THE MAID OF MIRABELLE
 
 BY ELIOT H. ROBINSON 
 
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 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE: A Romance 
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 JOAN 
 
 DROPPED ON HER KNEES BEFORE THE CROSS 
 
 (See page 280)
 
 THE MAID OF 
 MIRABELLE 
 
 A Romance of Lorraine 
 BY ELIOT H. ROBINSON 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 'Smiles' a Rose of the Cumberland*," "Man Proposes," etc. 
 
 FRONTISPIECE BY 
 THE AUTHOR 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 
 Publishers New York 
 
 Published by arrangement with The Page Company
 
 Copyright, 1920, by 
 THE PAGE COMPANY 
 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 
 All rights reserved
 
 To 
 
 All Who Love France Unseen, 
 
 Or Having Seen Her 
 
 Love Her the More Despite Her Failings, 
 
 This Book is Respectfully 
 
 Dedicated. 
 
 2137946
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 THE SETTING ;w ,., i 
 
 I. DANIEL AND FAITH . . ; .., 12 
 
 II. JOAN .... ... ;., 25 
 
 III. IN THE DARK . . ., ., .., 39 
 
 IV. THE RED RIVER . ., : ., . 56 
 V. BY THE POST . . ., ,., .., 67 
 
 VI. NOVEMBER THE ELEVENTH ... . ; 78 
 
 VII. WHERE HISTORY WAS MADE . . 90 
 
 VIII. WITHIN THE PORT OF FRANCE . . 100 
 
 IX. THE ROAD TO MIRABELLE . . . 117 
 
 X. THE PROPHECY OF OLD BARBETTE ., 128 
 
 XL THE HEART OF A HOME . .., . 139 
 
 XII. THE "MORROW" . . , ; . 156 
 
 XIII. CONVERGING PATHS .. ., ., ; . 174 
 
 XIV. THE SINGERS . .. .- : .. . 192 
 XV. MORNING . > ., . . 203 
 
 XVI. NOON . . ;., ... :., .. 217 
 
 XVII. AFTERNOON . : ., t ., ; ., . 232 
 
 XVIII. EVENING . . ., -., . 245 
 
 XIX. NIGHT , : .. . 256 
 
 XX. "THE MAID" . . .- ( . 270 
 
 XXI. SUZETTE'S CONFESSION ; ., ... 285 
 
 THE END AND THE BEGINNING ., . 300
 
 THE 
 
 MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 THE SETTING 
 
 MORNING in Mirabelle! 
 
 A cock crows, Joshua-like commanding the sun, 
 which seems to obey, not by standing still as at 
 the behest of the biblical patriarch but by rising. 
 Is it wholly my imagination, or has that clarion 
 coc-co-ri-co a note of exultation as though chanti- 
 cleer really believes himself responsible for the 
 miracle of the sunrise; or, perchance, knows and is 
 proud that he is the chosen symbol of his own vic- 
 torious France? 
 
 A warm, rosy flush steals through the wide 
 opened portals of my chamber window. Slowly, 
 but inexorably, it puts to flight the legions of dark- 
 ness which, since sundown, have reigned unchal- 
 lenged save by the feeble flicker of one tallow 
 candle tip for Mirabelle has yet to make the 
 acquaintance of either electricity or gas. It tints 
 
 1
 
 2 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 the bare white walls; it softens the crude colors of 
 the few brilliantly lithographed angels and the 
 Virgin and her Child; it creeps further in to en- 
 halo the crucifix above the head of my four-post 
 bed, and imparts to the tiny porcelain stove (whose 
 presence marks my bedroom as one of exceptional 
 luxury) a red glow as though last evening's fire 
 still burned therein. 
 
 I see the dawn through drowsy eyes, which 
 close, only to start open again as the restored si- 
 lence is once more pierced by another clarion call. 
 Now a bugle, before the barrack just over the way, 
 is singing in silver tones the staccato notes of the 
 reveille. " Poilu get up, poilu get up, poiln get up, 
 it's morning," it seems to say. The command is 
 not addressed to me, and I lazily turn over under 
 the fluffy feather counterpane that covers me like 
 heaped-up snow on a grave, the high head-and-foot 
 stones of which are hand-carved black walnut, 
 beautiful with age. 
 
 I strive to shut out the sounds of stirring life 
 by burying both ears simultaneously in the pillow, 
 and fail. For now, from the near-by convent, 
 whose square tower and squat steeple rises above 
 the village like a guardian sentinel, the morning 
 Angelus begins it ringing welcome to the new-born 
 day.
 
 THE SETTING 
 
 Clang! Clang! Clang! The bells in turn sound 
 out the tonal trinity, the last sonorously deep of 
 voice speaking in slow, measured notes as 
 though it scorned to be hurried at its time of life. 
 Now all three join in the glad matutinal chorus. 
 
 A dog barks in the street, and from somewhere 
 near at hand seemingly just beneath my bedroom 
 floor comes the muffled bla-a-a of a goat, and the 
 answer of its mate. It is underneath my chamber 
 floor, for here in Mirabelle one irregular roof 
 covers both man and beast, and in the smooth ce- 
 ment front wall, close by the narrow doorway for 
 the family, is a much more imposing arched en- 
 trance for billy and bossy, and for chanticleer and 
 his tribe. 
 
 From the uneven roadway there sounds the 
 scrape and clatter of wooden shoes. Mirabelle 
 all of Lorraine, indeed will cease to be itself 
 when it proves untrue to the sabots which once 
 shod, if not adorned, the feet of Jeanne, maiden 
 immortal, as she fed her flock on the slopes above 
 Domremy not so many miles away. 
 
 "Bon jour, Madame," and "Bon jour, Mes- 
 sieurs," two early voices come floating upward. 
 
 The bugle sings another song. There is a con- 
 fused sound of many heavy boots and voices; then 
 silence, a clear word of command " En avant
 
 4 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 mar die I" and a rhythmic clump, clump, clump, 
 clump, diminishing down the street. But before 
 the tramp of marching feet wholly dies away it is 
 augmented first by one, then by a hundred fresh 
 young voices in swinging song, " C'est le cui le 
 cui le cui le cuisinier; le cuisinier du bataillon, 
 qui fait le bon bouillon." * 
 
 The song and tramping feet turn a corner and 
 are lost to the ear. Once again I try to overtake 
 fast-fleeting slumber. In vain. There comes a 
 new disturbance. Rat-a-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat 
 tattat. A drum is sounding spasmodically and sans 
 military measure. I hear the noise of near-by doors 
 and windows hastily flung open, and now a stri- 
 dent, somewhat husky voice begins to intone some- 
 thing in a jumble of French. The words are un- 
 intelligible, but I recognize the voice. It is that of 
 the venerable town crier for in this tiny hamlet, 
 removed from all such adjuncts of the modern 
 world as newspapers, the telegraph and the tele- 
 phone (except that belonging to the military) and 
 railroad even, he still holds a vital place in the 
 life of every day. 
 
 There is something strangely romantic about that 
 compelling drum and chanting voice. It stirs the 
 imagination, and I close my now wide-awake eyes 
 
 1 " It's the battalion cook who makes the good soup."
 
 THE SETTING 
 
 and try to picture their possessor clad in leathern 
 jerkin, doublet and hose, and crying forth the news 
 of some medieval event the sack of a city; a 
 threatened invasion which calls all menfolk to 
 arms ; or at least an order from the feudal baron in 
 his chateau-fort on the hill across the river, re- 
 minding his village vassals that their tithes are due 
 to-day. But such imagery is difficult. Too often 
 have I seen him, a warped woolen cap covering his 
 unkempt gray hair and clad in an old patched coat, 
 baggy pantaloons and clumsy sabots. 
 
 However, human curiosity will not longer be 
 denied. It tempts me from my comfortable bed to 
 the open window just in time to hear that a 
 cinema exhibition will be given in the town hall of 
 the neighboring village to-night. Of all anti- 
 climaxes ! 
 
 The crier moves up the street to address another 
 gathering, but for a moment I remain, gazing over 
 the quaint seventeenth-century scene stretched out 
 
 before my twentieth-century eyes. 
 
 ******** 
 
 May in Mirabelle! 
 
 From horizon to zenith the morning sky is a 
 hazy melting blue, the color of those uniforms 
 which so lately turned the corner perhaps it were 
 better to say the color that they had been before
 
 6 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 passing through the inferno of the Argonne. It 
 lends patches of its hue to the small, irregular 
 pools of water in the cobbled road; it rained during 
 the night, and the tawny dust of yesterday has, for 
 the time, reverted into an evil suggestion of the om- 
 nipresent, horribly clinging, ankle-deep, wholly ir 
 describable mud of early spring. 
 
 Below me the narrow road limps unevenly down, 
 to end where the clear, cold waters of the beauti- 
 ful Moselle are sending forth golden glints as the 
 slanting sunbeams dance upon their eddying ripples. 
 On either side the gray-white houses, builded-to- 
 remain of cement-coated stone, descend linked to- 
 gether, not, however, after the manner of city 
 dwellings, but like friendly old neighbors arm in 
 arm. 
 
