Complete weird tales of.., p.878
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 878
Warner, his teacup on his knees, bracketed the field glasses on the aëroplanes once more, and was startled at their nearness.
Almost at the same instant a dry crack, like the breaking of a stick, sounded, coming from the direction of the distant fort — another, another, others following in quicker succession. And, watching, he saw below the aëroplanes a dotted line of tiny white spots, growing in length for a while, then maintaining its length as the rearward dots vanished and new dots of cottony white were added to the other end.
Higher and higher rose the aëroplanes above the white wake of exploding shells, bearing eastward now, sheering widely, as a pair of soaring hawks sweep swiftly into vaster circles as they mount into the dazzling blue.
“The fort is using its sky-guns,” remarked Warner.
They all took turns watching the fleecy clots of smoke appear, linger, dissolve in mid-air. Long after the aëroplanes had disappeared in the sky, the high-angle guns continued their distant, rattling fusillade.
“What do you think is happening out there?” asked the Countess. “You have seen war, Jim. Have you an idea what the smoke and cannonade mean? Is a German army coming?”
Warner said:
“They are shelling villages to the north of us — perhaps trenches, too. I don’t know what troops we have there.
“Probably their cavalry screen has come into contact with ours, and I should say that we are retiring. But you can’t tell yet.”
“It’s the invasion, then,” said the Countess calmly.
“It’s a raid, anyway.”
“A raid on Ausone?”
“Probably. The railroad there is always important — much more so than the Ausone Fort. I’m afraid that fort doesn’t amount to very much as fortifications are classed now.”
The spectacle from the north terrace had become very disquieting. All the horizon was now obscured by smoke, and its dirty shadow dulled the distance and invaded the middle distance, hanging from west to east like a sooty veil suspended across land and sky. There was, however, nothing else to see, not a glimmer of flame, nothing stirring on the hill where, unseen, the Ausone Fort crouched above the green valley of the Récollette. But the deadened mutter of the cannonade continued unbroken along the horizon, never ceasing now, not even when the light wind changed.
Peggy’s curiosity was satisfied; she had taken jealous possession of Philippa, with a side glance at Warner out of brown eyes not entirely devoid of malice, and the two were in the billiard room, which opened from the northern terrace, for the purpose of Philippa’s education in the game of French billiards.
The Countess set her teacup aside and picked up her sewing.
“I don’t intend to be driven out of my home,” she remarked.
He lighted a cigarette and looked curiously into the north.
“Whether it’s to be the wretched story of 1870 again or not,” she went on, “I shall not be frightened away from this house.
“This is my home. I came here a bride; my dear husband died under this roof; all I care for in the world, all I hold most dear, most intimate, is here, Jim. I shall not go.”
He said gravely:
“I hope the necessity may never arise, Ethra.”
“It will not. Are the Germans really barbarians? What object could they have in injuring this old house? What good would it do them or their country to disturb us here? If they come, we can’t defend ourselves. What is there for us to do except to submit? But I shall not go away and leave this place to the mercies of their filthy soldiery.”
Warner said nothing. There were many contingencies overlooked by this determined lady — circumstances which might mean ruin to the house — if, for instance, a retreating army chose to defend the Château. But he remained silent, not caring to trouble her with the possibilities of eventualities.
“I had rather you stayed, if you don’t mind, Jim,” she said, sewing away serenely.
“Certainly.”
The steady thud of the cannonade had now assumed a more substantial rumbling sound.
Now and then separate shocks were audible, as though great pieces, occasionally, were discharged singly, dominating the duller monotone of lesser caliber.
He kept his eyes pretty constantly on the horizon line of smoke, evidently expectant of some new development, now and then fancying that it had become visible, as the calm sky became suffused with the delicate pastel hues of early evening, and the first bat zigzagged among the potted orange trees on the terrace.
And presently, in the early dusk, it became visible — first merely as a dull tint reddening the distant smoke, then as a faint, ruddy line of light, shifting, twinkling, sinking, flaring palely, then more redly as the summer dusk deepened and possessed the silent world around them.
From northwest to southeast ran the flicker of the guns, with now and then a wider flare and a deeper accent dominating the measured monotone.
Five fires were burning, also: two from hamlets or nearer groups of buildings belonging to some big farm; the other three conflagrations were farther distant, and much greater, as though three considerable villages and their environs were in flames.
Philippa and Peggy came to the long, open windows from moment to moment, standing there, cue in hand, to look out at the reddening sky.
It was still not too dusky to see fairly well, and the lamps had not yet been lighted in the house, excepting the luster over the billiard table, when a footman appeared on the terrace, dignified, correct, unruffled:
“The driveway and circle, Madame la Comtesse, are full of cavalry. Their officers are dismounting; the troopers have gone into our stables and garage.”
The Countess rose quietly, and Warner stood up in silence.
“What cavalry is it?”
“Ours, Madame. They have taken out the three automobiles and all the horses.”
“Thank you.” And, to Warner: “Would you mind coming with me, Jim?”
They entered the billiard room and traversed the house to the southern terrace.
