner.
"He is near here somewhere. His machine, a Bristol, is to be parked with ours on the plateau yonder. I think they are erecting the hangars now."
They entered the wicket of the lodge gate and advanced along the drive toward the house.
Warner said:
"All this movement means the invasion of Alsace-Lorraine, I take it."
D'Aurès nodded.
"Could you give me an idea of the situation as it stands, Captain?"
"I can only guess. Briefly, we are moving on Strassburg from the Donon peaks to Château-Salins. As I understand it, our armies now stretch from the Sambre to the Seine, from the Meuse to the Oise.
"I can tell you only what is gossiped about among cavalry officers. We believe that we are leading a great counter-offensive movement; that it is our General Joffre's strategy to drive the Germans out of upper Alsace, block Metz and Strassburg, and, holding them there in our steel pincers, let loose our army on their flank and rear."
"And Longwy? And this drive just north of us at Ausone?"
D'Aurès smiled.
"Can you still hear the cannonade?"
They halted to listen; there was no longer that deadly rumor from the north.
"Verdun and Toul are taking care of that raid, I think," said D'Aurès pleasantly. "It comes from Metz, of course. Verdun must look out for the country between it and Longwy, too. That is not our route. Ours lies by Nancy toward Vic and Moyenvic, and through Altkirch to Mülhausen, and then– " he laughed – "it does not become a Frenchman to prophesy or boast. There were too many dreamers in 1870.
"I am telling merely the gossip of our camps. It is human to gossip when the day's work is over. But for the rest – route step and plod ahead! – That is what counts, not bragging or splendid dreams."
When they reached the terrace Warner fell back to speak to Asticot.
"I've arranged for you at the Golden Peach. Madame Arlon knows." He handed Asticot a key. "There's plenty to do in my studio down there. Get some wood and make cases for my canvases. Cover the chassiswith toile and prime them with white lead. Use an ivory palette knife and let them have the sun when there is any and when there is no wind and dust. That will keep you busy until I send for you. Do you comprehend?"
"Yes, M'sieu'… May I not walk behind M'sieu' when he takes the air?"
Warner scowled at him, but he looked so exactly like a shiftless, disreputable and mongrel dog who timidly desires to linger, yet is fearful of a kick, that the American laughed.
"A fine bargain I have in you!" he said. "You prefer rambling to work, it appears!"
"I prefer the vicinity of M'sieu'," said Asticot naïvely.
"Go back to the inn and see if you can do an honest hour's work!" retorted Warner; and he turned and rejoined Sister Eila, who had taken D'Aurès up the steps of the terrace.
It appeared that the ladies were on the north terrace. On the way through the hall, Sister Eila excused herself and mounted the stairs for a look-in on Gray. At the same moment, Peggy Brooks came out of the billiard room, saw D'Aurès, recognized him.
"Oh," she said, extending her hand, "I am so glad you have come back! How is my Minerva runabout?"
"I'm sorry I don't know," he replied, blushing; "I didn't steal it for myself, you see."
"You didn't steal it! It's a gift. It's mine to give. I give it to you! My sister took all the credit of giving away the horses and cars. But I insist on your having my Minerva runabout. It's a charming car. You'll fall in love with it if they let you drive it. Come out to the terrace and speak to my sister and to my dearest friend, Philippa Wildresse."
Warner, much amused to observe the capture of this young man, followed them out to the south terrace.
He certainly was an ornamental young man of enchanting manners, and his popularity was immediate.
To Warner Philippa came presently:
"Where have you been?" she asked. "And couldn't you have taken me?"
"Dear child, I was out before sunrise prowling about the hills with that vagabond at my heels – Asticot."
"What did you see?"
"Uhlans on Vineyard Hill, across the Récollette. Wildresse was with them."
"He!"
"Yes, the miserable spy! If he's not gone clear away some of D'Aurès' men had better try to round him up and get rid of him… After that, Sister Eila and I went to the school. More Uhlans came sniffing around, but they cleared out in a hurry when our cavalry appeared. Our artillery shelled the Germans out of the Esser quarries – you must have heard the firing?"
"Yes. We all thought that the Germans had arrived. Poor Mr. Gray looked so disgusted!"
"Philippa, Halkett is here somewhere."
"Oh!" she exclaimed happily.
"He's here with his machine – an aëroplane of sorts – Bristol, I believe. No doubt he'll come up to the house when he has a chance. I suppose Sister Eila has gone up to tell Gray."
They had strolled around to the eastern parapet and now stood looking out over the tree tops.
"What has happened at Ausone?" she asked. "The cannon have stopped firing."
"I saw Ausone burning from Vineyard Hill. It's all knocked to pieces, Philippa. What I think has happened is this: troops from Verdun and Toul – perhaps from Chalons – have entered Ausone in time to save the fort. I suppose our infantry are intrenched along the Récollette and that there is going to be more fighting in Ausone Forest, which must be full of Germans."