 From the squat chimneys of all save one, thin 
 blue smoke from early wood fires is curling up- 
 wards, but to that single exception the eye invari- 
 ably returns as to a flaw in some otherwise perfect 
 picture. It is as though an insane giant, striding 
 across the landscape, had stepped once in Mira- 
 belle, and hurried on, leaving in his path one hap- 
 less home crushed to earth. I have seen whole 
 towns and cities left in shattered ruins by the same 
 mad destroyer, for just across the line of not far 
 distant hills the Reaper whose name is Death
 
 THE SETTING 
 
 swung his scythe in broad swathes, but in all their 
 pitiableness they have never affected me as does 
 that single cottage across the way, almost obliter- 
 ated by one chance bomb out of the night sky, 
 when some Boche airman, bent on wanton destruc- 
 tion, caught the faint gleam of a peaceful light, 
 carelessly displayed for an instant somewhere in the 
 village, and sent hurtling earthward one of the deadly 
 missiles, meant, perhaps, for Nancy or for Toul. 
 
 Beyond the little ruined home appears the only 
 other silent witness that devastating war had raged 
 around our peaceful village for more than four 
 bitter years. There lies " God's acre," with its 
 walled-in rows of gray crosses, all too many of 
 which bear the tri-colored rosettes that mutely tell 
 the tale of sleepers, dead in battle for France. 
 
 Near-by a small orchard shows its early green, 
 and there I catch a glimpse of my proprietaire al- 
 ready hard at work pruning the plum trees which 
 are known by the name that I have chosen for my 
 village (it lies, in fact, in the Mirabelle country) 
 and whose possession alone assures their owner of 
 a fair living, for of their fruit is made the much 
 prized gin, called Mirabelle. Beside the orchard, 
 the rich brown furrows of a small garden plot are 
 already beginning to turn green, as the land brings 
 forth its increase.
 
 8 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 I lift my eyes to the hills, which appear like 
 forms kneeling lowly at the feet of the distant 
 Vosges mountains, clad in majestic purple. Their 
 rhythmic elevations are five miles away at least, 
 yet they seem but a few moments' walk distant, 
 so pure is the air this morning, and the tiny trees 
 atop them show trunk and branch against the pale 
 blue background, as though drawn upon it in black 
 ink, by a pen infinitely fine. 
 
 Still closer, just across the river, is one solitary 
 hill that rises precipitously from the water's edge, 
 its steep ascent made the more difficult by man- 
 built walls of reddish stone, now moss, and lichen 
 splashed, with here and there a black slit behind 
 which, once upon a time, long, long ago, the watch- 
 ful sentry stood and the archer bent his bow to 
 safeguard from hostile visitors their master's cha- 
 teau-fortress on the summit above. Only a few 
 shattered walls and scattered stones remain, torn 
 asunder, more than a century past, by angry men in 
 red caps to whom the grim pile stood as a symbol 
 of despotic power in a land which would be free; 
 and now trees, the girth of a man's waist, them- 
 selves entwined with ancient vines and perpetually 
 green with moss, stand where the lordly halls of 
 Monseigneur had once stood; and, where of old 
 the cavaliers of medieval France had lived and
 
 THE SETTING 
 
 loved, and wined and danced, now only the vagrant 
 crow has habitation. 
 
 My eyes are once more drawn from the fasci- 
 nating hill to a barely discernible form, kneeling by 
 the swift-flowing river, which sweeps its base. It 
 is some aged grandam, bent in body by the weight 
 of years, and burdens, both physical and spiritual 
 burdens which have long been the common lot of 
 all women of France, but especially of those who 
 have dwelt within the sight and sound of battle. 
 Up with the sun to do the family washing in the 
 icy waters of the Moselle, she is kneeling there, her 
 petticoats tucked up about her, and her woolen- 
 stockinged shanks emerging from wooden sabots, 
 as she paddles and slaps the coarse garments of 
 three, perhaps of four generations into immacu- 
 lateness. 
 
 And beyond and beyond on every side stretch 
 undulating fields, quietly asleep and smiling, as 
 though they had not, during four years, shuddered 
 day and night in sympathy with their sisters be- 
 yond the hills, as they trembled beneath the shock 
 of battle and the blows of bursting shell. Time it 
 is, indeed, that the stricken fields should rest awhile, 
 and give to Mother Nature a chance to heal their 
 gaping wounds. 
 
 Over them smiles the cloudless sky, for it is May
 
 10 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 in Mirabelle, and peace has come once more to 
 
 France. 
 
 ******** 
 
 Was ever scene more tranquil, idyllic? In such 
 a setting could life be aught but simple and sub- 
 dued? Could a drama with its theme as big as 
 the wide world and as deep as human nature have 
 been enacted amid such surroundings? It seems 
 impossible, and yet . . . 
 
 A snatch of bird-like song, sung in a sweet, un- 
 trained voice, rises to my ears. I lean out of the 
 window, to look down on Joan as she stands just 
 outside the door below, with one shapely arm, bare 
 to the elbow, stretched out and a small hand rest- 
 ing on the lintel. Her face is hidden from me by 
 its crown of rich, dark hair, braided and coiled 
 around her head, but I can picture the expression 
 upon it as the song breaks off with a little catching 
 of the breath. At least I feel sure that the big, 
 dark brown eyes which hold a depth like a shad- 
 owed pool in the October woods, have suddenly 
 become mistily luminous, filled with a shadow that 
 I know so well ; that the sweet sensitive lips, shaped 
 and colored to make an artist worship and despair, 
 quiver for the barest moment; that the warm flush 
 of youth and health has briefly fled from her fair 
 cheeks. Perhaps it is all merely in my imagina-
 
 THE SETTING 11 
 
 tion this, and the thought that the sudden break 
 in her glad song occurred when her eyes rested, as 
 had my own but an instant ago, on the little grave- 
 yard yonder. 
 
 I see her pass her hand hastily across her eyes, 
 but as she turns to re-enter the house the song is 
 begun again. Can I blame her? 
 
 Surely it is youth's privilege to forget, and 
 surely there should be no place for memoried grief 
 in one day of a young girl's life, at least. And I 
 know that this is the day of days for Joan her 
 marriage morning. 
 
 A bird, black as the coal and white as the snow, 
 darts by the window and soars into the blue, echo- 
 ing the final note of Joan's song. Below, a clean 
 pink-and-white pig noses its way into a flock of 
 hens and sends the silly creatures squawking and 
 scurrying to right and left, while our friend chanti- 
 cleer crows defiance at the intruder from the top 
 of a steaming compost heap beside the road. A 
 small cart rattles past, jointly drawn by a panting, 
 shaggy dog, and its youthful master clad in a 
 checked gingham pinafore. 
 
 The village is awake and alive again, for it is 
 May and morning in Mirabelle !
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 DANIEL AND FAITH 
 
 " THY decision I cannot but commend, Daniel. 
 But I fear that thou hast made it, moved not 
 merely by ideals of self-sacrifice and the thought 
 of succoring the distressed and needy, but rather 
 because the germ of adventure lurks in thy youth- 
 ful blood. Nay, do not protest ; I have known thee 
 since thou wert a baby, and although we all love 
 thee as we loved thy father and mother, thy way- 
 wardness hath tried me often." 
 
 " I know, and am sorry that it has been so. 
 Truly I have tried to do as you wanted to do 
 right, foster-father. But the world changes and 
 customs with it, you know, and when a man is 
 young . . . ' 
 
 ' The Truth never changes, Daniel. Our fore- 
 fathers pointed out the straight and narrow path 
 which should be trod by those who bear the name 
 of ' Friends,' and we have followed it in honor and 
 contentment. But I had not meant to speak at this 
 time of the things that are past, but rather of 
 
 12
 
 DANIEL AND FAITH 13 
 
 thy future, although it has troubled me that thou, 
 with many others of the newer generation, hast 
 chosen to forget the plain speech of thy people I 
 fear that thy years and new friends at the great 
 University have not benefited thee in the things 
 which count, the Eternal things. It is a small mat- 
 ter, perhaps, and what disturbs me more is the fact 
 that I know thou hast ever had a lusty body and a 
 wayward mind, and hast yet to learn the truth of 
 the words, ' better is he that ruleth his spirit than 
 he that taketh a city.' Truly I fear for thee, sud- 
 denly thrust amid the temptations of a strange land, 
 the ways of which, I am told, differ so greatly 
 from those of our sect. 
 
 " But there, perhaps I am too harsh in my judge- 
 ments, forgetful of the injunction of our Master. 
 Better let me remind you that the Lord, in His 
 infinite wisdom, never lays upon our souls burdens 
 heavier than we can bear, nor sends temptations 
 beyond our power to resist. No, I do not wish to 
 dissuade thee, although we shall all miss thee 
 sorely. The labor is worthy; see that thou art 
 worthy, likewise. It is fitting that we remain for 
 a little while in silent communion with the Divine 
 Spirit." 
 
 The Elder, his wife and the girl closed their 
 eyes in prayer.
 
 14 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Daniel Steele, Friend, had been one of such a 
 gn/up times innumerable. Yet to-night he expe- 
 rienced a sense of remoteness, of unreality, as his 
 warm gray eyes took in the familiar picture from 
 beneath their half-closed lids; the modest sitting- 
 room, plainly furnished and expressive of its oc- 
 cupants' neutral-colored life; the calm, patriarchal 
 appearance of the Elder in his butternut brown 
 homespun suit, his knotted hands devoutly clasped; 
 the serenely sweet face of his wife, who, in her 
 Quaker gray and white, brought the thought of a 
 mother dove; and the demure, flower-like counte- 
 nance of their daughter. 
 