Drive and circle were swarming with the pale blue dolmans of hussars moving in and out of the fan-shaped glare of electric torches, some mounted, their lances held perpendicularly in the stirrup boots, others afoot, leading up horses from the Château stables, pushing the three automobiles along the garage drive, dragging vehicles of every description by hand — hay wagons, farm wagons, long unused and old-fashioned family carriages with the De Moidrey crest on their panels.
Several officers in turquoise and silver, standing on the terrace, surveyed the proceedings below, one of them turning the brilliant light of his breast torch upon one spot after another and scarcely raising his voice as he directed operations.
There was very little noise, no confusion; everybody seemed to know what was to be done.
As the Countess de Moidrey and Warner came out upon the terrace, the officers heard them, turned, saluted, and one of them, a slim, handsome youth most beautifully molded into his uniform, came forward, crimson cap in hand, bowing with a grace indescribable.
“Madame de Moidrey,” he said, “we very deeply regret the military necessity which temporarily deprives you of your cars and horses, but the Government requires us to ask them of you and to offer you a receipt — —”
“The Government is welcome, Monsieur,” she said earnestly. “If the Government will accept what I have to offer as a gift, it will honor me sufficiently without offering any receipt or promise of indemnification.”
“Countess,” said the youthful soldier, bowing, “it is the answer any soldier of France might expect from one who bears the name of De Moidrey. Nevertheless, Madame, I am required to leave in your possession a receipt for what you so graciously permit me to requisition.... Permit me, Madame — —” He drew from his dispatch pouch the papers, already filled in, signed and stamped, and presented them with a bow.
And, smilingly, Madame de Moidrey tore them across, again and again, and dropped the fragments upon the terrace.
“Monsieur,” she said, “may I not offer you the hospitality of the house — some little refreshment for you and for your men?”
“Madame, we are overwhelmed, but our orders permit us no time.”
Warner said quietly:
“If you could spare a moment, Captain, there is something I should like you to see from the north terrace.” And to the Countess: “May I take him? I think he ought to see what we have seen.”
Madame de Moidrey said:
“By all means, Jim.”
And the two young men went swiftly through the house and out on the north terrace.
“Ha!” exclaimed the officer, as the rumble of the cannonade struck his ears, and he looked out on the dark circle of the horizon, all sparkling and lighted up with the ruddy flicker and flare of the guns.
“A raid?” asked Warner quietly.
“I don’t know. Villages are afire yonder. Have you seen anything that might be of importance to us, Monsieur?”
“Two aëroplanes. The Ausone fort fired at them with sky-guns. They went east.”
“Biplanes?”
“Monoplanes, I think. I am not sure.”
“Square-tipped ailerons? Could you see?”
“They were shaped exactly like kestrels.”
“Ah! Taubes! Many thanks, Monsieur.” He stared out across the darkness. “Yes, it’s warming up out there. Well, sir, I must go. And thank you again for your kindness — —” He fumbled in his dolman, produced his cardcase. “May I be permitted to present my cards to Madame de Moidrey? Thank you — if you would be so amiable — —”
They retraced their steps through the house, encountering Peggy Brooks in the hallway, who received a most ceremonious bow from the youthful hussar, and who acknowledged it with an enchanting inclination of her pretty head.
Within a few feet of the front terrace, the young officer suddenly halted.
“Monsieur,” he said, very red, “it would seem, perhaps, more courteous for me to leave my cards for all the ladies of the household. Would it not — under such unusual and unfortunate circumstances as those of this evening?”
Warner looked at him gravely; he was very young, very ceremonious, very much flushed. Was it possible that Peggy Brooks had bowled over this young gentleman with her first smile?
“I think,” said Warner, very seriously, “that it might be considered obligatory for an officer who takes away all the horses and motor cars to leave his card for every lady in the family. There are,” he added, “three.”
Afterward, when the officer had taken his leave, and his escort of hussars had trotted away with the horses, wagons, and automobiles, Warner, much amused, related to the Countess the incident of the cards; and he distributed them at dinner, reading the name engraved on his own with some curiosity.
“Well, Peggy,” he said, “you did murderous work with your smile this evening.”
She answered calmly:
“I hope so. He was exceedingly nice looking.”
“Le Vicomte d’Aurès,” nodded Warner, “Captain of Cavalry! Very polite, that youngster; very prolific of visiting cards. You should have seen him blush, Peggy.”
“I did. I repeat that he is a nice boy, and I hope he comes back and steals something else.”
Philippa laughed; the Countess smiled indulgently upon her younger sister, and gave the signal to rise.
“The family comes from the West, I think,” she remarked to Warner, as she took his arm. “Goodness, Jim, what a nuisance! — Not a horse in the stable, not a car to move about in. It looks to me as though we were marooned here.... But I am very happy to think that I could do even a little for our Government. I wish I could do more.”
“You may have plenty of chances, Ethra,” he said.
They walked through to the north terrace and stood for a while watching the conflagrations on the horizon.
The vast, slightly curved line of flickering points of fire no longer twinkled and played through the darkness, and the muttering of the cannonade had ceased. Only the three incendiary foci reddened the sky, their illuminated vapors billowing up and spreading away for leagues to the eastward.