 The Elder had read the younger man's character 
 aright, but he would have been even more seriously 
 disturbed if he had known how hotly youth burned 
 beneath the trained impassiveness of the one who 
 stood before him, straight and strong and with 
 something of the muscular tension of an eager 
 thoroughbred firmly held in check. The truth was 
 that an unusually keen imagination had supplied 
 for a highly sensitized soul and energetic body, out- 
 lets which had otherwise been denied him in the 
 small community of Friends where he had been 
 born and raised. Even when he was a child, it had 
 aided him to devise games and play pranks that had 
 at first disturbed the family circle, and then out-
 
 DANIEL AND FAITH 15 
 
 raged the little village. But an innate love of truth 
 and fair play, with the strict training to which he 
 had been subjected in the foster home where he had 
 been brought in orphaned babyhood, had enabled 
 him to curb, if not to destroy, the monster as 
 others regarded it. 
 
 When the world went mad, however, it had 
 strained at its bonds until they nearly broke, and 
 only the real love which he bore for his foster- 
 family, and the inertia of habitude, prevented Dan- 
 iel from violating the faith of his forefathers and 
 becoming a man of war, as he dreamed of the 
 struggle across the sea. These two things, rather 
 than obedience to the sixth commandment, had held 
 his eager soul in check. And now Opportunity had 
 stretched forth her hand and opened the gate be- 
 fore him. True to their precepts and their name, 
 the American Society of Friends had from the out- 
 set given of their best in assisting to succor the 
 widows, the fatherless and the homeless in stricken 
 France, affiliated with those who labored in the 
 same spirit of sacrifice beneath the far-flung banner 
 of the Red Cross. The cry had now come from the 
 War Relief Service Committee for new volunteers, 
 young, strong, fearless in the face of danger; and 
 all that was manly, as well as all that was romantic, 
 in Daniel's nature, had answered.
 
 Yes, the Elder had truly understood some of his 
 foster-son's thoughts, for, even as he uttered his 
 calm words of admonition, Daniel's imagination 
 was supplying a background made up of the dis- 
 tant roar and rumble of battle, the excited clamor 
 of fighting men, and the cries and groans of 
 the wounded. Now they seemed to swell through 
 the silence of the room, beating in upon his brain 
 and making his heart pulsate more swiftly. At last 
 he was going onto the field of the mighty conflict. 
 True, it was not to bear arms against the foe of his 
 country and of mankind his faith forbade but 
 it would be the battlefield, nevertheless, and in a 
 land filled with the glamor of brave romance, no 
 greater in the heyday of her power than now, in 
 the hour of her direst need. 
 
 The sight of his foster-father and mother, so 
 peaceful in prayer, was not enough to bring his 
 winging thoughts home, but when his half-hidden 
 glance passed to the face of his childhood's play- 
 mate, the imagined turmoil of war died slowly 
 away. There came a swift tightening in the mus- 
 cles of his throat. Daniel had not been praying 
 before; perhaps he did not consciously pray now, 
 but there was something in the protecting way that 
 he thought of her, and wished for her happiness 
 until the wish hurt, that was akin to prayer. Never,
 
 DANIEL AKD FAITH 17 
 
 previously, had she seemed so like a sweet bud 
 which one instinctively desires to shield from the 
 world's chill blasts, and there grew in his mind a 
 keen regret for the many times that he, though 
 certainly caring for her in a boyish way, had 
 teased her shamefully, made her the ever-uncom- 
 plaining victim of his wild games. 
 
 The words of mild reproof which the Elder had 
 spoken had left him cold, but the look on the girl's 
 face stirred him to a realization of how far short 
 of her standard he fell, and of the teachings which 
 had been instilled into both from babyhood. It 
 was for an instant as though he had been brought 
 unexpectedly face to face with his soul, stripped 
 naked of its cloak of custom and religious conven- 
 tion. Daniel stood at last ashamed. His eyes 
 closed and his strong hands clinched in the earnest- 
 ness of his unworded petition that he might, in- 
 deed, be granted that strength which he knew that 
 the others were then praying for him to receive 
 the strength to be true to the best in himself; in 
 thought and deed as well as word worthy the name 
 of "Friend." 
 
 " Faith ! " The single word formed itself on 
 his lips. His eyes opened once more, to find them- 
 selves still fastened on the girl-woman who bore 
 it as her Christian name. Daniel's heart stopped,
 
 18 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 and beat anew more rapidly. Did she really care 
 so much, this little Faith who had always been to 
 him merely a foster-sister, an ever-present fact and 
 therefore outside his romantic imaginings? A 
 single tear had slowly gathered under one tightly 
 closed lid and was trembling there, like a dew-drop 
 on the edge of a white rose petal. 
 
 The tear started down the smooth contour of her 
 unnaturally pale cheek, to be hastily brushed away 
 by one small hand, that at once returned to clasp its 
 mate on her lap. 
 
 The Elder and his wife, a soft gray shadow, 
 arose and passed from the room, after the former 
 had paused to clasp Daniel's hand firmly, and the 
 latter to press a motherly kiss on his cheek as she 
 echoed her husband's, " God bless thee, my son." 
 
 Faith arose also, but stood quietly, with down- 
 cast eyes, as Daniel reached out, caught one of her 
 hands and held it tight. The spotless kerchief of 
 white lawn which covered her throat all save a 
 small V of smooth flesh, rose and fell rapidly on 
 her young bosom. " How very sweet and pure she 
 is!" thought the man. "What beautiful hair!" 
 With a sense of surprise he noticed for the first 
 time how truly golden were the glints which it 
 gave forth as the subdued light from the lamp fell 
 on the strands which persisted in rippling, although
 
 DANIEL AND FAITH 19 
 
 conscientiously smoothed down and drawn tightly 
 back into a plain knot. 
 
 " You know that I have got to go ... dear," 
 the last word came haltingly. " I have agreed, and 
 it is my duty now." 
 
 " I know. Yes, truly it is thy duty. Nor would 
 I have thee stay, when the poor people across the 
 sea so need what little we can do, and give, to help 
 them in their affliction. But oh, be careful . . . 
 and come back to us, Daniel, for as father hath 
 said and thou knowest, we love thee dearly." 
 
 " Come back? Of course I shall," he responded 
 with an ineffective effort to laugh naturally. 
 
 " The . . . the French girls. They will not 
 make thee want to stay there? It is said that they 
 are very beautiful." 
 
 This time he laughed boisterously at the idea. 
 
 " And Daniel, thou wilt be true ... to thy 
 faith? That is of all the most important, and if 
 thou wert not true, I do not know as I could for- 
 give thee." 
 
 "Yes, I will be true ... to my Faith." He 
 emphasized the word, meaningly, and it did not 
 pass unnoticed, as the richer color in her cheeks in- 
 dicated. But when he would have drawn her close 
 she broke away, and, with a stifled sound like a 
 sob, ran from the room.
 
 20 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 For some moments Daniel stood as she had left 
 him, immobile, but his mind was active with won- 
 derful new thoughts. A clear inner light was 
 dawning upon, and then fairly dazzling it. Faith 
 cared for him in a manner and to a degree that 
 he had never even dreamed of! And he? He 
 knew of a sudden that he loved her, no longer with 
 the old boyish affection of brother for sister, but 
 as a man loves his mate. Many half^remembered 
 things, theretofore barely considered and taken as a 
 matter of course, crowded back into his recollection ; 
 how completely the little family, himself included, 
 had grown to depend upon her quiet efficiency in 
 the home, of which, for all her youth, she was the 
 true center; how firm a will in right-doing lay be- 
 neath her sweetness, how full a share of strength 
 beneath her simplicity. There was no neighbor but 
 sent for her in time of sickness, there was no child 
 in the little village but worshipped her and clung 
 to her when she appeared. Even the little human- 
 izing touches in her nature the way she bent the 
 iron will of her unsuspecting father, and brought 
 him unconsciously to show to the frailties of others 
 a charitableness foreign to his own nature all 
 came to his mind with new appeal. 
 
 His heart, his arms, his throat ached for her, 
 and if the repressive training of twenty-four years
 
 DANIEL AND FAITH 21 
 
 had not held him sternly in check he would have 
 hastened to follow her even into the room which, 
 until that moment, had meant nothing to him, but 
 had suddenly become invested with sanctity. In 
 the dark he climbed the straight, narrow, creaking 
 stairs, and briefly paused before the closed door 
 which had become a portal to Paradise. His 
 thoughts were in a ferment, with love the leaven. 
 New hopes, new desires mingled with the dreams 
 which had been his and so attractive but a short 
 time before, and almost blotted them out. 
 
 Was it his imagination, or did he really hear the 
 sound of smothered sobbing within the room, no 
 light from which showed through the crack beneath 
 the door to-night? 
 
 Daniel turned slowly toward his own small 
 chamber and there paused again. Then he straight- 
 ened his broad shoulders almost aggressively, 
 strode forward and dragged his one valise from 
 beneath the bed. The die was cast ; but the future 
 had changed from beckoning adventure into stern 
 duty. Hands that worked with almost feverish 
 haste threw the garments of his limited wardrobe 
 into the bag; then they began to move more and 
 more slowly until they stopped, holding a corres- 
 pondence portfolio which he had used at the Uni- 
 versity.
 
 22 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " I've got to go forward, but I just can't go 
 now . . . without knowing for sure . . . ' his 
 lips half spoke the words. 
 
 His actions became feverish once more as he 
 seized a pen and sheet of paper, but there fol- 
 lowed many long pauses before the brief note was 
 finished. It ran : " Faith, dearest. I cannot go 
 away without telling you that I love you, not as a 
 brother his sister, but as a man does a woman who 
 is nothing to him and everything. Can I dare 
 think that perhaps you care for me a little in the 
 same way? If I could only be sure of that, I 
 would go abroad as must a sailor who knows that 
 after the voyage, full of possible perils and storms, 
 a calm harbor awaits his return. I long to hear 
 you tell me so, yet I dare not wait to see and to 
 ask you to-morrow, for I know that if my wish 
 should come true I might not be strong enough of 
 will to go at all. And I must go, now. If what 
 I hope, but do not deserve, is really so, please, 
 please, telegraph the single word ' yes ' to the for- 
 warding address in Philadelphia, which you have. 
 If I am presumptuous and wrong, be assured that I 
 shall understand, and love you none the less. But 
 if the answer is the one I hope for, I shall go over- 
 seas stronger in every purpose and always true to 
 my Faith, personified. Daniel."
 
 DANIEL AND FAITH 23 
 
 With the folded note in his hand, he crept once 
 more to the closed door. No sound from within 
 was now audible, and he visioned the girl as he 
 had often seen her when she was a child one 
 white arm in its severely plain long-sleeved night- 
 gown under her head, and the hand hidden amid a 
 tumble of unbound hair falling in a golden cascade, 
 as nature had meant it to, over the pillow. Cau- 
 tiously he slipped the letter beneath the door and 
 stole back to his own room. But it was not to 
 sleep, although he threw himself, fully dressed, 
 upon the quilted cover of the bed. The first pale 
 flush of dawn, supplanting the paler moonlight, 
 found him with eyes still wide awake. 
 
 Daniel arose, made his few final preparations in 
 silence, and hastily tiptoed down the hall and stair- 
 way, with just one lingering glance at Faith's door, 
 from beneath which still appeared a tiny corner of 
 white. It was yet an hour to train time, but he was 
 urged to haste by the sounds of movement within 
 his foster-parents' room. True, they might feel 
 disappointment if he left without their bidding him 
 a last farewell, but Faith would surely be awak- 
 ened, and he was suddenly panic-stricken at the 
 thought of meeting her after she had seen his note, 
 and, perhaps, being forced to read in her face some- 
 thing which he could not bear to see, and she could
 
 24 THE MAID OF MIRABELKB 
 
 not dissimulate. He fairly ran from the little 
 porch. 
 
 Through the sleeping village he walked with long 
 strides, but stopped on the outskirts to look back 
 just once. A soft gray mist lovingly enveloped his 
 boyhood home and melted into the calm and cloud- 
 less western sky. Then he turned and faced the 
 distant east. The sun of a new day was on the 
 verge of rising; like an unseen artist with an in- 
 visible brush it was painting the broken clouds 
 along the horizon in brilliant, angry colors. 
 
 At last the train that should bear him away on 
 the first step into the future appeared in the dis- 
 tance, heralded by a streamer of black. It left him, 
 a few hours later, in the great city, whence he was 
 to embark for France. But, long before he reached 
 the headquarters of the American Friends Service 
 Committee, a message had arrived for him, over 
 the singing wire. It contained only one word, and 
 that word was " Yes."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 JOAN 
 
 " LOOK, my mother, little Pierre has a new 
 soldier's cap." 
 
 Joan laughed merrily as she pointed through the 
 wide open window. But the laugh ended in a sigh, 
 and an expression of tender pity crept into her 
 brown eyes as they returned to the embroidery in 
 her lap. Indeed, the six-year-old, who was march- 
 ing so proudly down the road his small sabots 
 clattering on the cobblestones, his sturdy legs 
 bare, his little jacket and pantaloons patched and 
 frayed and enveloped in a patched pinafore, whose 
 blue checks had nearly faded away from frequent 
 washings, and his wooden gun held high on the 
 shoulder after the prescribed manner of the French 
 manual of arms presented a picture at once com- 
 ical and pathetic. For the new peaked rabbit cap 
 of horizon blue, worn with such pride, was so 
 large as nearly to mask the chubby baby face be- 
 neath it. 
 
 " Poor little one," she half whispered. " Oh, if 
 26
 
 26 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 only I oould do more for them all, our orphaned 
 children! Perhaps it is true that the cruel world 
 does not owe a living to its grown-up people, but 
 surely its babies deserve something better than the 
 lot of refugees fatherless, motherless, homeless, 
 and robbed of all the joys of childhood. Dieu* 
 how I hate the Boche; how I wish that I could 
 myself fight against them!" Only you who have 
 heard a woman of France speak the word, 
 "Boche" can know the full measure of loathing 
 and obloquy contained in it. 
 
 " There, there, Joan," responded her mother, as 
 she bent her thin back the better to -bite off a 
 thread from the dainty chemise which she was em- 
 broidering, " have we not troubles enough with- 
 out thinking of other things that thinking cannot 
 help? Thou canst not fight against them, as thou 
 well knowest, and is it not enough that thy only 
 brother is in the army? Come, thou art doing 
 
 1 The author has in this story refrained from attempt- 
 ing to render literally into English the idioms of the French 
 language, nor does he introduce French words, except in a 
 few cases where a typical expression or exclamation is in- 
 capable of translation such as the ejaculation " Dieu," which 
 is by no means a profanity in French. He has, however, re- 
 tained the use of the second person singular, so quaint to our 
 ears, since it has become obsolete in English except in the 
 * plain language " of the Friends, for it is still a part of the 
 French tongue and invariably used between relations and in- 
 timate friends. 
 
 THE EDITOR.
 
 JOAN 27 
 
 more than thy share, already, to help the little ones 
 who have been sent to Mirabelle for refuge." 
 
 For a moment there was no sound in the tiny 
 bare-walled room which served three generations as 
 a place to cook and eat and work, save for the con- 
 tented purring of Mimite beneath the square of 
 fine linen on Joan's lap, and the faint sounds from 
 overhead, where her younger sister, Suzette, was 
 thumping up the fluffy feather counterpanes for the 
 beds. Then the little mother readjusted her steel- 
 rimmed spectacles before her squinting eyes, re- 
 threaded her needle, and, as her flying fingers con- 
 tinued the design, said, " I have meant to speak to 
 thee before regarding this matter, Joan, and to tell 
 thee that I know of the bread and sugar which thou 
 hast secretly given to the little Pierre, when I was 
 not present to hinder thee. The bread I do not 
 begrudge, if he is hungry although it speaks ill 
 for the generosity of neighbor Lefevre but thou 
 knowest how well nigh impossible it is to obtain 
 even a little livre of sugar; and has not the Mayor 
 told thy father that no new cards for it are to be 
 given out next month ? " 
 
 " I know. But surely, mother, I can do as I 
 wish with my own share, and if I like my coffee as 
 well unsweetened . , . ' 
 
 " ' Like it as well unsweetened ' listen to her !
 
 28 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Since when hast thou liked it unsweetened, then? 
 It is since that Pierre and his sisters came from 
 Verdun. Dost thou not remember how I used to 
 say to thee daily, that thy blood would turn to 
 sugar and water if thou drank thy coffee so sweet?" 
 
 " But he is only a child, my mother ; and chil- 
 dren 
 
 " He is French, and the young as well as the old 
 must learn to sacrifice, for only so can we con- 
 quer." 
 
 " ' Must learn ? ' Have they not learned it long 
 ago? Behold the grandmother there!" With a 
 passionate Latin sweep of her shapely arm, Joan 
 again pointed out of the window to indicate the 
 bowed form of Madame le Jeune, who was slowly 
 entering the yard, pushing before her a hand-barrow 
 of home manufacture, piled with stumps and heavy 
 tree branches. Leaning partly out over the stone 
 sill, she continued, " My faith, such a great load, 
 grandmother! Is not then seventy years too old 
 for a woman to bear a burden so heavy? " 
 
 The old woman cackled toothlessly, as she wiped 
 the sweat from a face deeply graven with lines, 
 but still rosy, " * To bear such a burden ! ' she says. 
 Did I not bear thy father, and he has for fifty 
 years been so great a burden that this one seems as 
 nothing."
 
 JOAN 29 
 
 There was an answering laugh from above her 
 head, where her son, almost as bent and wrinkled 
 as she, from his forty years of ceaseless labor in 
 the cotton mill and garden plot, was nailing a va- 
 grant limb of the pear tree to the cement wall. 
 
 " Waste no breath in sympathy for thy grandam, 
 Joan. Old she may be, but her strength is greater 
 than thine own. By the good Lord, I had almost 
 thought that France had forgotten how to breed 
 strong men and women, until this war showed us 
 that the blood of those who conquered nearly all 
 the world for the Little Corporal, had not ceased to 
 run in our veins." 
 
 "If thy generation had raised real families, as 
 do the beasts of Germans, there would, perchance, 
 have been no war," answered his mother, tartly, 
 whereupon her daughter-in-law spoke from within 
 the room, " And art thou not then content to have 
 one grandson in the battle? I thank the dear God 
 that there are no more." 
 
 " Mother! " cried Joan, and added as have in- 
 numerable maids throughout the ages " Oh, why 
 wasn't / born a man! " 
 
 "If thou wouldst help to do a man's work, lay 
 aside thy broderie and hasten to the store to buy 
 a few more nails for me," called her father. 
 
 The girl willingly laid her task aside, arose
 
 30 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 from the low, straight-backed wooden chair, shook 
 a few threads from her full skirt, tossed back her 
 head to readjust one of the long, thick braids of 
 hair which had fallen forward over her breast, and 
 started blithely out. In the narrow paved entryway 
 she paused long enough to slide her slippered feet 
 into the carved sabots,, for it had rained during the 
 night. Laughingly, she shooed before her out of 
 the door a wildly squawking, much flustered hen 
 which had been caught between the fence of the 
 little front yard and grandmother le Jeune with her 
 load of wood, and fled down the entry for refuge. 
 The commotion drew the attention of Pierre across 
 the road, and he broke off his self-appointed guard 
 mount to run toward her, crying in a childish 
 treble, " Good morning, my Joan." 
 