There was a mist this night, delicately veiling the tops of the forest trees, and the perfume of lilies from the gardens saturated the night air.
Usually, when foggy conditions prevailed over the valley of the Récollette, the lights of Ausone were visible as a pinkish tinge in the sky. But this night no such tint was apparent; no signal lamps sparkled from the fort, not a light glimmered in the vast black void beyond, where miles and miles of darkness stretched away unlighted even by the wastes of star-set firmament above.
Ethra de Moidrey shrugged her pretty shoulders and turned back toward the billiard room, whither Peggy Brooks had already repaired for practice.
Philippa, remaining beside Warner, stood watching them through the lighted windows.
She was wearing her first evening gown — one of Peggy’s gifts — a dainty affair of palest blue; and her full, smooth cheeks and throat accented the slim immaturity of her arms and shoulders.
She looked up, smiled faintly, and moved nearer with that unconscious instinct of youth for seeking contact where confidence and trust is placed. Her slim fingers, touching his, nestled into his hand with an eloquence unmistakable of innocent possession satisfied.
“You are only a very little girl yet, aren’t you, Philippa?” he said, smiling, but touched by the youth of her and her frail shoulder resting lightly against his own.
“I know I am, Jim. I seem to be growing younger under the warm shelter of your kindness — under the security of this roof and the quiet sense of protection everywhere.
“It is as though I had been arrested in development since I left school — as though youth and growth had stopped and only my mind had continued growing older and older and more tired during these last six years — dull, bewildering, ignoble years — lonely, endless years that dragged their days after them like a chain, heavier, heavier — —”
She pressed a little closer to his shoulder:
“I had nobody. Do you understand? I seem to know right from wrong, but I don’t know how I know it. Yet, I am old in some things — old and wearied with a knowledge which still, however, remains personally incomprehensible to me. It’s just a vast accumulation of unhappy facts concerning life as it is lived by many.... I always knew there were such people as you — as these dear and gentle friends of yours; I never saw them — never saw even any young girls after I left school — only the women, young and old, who came to the cabaret, or who came and went through the Ausone streets, or who sat knitting and gossiping under the trees on the quay.”
She laid her cheek against his shoulder with a little sigh.
“You are very wonderful to me,” she murmured, partly to herself.
The night air had become a little fresher: he thought that she should have some sort of wrap, so they entered the billiard room together, where Peggy, awaiting her shot, slipped one arm around Philippa’s waist, detaining her to caress her and whisper nonsense.
“You beautiful child, I want you to stay with me and not go star-gazing with that large and sunburnt man. You’ll stay, won’t you, darling? And we’ll go to the library presently and find a pretty red and gold book full of armorial designs and snobbish information; and we’ll search very patiently through those expensively illuminated pages until we find a worthy family called D’Aurès — —”
“Oh, Peggy!” said Philippa. “Would you really take so much trouble?”
“Rather!” said Peggy coolly. “I mean to write him some day and find out how he is treating my pet Minerva runabout which he had the audacity to appropriate without thanking me.”
Philippa laughed rather shyly, not entirely comprehending the balance between badinage and sincerity in Peggy’s threat, but realizing that any freedom she permitted herself was her prerogative.
Warner, lingering at the other door, caught Peggy’s eye.
“You can’t have her, Jim!” she said with emphasis, and drew her closer.
So Warner went on to find a wrap for her, and entered the music room.
The next moment he halted, rigid, astounded.
Peering through the windows into the room were the dirty countenances of Asticot and Squelette, their battered noses flattened white on the glass, their ratty eyes fixed on him.
CHAPTER XXV
THAT THE PRECIOUS pair believed Warner to be paralyzed with terror was evident.
As long as he remained motionless they glared at him, their faces and spread fingers flattened against the windowpane. Then, the next instant, he was after them at one bound, jerking open the glass door, out across the terrace where the two young ruffians, evidently surprised and confused by his headlong behavior, parted company, Squelette digging up gravel in his headlong flight down the drive, Asticot darting across the lawn where, beyond the stables, a hospitable tangle of shrubbery seemed to promise easy escape.
But Asticot was awfully wrong; in the darkness he rushed full speed into an elastic barrier of mesh wire which supported the hedge of sweet peas separating garage and stables; and as he rebounded, Warner caught him and coolly began to beat him up.
The beating was deliberate, methodical, and merciless; the blows fell with smart cracks upon the features of Asticot, right, left, sometimes hoisting him off his large, flat feet, sometimes driving him dizzily earthward; but another blow and a savage jerk always brought him up to be swung on again, battered, knocked flying, and finally smashed into merciful insensibility.
Asticot was in a dreadful mess as he lay there on the grass. Vignier, the chauffeur, and a stable lad, Henri, had appeared with a lantern at the débâcle of Monsieur Asticot.
Warner, breathing rapidly, waited a few moments to recover his breath.
“Take him into the harness room and lay him on a blanket,” he managed to say. “Keep your eyes on him, Vignier, until I return. There’s another of them, but I’m afraid he’s cleared out.”
As a matter of fact, Squelette had cleared out. He must have scaled the wall somewhere, for the gates were locked, and the old lodge keeper was evidently asleep.