 " Halt! Salute t " The commands rang out in 
 the girl's clear voice. To rigid attention came the 
 small form, the lathe gun slid down into the pre- 
 scribed position at his right side, his grimy left 
 hand snapped up across his pinafore. Joan's own 
 arm swung smartly up, elbow raised, hand to her 
 forehead, palm outward. 
 
 " On the shoulder. Arms! " 
 
 Back to its former position went the weapon of 
 wood, and straightway a sticky hand was snuggled 
 into one of hers, as the small soldier of France
 
 JOAN 31 
 
 glanced up sidewise from beneath the almost ex- 
 tinguishing cap, with a look half roguish, half 
 pleading. 
 
 " Is it that thou wouldst accompany me to the 
 store, my little one? Forward, then. ' Marchons! 
 marchons! qu'un sang impur dbreuve nos sillons.' '' 
 Pierre's piping treble joined with Joan's sweet so- 
 prano in the stirring chorus of the Marseillaise, 
 as they stepped off together. 
 
 " Now sing ' Vive le Pinard' * I like it better, 
 Joan." 
 
 " Is it then the song, or the wine itself that thou 
 lovest better, mischievous one?" teased the girl. 
 
 " The song, the song. Have not the poilus taught 
 me to sing it all through? " 
 
 " No, I shall not sing at all. I am very sad." 
 
 " My Joan is sad? But why? " 
 
 " Because her Pierre did not go to the school 
 this morning with his sisters. Thou promised 
 me ..." 
 
 " To school ! I am a soldier, and soldiers never 
 go to school." The little hand was hastily with- 
 drawn from her clasp, and the diminutive figure 
 again assumed a martial mien. 
 
 " How many soldiers, now in the awful trenches, 
 
 *" Pinard." Soldier slang for the. vin ordinaire cheap 
 red wine.
 
 32 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 wish that they were back in school to-day," whis- 
 pered the girl, as a heavier boom from the North- 
 east swiftly carried her thoughts to the front where 
 her own brother her junior by a year was 
 helping to hold the long, thin line flung across 
 France, a barrier which might bend, but never 
 really break, before the onslaught of the Boche. 
 
 " But come. Tell me where thou hast found thy 
 fine new cap." 
 
 The boy pushed it up from one eye, and 
 answered, " It is the cap of my brother Jean, 
 a truly soldier. He is at our house on permission. 
 It is late last night that he arrived to spend a whole 
 day with me, Marie and Georgette; but he is in- 
 stead spending it in bed, I think, for he is not yet 
 awake. He is very lazy, is he not, Joan ? " 
 
 " Perhaps he is very tired, poor lad. If he is 
 hungry, too, when he awakes, and thou wilt bring 
 him to our house, I . . . ' 
 
 " But he is not hungry, ever. Is he not the or- 
 derly to M. le Lieutenant, and so has always plenty 
 to eat? I think that I shall be an officer, and not 
 a poilu, when I grow up, so that I may have some- 
 thing to eat ... always," mused the boy. 
 
 The girl and her military escort turned the cor- 
 ner at the foot of the little hill, and stepped down 
 into a low doorway which led into a shadowy shop,
 
 JOAN 33 
 
 converted out of one room of a dwelling house. 
 A widely varied, if meager, assortment of groceries, 
 dry goods, and hardware, together with the inevi- 
 table cask of cheap red wine, cluttered the single 
 counter and uneven shelves. As they entered, to 
 the jangling of a bell in the room beyond, a wo- 
 man, young as to figure but sadly old of face, and 
 clad in the black that proclaimed her a widow al- 
 most as soon as wife, came to greet them, still 
 carrying in her hand her workbasket filled with 
 half-embroidered linen. Her patient, tired eyes, 
 dulled with pain, peered near-sightedly into the 
 semi-darkness. 
 
 " Good-day, Mile. Joan. What is it that you de- 
 sire this morning?" 
 
 " A few nails, like this one," answered her cus- 
 tomer. " How much do they cost by the livre 
 now? Two francs? But are they not very dear, 
 Madame ? " 
 
 " Will Mademoiselle have the kindness to tell me 
 what is not very dear in France, now? Especially 
 the things made of iron and of steel, every gram 
 of which we need for the big guns and their beauti- 
 ful shells with which to kill the Boche" A flash 
 of hatred shone from her eyes, but faded quickly. 
 "And will that be all? Thank you. Good-day, 
 Mademoiselle."
 
 34 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " Good-day, Madame." 
 
 The two comrades started to climb the slight as- 
 cent, Pierre's short legs striving valiantly, but in 
 vain, to match their stride with Joan's free steps, 
 and the small soldier's hand again sought the pro- 
 tecting comfort of her firm clasp when a mild man- 
 nered cow strolled leisurely in front of them, to 
 quench her thirst at a stone trough by the way- 
 side. 
 
 " Look, look ! It is my Jean. He is at last 
 awake," the child cried, as they neared their des- 
 tination, and Joan's eyes fell upon a tall, straight 
 figure in battle blue, standing before the door of 
 the house almost opposite her own. He was bare- 
 headed, for obvious reasons, and his close-clipped 
 brown hair glistened as though his head had just 
 come out of a pail of water as, indeed, it had. 
 Sleepiness, and appreciation of the picture before 
 him, struggled for supremacy in the young man's 
 blue eyes, but there was no appearance of war- 
 weariness in the healthy red glow beneath the tan 
 of his cheeks, or in the firm, well modeled lips that 
 smiled gaily beneath the small, blond mustache. 
 
 " He is not really handsome, perhaps," thought 
 Joan, woman-like. " But I am sure that he is 
 pleasant and very, very brave. I know that I 
 should like him." Her eyes traveled with undis-
 
 JOAN 35 
 
 guised approval over his well-knit body in its 
 belted tunic, and the straight, muscular legs which 
 appeared to full advantage in their tightly wrapped 
 spirals of blue cloth, even if the clumsy black shoes 
 below were not things of beauty. 
 
 " Thief ! " called the man, as he caught sight of 
 the missing cap atop the head of his little brother, 
 and took a purposeful stride towards him. 
 
 " Run! " laughed Joan, on an impulse born of the 
 merry morning and her own overflowing youth, 
 and as the child promptly obeyed she covered his 
 retreat by stepping in front of the pursuer. Jean 
 prevented full collision by dodging, but his arm 
 knocked the paper of nails from her hand, and its 
 contents strewed the road. Simultaneously both 
 bent to recover them, a wayward strand of the 
 girl's long hair looped itself firmly around one of 
 the small steel buttons, stamped with crossed can- 
 non, which adorned his shoulder strap; she gave a 
 little cry, more of surprise than pain ; a ^og started 
 to bark loudly, which sent the flock of silly hens 
 flying hither and yon once more. 
 
 " A thousand pardons, Mademoiselle." Jean had 
 finally succeeded in disentangling the button, al- 
 though a cynical onlooker might have accused him 
 of making haste slowly. " But I am awkward 
 this morning."
 
 36 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " Not at all, Monsieur; it was I." She was even 
 rosier of cheek than was her wont, and the mist of 
 pain-drawn tears made her deep brown eyes sparkle 
 bewitchingly, a fact that was not lost on the other. 
 " Oh, oh. Your hand, it has been wounded. Did I 
 hurt it? I am terribly sorry." 
 
 The poilu made a half-hearted effort to thrust 
 the bandaged member behind his back, but the girl 
 was nevertheless holding it gently as he replied, " It 
 is nothing, nothing at all. A slight infection in an 
 old scratch." 
 
 " Look, Joan. I still have the cap," shrilled 
 Pierre from a safe distance. 
 
 " ' Joan ? ' Is it then that you are the Joan of 
 whom my little sisters have written me so often 
 she whom they call their angel? " 
 
 " I am Joan le Jeune, yes, but no angel, I fear," 
 replied the girl, the dark lashes veiling her down- 
 cast eyes. 
 
 "Joan le Jeune? But not the sister of Henri, 
 of my own battery of seventy-fives?" 
 
 " Henri ? Do you know him, then ? " The large 
 eyes were wide open again, and a joyful light was 
 dawning in them. 
 
 ' Know him ? ' But assuredly. Are we not 
 comrades brothers almost? Do we not serve 
 the same mistress, the long and slender beautiful
 
 JOAN 37 
 
 gun which he has christened 'Joan/ after you? 
 Ah, but it is an angel, our angel of death." 
 
 "Truly? Your beautiful cannon is called for 
 me? Then I am happy, for if I cannot myself 
 fight against the Boche, my namesake fights for 
 me." Joan stood very straight, her lips parted, 
 hands clenched and eyes flashing. 
 
 " The Spirit of France," breathed Jean, with a 
 look of open admiration in his own blue eyes. 
 
 " A friend of our dear Henri ! Then you must 
 come at once to my house, and tell us all the news 
 of him whom we have not seen for many long 
 weeks. Pierre, thou shalt come also, for there is 
 bread and sugar for thee a very little sugar," 
 she added, as her face clouded momentarily. 
 " Come, have no fear of thy brother, for I shall 
 protect thee, my little one." 
 
 It would seem that Pierre was not very greatly 
 frightened, for as the three crossed the road to 
 Joan's cottage his sticky hands were clasping a 
 hand of each; and the face of Joan's mother 
 who had been drawn to the window by the sound 
 of the commotion and merry laughter assumed 
 a startled expression, as though a vision had been 
 granted her of the years to come. 
 
 When father le Jeune learned the identity of the 
 visitor, he clambered stiffry down the ladder and
 
 38 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 made him welcome with a horny-handed grasp, 
 and nothing would do but that Jean enter the little 
 room, seat himself at the plain wooden table, and 
 partake of a tiny glass of the crystal-clear and 
 potent Mirdbelle, a tall bottle of which was hidden 
 in the corner cupboard for all fete occasions. 
 
 The sunshine poured into the room, silhouetting 
 Joan's perfect profile, and creating an aurora 
 around her head as she sat by the wide open win- 
 dow; it drew from her flashing needle fleeting 
 darts of light which jumped about the wall and 
 kept Mimite's head in constant motion following 
 them, as she lay contentedly on Jean's knees; it 
 imprisoned itself in the sparkling liquor; it brought 
 out the deep rich red of the ancient tiles on the 
 floor; and, perversely, as it made more beautiful 
 the things wherein beauty dwelt, it showed up each 
 discoloring spot and disfiguring crack on the plaster 
 wall, the crude lithography of its sole ornament 
 a gaudy calendar and the network of wrinkles 
 in grandmother's strong, homely face. 
 
 But Jean, as he told the story of the front in 
 fluent French, had no eyes for the defects in the 
 picture, for his gaze seldom, even for a moment, 
 left the flushed, lovely face of Joan, the Maid of 
 Mirabelle, as she bent industriously over her work.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 IN THE DARK 
 
 THE slow-moving train crept eastward through 
 the dark, without lights, and with every window 
 closely curtained. Then, for the hundredth time, 
 it seemed to Daniel, it came to a creaking halt. He 
 stirred uneasily in his cramped position, and the 
 Red Cross nurse, who wrapped in her long blue 
 cloak and with her feet tucked up under her was 
 leaning heavily against his shoulder, groaned be- 
 neath her breath, and murmured, " O Lord, again? 
 Wha-what time is it? " 
 
 Laboriously he extricated his left arm, and con- 
 sulted the illuminated dial of his wrist watch. 
 " Quarter to three. Cheer up, we're only nine 
 hours late, already." 
 
 " I suppose that I'm breaking your arm ; but I'm 
 past caring," she admitted, as she pillowed her 
 head against the sleeve of his heavy reefer, whose 
 shoulder bore an insignia of a four-pointed black 
 star on another of red, which, together, formed the 
 
 39
 
 40 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 eight-pointed emblem of the city of Nancy a 
 symbol that, with the freedom of the city, had been 
 granted the Society of Friends fifty years before, 
 in recognition of its valiant work of rescue carried 
 on there during the Hun's earlier crime against 
 France. 
 
 " Not in the least. I don't mind," responded 
 Daniel. A few months earlier his Quaker train- 
 ing and traditions had suffered a rude shock, when 
 he had undergone the first of a series of similar 
 experiences, but it was now an old story to him 
 this travel by night on a train where seven or eight 
 men, and a woman or two, were generally crowded 
 into a compartment designed to hold six. 
 
 By no stretch of his romantic imagination could 
 he regard the long journey from Paris as having 
 been a pleasant one. The car had, to be sure, been 
 marked Premiere Classe, but the thick comfortable 
 cushions were missing from the compartment's 
 seats, and the thin layer of cloth which concealed 
 from sight the wire springs beneath, did little else; 
 the pale gray broadcloth of the upholstered backs 
 was spotted and stained from the contact of many 
 unwashed heads, and the air was close and heavy 
 with the odors of clothing and humanity. The 
 other occupants of the crowded quarters one 
 American and six French officers returning to their
 
 IN THE DARK 41 
 
 various units at the front had all been in the 
 hairspring humor born of the strain of constant 
 fighting, and quarrels among them had been fre- 
 quent until restless slumber had overtaken them, 
 one by one. They had reached their culmination 
 when the American had savagely driven the butt of 
 his automatic through a pane of glass in one of the 
 windows, after he had opened it repeatedly, in an 
 Attempt to let in some fresh air, only to have it 
 closed a few moments later by one of the French- 
 men. Now the place was cold and damp, and 
 Daniel's feet were numb, despite their thick woolen 
 socks and heavy boots boots that were caked 
 ankle-deep with dried mud. Only one narrow 
 streak of wan light, escaping from a slit in the 
 hemispherical silk shade closed down around the 
 single electric bulb, dimly illuminated the compart- 
 ment, and deep shadows made the more grotesque 
 the queer postures of the sleepers. 
 
 A thin, high-pitched whistle, which might have 
 been emitted from a child's toy, sounded outside, 
 and the train protestingly resumed its halting ad- 
 vance through the darkness. 
 
 All was silent without and within, save for the 
 heavy breathing of some of the officers. 
 
 Unable to get to sleep again, Daniel lifted one 
 edge of the tightly drawn curtain, and peered out
 
 42 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 into the night. A quarter moon dimly disclosed the 
 landscape. Shadowy forest forms, here and there 
 jagged and torn by shells which had burst among 
 them, made the horizon; uneven lines of rusted 
 barbed wire crossed the near-by barren field, and 
 through the foreground were scattered small, irreg- 
 ular pools formed by a recent rain, whose water 
 reflected the pale night. 
 
 "Shell holes," thought Daniel. He had been 
 bred in the middle of a farming district, and the 
 knowledge of the years which must elapse before 
 these fields of France would once more yield their 
 vitally needed crop or any crop except one of 
 iron and steel filled his heart with mingled anger 
 and pity. Yet the sight stirred within him another 
 feeling, as well. It was his first journey toward 
 the front; through territory which had once been 
 the front itself. 
 
 The tide of war had turned at last. Two months 
 previous the German Gibraltar the St. Mihiel 
 salient had been wiped out as though the blue 
 waves which it had held back so long had risen, 
 turning to brown in the turmoil of that rising, and 
 swept over it irresistibly. Verdun, the immortal 
 citadel, the Port of France, was at last freed from 
 the danger which had daily menaced it during three 
 years of appalling f rightf ulness ; the section be-
 
 IN THE DARK 43 
 
 tween which and the despoiler it had stood as a 
 shield and buckler, was beginning to draw its first 
 free breath, and to stir with uneasy yearning for 
 its children. Thither, into the Lorrainian valley of 
 the Meurthe and Moselle, Daniel was bound. His 
 apprenticeship was ended. He was a fully trained 
 worker, filled with the strength of youthful enthu- 
 siasm for his task. 
 
 Ten months before, in response to a suggestion 
 of the Sous-Prefet of Verdun, his society had 
 taken over thirty villages west of that historic city, 
 and begun to make elaborate preparations for the 
 eventual return of their inhabitants, but the gigantic 
 German offensive in the spring had disrupted all 
 plans and forced a hasty evacuation of everyone 
 within its path. Now the work had been begun 
 again, with a zeal which the discouraging losses 
 and set-backs could not quench. Others were be- 
 fore him in the sector, but he had been assigned to 
 certain villages whose condition he was to study, 
 and he felt like a scout, riding forward alone to 
 examine the field for a new battle that of re- 
 construction and rehabilitation which would begin 
 as soon as the inflexible governmental ban should be 
 raised, and the invasion of peaceful inhabitants, re- 
 turning to their shattered homes, commence. They 
 would be coming back from exile, he knew ; at first a
 
 44 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 few, then more and more, just as the tiny waves of 
 an incoming tide creep up the beach. Apparently 
 uncontrolled, but in fact ruled by a law as inex- 
 orable as nature's own, they would come, for the 
 Government in its wisdom had decreed that only 
 those might first return from their widely scattered 
 places of refuge, who could assist in rebuilding the 
 broken homes, and later in the spring those 
 who could till the soil and so add to the store of 
 material sustenance for the rest, who would follow 
 in the course of time. 
 
 Again a grinding of brakes, another jolting halt. 
 Mumbled curses in two languages came from the 
 lips of the officers, and the American angrily jerked 
 open the shade which masked the electric light, and 
 reached for the handle of the door at the side of 
 the compartment. A French captain sprang to in- 
 tercept him, while another hastily closed the shade, 
 both expostulating rapidly upon the possibility of a 
 Boche avion being in the sky, watching like a night 
 hawk, for just such an incautious signal. With an 
 oath, the Yankee forced his way outside, and, in 
 strenuous English, began to demand what in hell 
 was the matter now. 
 
 A harried little guard, who chanced to be pass- 
 ing at a dog-trot, apparently guessed the purport of 
 the inquiry from the tone in which it was uttered,
 
 IN THE DARK 45 
 
 although the words themselves were unintelligible 
 to him, for he answered in excited French, " There 
 is a wreck on the track ahead an American troop 
 train has been derailed." And he added some 
 things uncomplimentary to crazy American engi- 
 neers who insisted in going hell-bent-for-election, 
 or its French equivalent, over an unfamiliar war- 
 time track in the dark. 
 
 His interrogator knew just enough of the lan- 
 guage to get the drift of this remark, and his 
 nerves were already sufficiently on edge from 
 months of duty on the fighting line, capped by the 
 night on the train, to cause him to snap out, " Well, 
 by G d, they go somewhere anyway, even if it 
 is only to hell. They do more than just jump 
 around, like frogs." 
 
 If neither of the speakers could fully understand 
 the other, a fact which perhaps prevented worse 
 from happening, Daniel could appreciate the re- 
 marks of both. He had studied French at the Uni- 
 versity with more than common diligence, not so 
 much because of an unusual conscientiousness in 
 the acquisition of knowledge, but because it was the 
 language of romance, and opened a path down 
 which his mind could travel with delight. It had 
 therefore been a source of surprise and mortifica- 
 -Jtion to him upon reaching France, to find himself al-
 
 46 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 most hopelessly at sea in the speech of its people, and 
 to realize that conversational French in an American 
 school, and in the land of its nativity, are two 
 quite different things. For some weeks, the fluent, 
 unmodulated language had been merely a jumble 
 of sounds to his ears, but as time passed he had be- 
 gun to pick out fragments of the verbal picture 
 puzzle, and it was now fast taking form, although 
 he was still unable to think, and so to speak rapidly, 
 in the foreign tongue. 
 
 Half amused, half disturbed, he was on the point 
 of interposing, for the purpose of pouring oil upon 
 the troubled international waters, but the nurse laid 
 a restraining hand on his arm, and said with a 
 sleepy laugh, " Oh, let them get it out of their 
 systems. Talk is a safety valve, and apparently our 
 compatriot has got to fight with someone to-night, 
 even if it's an ally. To tell the truth I feel like 
 saying ' damn/ myself." 
 
 ' I cannot use such words, but ... I thank 
 thee, Madame/ as a venerable member of my sect 
 is ireported to have said, under somewhat similar 
 conditions/' smiled Daniel. 
 
 The side embankment of the track was now lined 
 with a hundred ghostly figures, stamping about in 
 an endeavor to get warm. Discontented and angry 
 mutterings filled the air.
 
 IN THE DARK 47 
 
 After many minutes word was passed back from 
 lip to lip that the train was stalled for the rest of 
 the night, but there was a small town a kilometre 
 down the track, where rest and shelter might be 
 found. Instantly the strange caravan, men of all 
 ranks, and of no rank, mingled indiscriminately, 
 was in motion, straggling down the dim track in 
 single file. Daniel constituted himself escort to his 
 late train companion, and, before the trip was 
 ended, more than once silently thanked his Fates 
 for endowing him with strong arms, since he 
 carried her heavy suit case in addition to his own. 
 
 When they finally reached the little station the 
 driver of a Red Cross ambulance stepped up and 
 addressed the girl. 
 
 " Here's luck . . . for me, at least," she an- 
 nounced, as she turned to Daniel to relieve him of 
 half his burden. " They knew at the hospital to- 
 ward which I am headed that I was coming on this 
 train, and, when they learned of the wreck, they 
 anticipated my dilemma and sent a car to meet me 
 here. Sorry that I can't ask you to come, too, but 
 the driver informs me that everything is * full up ' 
 there. Still, I guess that a man can find some sort 
 of accommodation here the place looks fairly si- 
 zable. Good-bye," she added as she clasped his hand 
 firmly. " We may run into one another again, and
 
 48 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 anyway, perhaps, considering the hour, you'll for- 
 give me if I make an abominable pun, and tell you 
 that you have truly been a ' Friend ' in need to- 
 night." 
 
 " Good-bye, and good luck," responded Daniel, 
 but the half-hearted laugh with which he had an- 
 swered her jest, died quickly away as he watched 
 the conveyance disappear into the night, leaving 
 him alone. 
 
 All the others had also been swallowed up in the 
 gloom, and he did not know which way to turn, but 
 the broken outlines of a black street invited him 
 forward. A stumbling walk down a sidewalk, 
 whose flagging was full of holes, finally brought 
 him to a cross street. It was filled with a confu- 
 sion of sounds, the rattle of wheels and accoutre- 
 ments, the heavy breathing of horses, the crunch 
 of plodding feet as they slumped through the half- 
 frozen mud, the creak of straining harness, and an 
 occasional word in some weary, or exasperated, 
 voice. Like a phantom army, a battery of French 
 seventy-fives was passing Northward through the 
 shadows, toward the deeper shadows of the valley 
 of death. Now and again the wan moonlight, as 
 it filtered through a ragged break in the skyline 
 where a house lay in ruins, half disclosed the forms 
 of trudging men in ghostly blue, splashed with mud,
 
 IN THE DARK 49 
 
 tired, bearded faces under steel helmets, or the 
 long, lean barrels of the famous cannon. 
 
 The grim pageant brought the war suddenly 
 very close to the lone watcher, and his imagination 
 began to run riot. In his mind's eye he beheld 
 the slow advance change to a headlong rush, the 
 guns wheeled into battle position, the protecting 
 pieces of burlap and canvas stripped from the 
 muzzles, which began to belch forth distant 
 death and destruction, while the silent night 
 was filled with the wild clamor from their iron 
 throats. 
 
 The battery passed from sight. The vision faded 
 with it. The present flowed back, and brought to 
 the man a realization of the fact that he was shiver- 
 ing, weary, and utterly without shelter for what re- 
 mained of the night. He turned at random and 
 found himself close beside a solitary sentry, and 
 in his still halting French asked where he might 
 find a place to sleep. 
 
 " No chance, I'm afraid, Monsieur. The town is 
 overcrowded with troops and every spot twice filled. 
 Perhaps at the Foyer du Soldat . . . ' He 
 shrugged his shoulders. " It is but a few steps 
 down the road; you might try there." 
 
 Daniel thanked him, and moved in the direction 
 indicated. All was dark, dismal. At last the sug-
 
 50 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 gestion of a ruddy glow, showing through a tear 
 in one oilcloth window of a long, low wooden bar- 
 rack, proclaimed the presence of the possible ref- 
 uge. He fumbled for, and found the crude latch, 
 pulled open the door and stepped inside. At first 
 he could see little but a patchwork of phantasmal 
 shadows. Then the dim interior began slowly to 
 take form, under the influence of the dull red gleam 
 that came from the open door of a diminutive iron 
 stove set in the middle of the room, and he made 
 out two rows of rude tables and narrow benches 
 down the sides and a single counter at one end. 
 Many silent, overcoated forms lay about in varied 
 postures on the hard tables, the counter and the 
 packed dirt floor itself; others sat on the benches, 
 bent forward in the sleep of exhaustion, with their 
 heads buried in their arms. The air which filtered 
 in through many a crack, was chill with the damp 
 of the night outside, and heavy with unpleasant 
 odors. As his eyes became more fully accustomed 
 to the semi-obscurity, Daniel saw that posters, big 
 and small, covered the rough walls, that strings 
 of little flags and festoons of colored paper 
 like Christmas decorations fluttered from the 
 rafters, and that behind the counter stood a big 
 caldron. 
 
 " So this," he thought, " is a Foyer du Soldat
 
 IN THE DARK 51 
 
 the Soldiers' Fireside, which, to the poilu, is a 
 glimpse of heaven itself, poor chaps. And our 
 Yankee boys growl over huts which are fairly 
 luxurious by comparison! It's certainly true that 
 the more one has the more he wants." 
 
 The friendly glow of the fire, as someone leaned 
 forward and thrust a piece of stick into it, beck- 
 oned him to approach. 
 
 Two poilus, young in appearance, despite their 
 unshaven faces, were seated before the stove on a 
 little bench, still engaged in a low-toned conversa- 
 tion. One of them glanced up as Daniel drew near, 
 smiled quickly, and greeted him with, " Good 
 evening, or better, good morning, Monsieur. 
 Move over a little, Henri," he added, addressing 
 his companion. 
 
 The other obeyed. Daniel slid into the vacated 
 place with a brief word of thanks, and held his 
 stiffened hands to the welcome warmth. 
 
 " You are cold, then ? But naturally. Perhaps a 
 cup of hot chocolate . . . ' The one who had 
 been addressed as " Henri " loosened his own tin 
 cup from the equipment pack which rested against 
 his legs, vaulted lightly over a slumbering form on 
 the counter, and drew a stream of brown liquid 
 from the spigot at the bottom of the tin caldron. 
 "It is cold now, but if you will wait for a mo-
 
 52 THE MAID OF MIRAEELLE 
 
 ment . . . ' He placed the cup on the cover of 
 the little stove. 
 
 " Thanks. It is mighty kind of you," said Dan- 
 iel gratefully. 
 
 " At your service. There is an American, as 
 well as a French Directeur here, but they have both 
 fallen asleep at last they were serving the choc- 
 olate until after midnight." 
 
 "You are just passing through the village?" 
 
 " Yes, we are on our way to the Argonne front 
 to help support your American infantry there, with 
 our beautiful seventy-fives. Soon the Boche will be 
 running again is it not so, Jean ? " 
 
 " But yes, assuredly," agreed the other, whom 
 the question had aroused from a reverie, induced 
 perhaps, thought Daniel, by the post card picture 
 which he held in his hand. Now he returned it to 
 Henri, and as the firelight illuminated the face of 
 a young girl the American inquired casually, 
 " Your fiancee, Monsieur? " 
 
 " Ah, no. It is my sister. Would you care to 
 look at the picture? It is not a very good likeness 
 of her." 
 
 He took the inexpensive card held out to him. 
 The photography was crude, indeed, but it could 
 not rob the face of its purity of line and sweetness, 
 nor disguise the remarkable beauty of the big, dark
 
 IN THE DARK 53 
 
 eyes which seemed to gaze straight up into his. 
 Instinctively he turned the card over, and read the 
 words, written in fine, slanting letters, " A mon 
 cher frere. Joan." 
 
 " She must be very lovely, if this does not do her 
 justice," he remarked as he passed it back after 
 studying the face a moment more. 
 
 " Perhaps," the youth shrugged. " At least 
 Jean, here, seems to think so. He has visited my 
 home village since I have, and used our friendship 
 to get acquainted with her. Oh, well, you can deny 
 it if you like, but it will do you no good." 
 
 " And your home is it far from here, Mon- 
 sieur?" 
 
 " Not so very far, a hundred kilometres, per- 
 haps. I live in a little village of the Vosges, called 
 Mirabelle. And you, Monsieur? Do you come, 
 perhaps, from New York ? " 
 
 " No, I too live in a small village, in the State 
 of Pennsylvania." Something caused Daniel to 
 reciprocate the courtesy shown to him, and from 
 an inner breast pocket he drew a small likeness of 
 Faith, which he had finally succeeded in importun- 
 ing her to have taken and to send him. 
 
 " Ah, she too is beautiful, Monsieur. It is the 
 picture of your sister, likewise? " 
 
 "Yes."
 
 54 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 The word sprang to Daniel's lips unbidden, per- 
 haps as the result of unconscious force of habit, but 
 although he tried to dismiss the matter from his 
 mind as of no real account, it disturbed him, and 
 this fact made him angry. He could not very well 
 explain the situation it was a bit beyond his 
 French. "After all, what does it matter?" he 
 reflected. It was a trivial thing and not actually a 
 lie, in any sense, since he had had no intention to 
 deceive. Yet somehow, it troubled his conscience, 
 and Faith's calm eyes seemed in his mind to take 
 on a look of pained reproach. Is it possible that 
 there are occasional moments when we are granted 
 the power of prescience, without realizing it? 
 
 " This is foolish ; I'm making a mountain out of 
 a mole hill," he decided, yet he hastily returned the 
 picture to its resting-place over his heart, and 
 reached for the cup of chocolate, which was now 
 beginning to steam. The tin handle burned his 
 fingers, and, absurd as it was, he experienced the 
 feeling that he was being punished. 
 
 For a few moments longer the three chatted 
 spasmodically, then sleep began to hang more and 
 more heavily on Daniel's eyelids, and he finally ex- 
 cused himself, stumbled to the counter and edged 
 into a space between two sleepers. Instantly he, 
 too, was asleep, unconscious of the hard board, and
 
 IN THE DARK 55 
 
 dreaming of a girl who sometimes seemed to be 
 the one whom he had left behind. But fully as 
 often the face which she turned towards him was 
 that of the girl on the post card Joan.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE RED RIVER 
 
 FOR seven weary days and weary nights, the red 
 river had flowed in. Interminable, it seemed to 
 Daniel. For seven days he had been living in the 
 town to which they had sent him to prepare a way 
 for the return of those who followed the paths of 
 peace, and at the very moment of his arrival he 
 had been caught in the crimson stream of war, 
 whose source was in the forests of the Argonne, 
 and the valleys of the Meuse. The day that he had 
 reached his destination it had begun to wend its 
 way into and through the partly ruined town, 
 where a half-way dressing station had been hastily 
 erected to serve as a sluice gate, and keep the tide 
 of bleeding humanity from engulfing the base hos- 
 pital below. 
 
 Daniel, who belonged to a Society already affili- 
 ated with the Red Cross, and who was, further- 
 more, in a sense a free lance for the time being, 
 could hardly have escaped lending his aid as 
 
 56
 
 THE RED RIVER 57 
 
 stretcher bearer and general untrained orderly for 
 the emergency, even if he had so desired. But, in 
 fact, the plain call of duty and the cry of suffering 
 interblending, had stirred him to the depths. 
 
 Day and night, with only a rare hour's sleep 
 snatched at odd intervals, he had labored unremit- 
 tingly, until his powerful body alternately cried out 
 for rest, and obeyed his will as though it were 
 something detached an automaton. He was un- 
 bathed, bearded, blear of eye. The heart within 
 him was numb with the fatigue that follows pity 
 long sustained; his imagination was surfeited. 
 Sometimes he found himself dazedly wondering if 
 he were really that man who had once secretly 
 yearned for the battle, the while steadfastly forcing 
 himself to walk in the way of peace. True, he had 
 not even yet seen the clash of arms which arouses 
 men to the frenay of beasts, though day and night 
 the distant din of the combat had rung in his ears; 
 but he had looked upon the other side of the shield 
 until his soul had sickened at the sight. 
 
 In ambulances, in field motor cars, in huge jolt- 
 ing camions even afoot the red river had 
 flowed in, to spread itself through the town like a 
 dismal swamp before flowing on again. 
 
 Men in torn and filthy khaki, dyed crimson, com- 
 posed it chiefly, but other men in filthy and torn
 
 58 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 horizon blue, similarly discolored, were mingled 
 with it. 
 
 A terrible toll was being taken by the gods of 
 wrath, up yonder in the once verdant forests of the 
 Argonne, and the once lovely valleys of the Meuse. 
 And still the stream ran on and on, like a river of the 
 Inferno, bearing on its breast the broken, bloody 
 bodies of what had been strong men. 
 
 War ! Mixed with his compassion, there grew day 
 by day in Daniel's heart a bitter hatred against the 
 Thing, and the power that had let it loose again on 
 the world. Like a hidden fire it smouldered and 
 burned constantly, torturing him, until he would 
 sometimes clinch his fists with the wild desire to 
 seize a weapon and cast himself into the fray, if 
 only to perish, and so forget. 
 
 In the hour of his arrival he met once more the 
 nurse who had been his companion on the train the 
 night previous. At first he had not remembered 
 her face, now seen in so different a setting. Then 
 her smiling inquiry if he had slept well had brought 
 recognition, and when the work overwhelmed them 
 all, he had placed himself under her orders, and 
 from then on served her with the faithfulness of a 
 dog. 
 
 2jC3f2f2)CSfC2fC3jC2fC 
 
 Late in the afternoon of that seventh day, an
 
 THE RED RIVER 59 
 
 eddy from the swelling tide left before the door 
 of the barrack where he labored, a new group of 
 softly cursing, or pathetically dumb, sufferers. 
 They were mostly American, but two wore the 
 faded blue of France. One of them, with a sleeve 
 dangling loosely, and his left arm supported in a 
 hastily fashioned sling, was walking slowly by the 
 side of a stretcher on which the other lay, motion- 
 less. 
 
 The face of the former seemed somehow fa- 
 miliar to Daniel, but he was far too occupied to 
 give the matter more than a passing thought, and 
 not until the one who lay so still on the canvas had 
 been removed to a cot, and, with a low moan, 
 turned his head so that his features were fully 
 visible, did he remember. The latter, who was 
 shaven now, and, in the deathlike pallor of his 
 countenance, appeared pitifully young, was the lad 
 who had befriended him in the Foyer du Soldat 
 that dreary night; the other was the companion 
 whom he had called "Jean." 
 
 Daniel had met him but that once, and then for 
 a few moments only, yet it suddenly seemed to him 
 as though, amid the endless stream of strangers, he 
 had been brought face to face with a friend. The 
 little incidents of that earlier night passed in pro- 
 cession before his mind's eye. He remembered the
 
 60 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 vigorous ease with which the lad, now stricken 
 down in the flower of his abundant youth, had 
 vaulted the counter to procure a drink for him, and 
 into his morbid thoughts was woven an oft-re- 
 peated verse from the gospel of the Apostle Mark : 
 " For whosoever shall give you a cup of water to 
 drink in my name . . . verily I say to you that 
 he shall not lose his reward." His reward! Was 
 this, then, the just deserts of one so young, so 
 strong and full of vitality to be snatched away 
 from mortal life, and the ones dear to him, by the 
 hand of Death? The picture of Joan took form in 
 his memory, and the large dark eyes seemed to hold 
 a look of unutterable pain. 
 
 A doctor and his nurse were working swiftly; 
 callously, it seemed to Daniel, although he had long 
 since become accustomed to the sight of their effi- 
 cient haste. The garments were already stripped 
 from the slender torso, and the crude first-aid 
 dressing from the muscular breast. 
 
 "Is it ... is it serious, doctor?" asked the 
 man, anxiously. " You see I know him." 
 
 "So?" The surgeon probed the wound tenta- 
 tively. " Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you, but 
 he can't live an hour. The piece of shell passed 
 completely through the lung, and his vitality is 
 nearly exhausted. Dr. Tuffier might save him, by
 
 THE RED RIVER 61 
 
 a miracle, but he would never live to reach Paris. 
 We can do nothing for him, not a single thing. 
 It's too bad a fine lad." He turned away to 
 another patient, while the nurse replaced the dress- 
 ing and pulled a blanket over the unconscious 
 form. 
 
 Jean had remained standing at Daniel's side, and, 
 although the words were meaningless to him, he 
 had understood the expression on the latter's face 
 as the sentence was pronounced. 
 
 "He will die then, Monsieur?" 
 
 " Yes, within an hour, the doctor says," the 
 American answered, dully. 
 
 There was silence for a space. 
 
 " Ah, God the poor boy ! We have for a long 
 time been comrades; like brothers, Monsieur. We 
 served the same gun. He had named it ' Joan ' for 
 the sister whom he so loves. A Boche shell burst 
 directly in our midst, and every man of the gun 
 crew was either killed outright, or wounded. My- 
 self? It is nothing, a mere scratch on the arm. 
 My lieutenant and I were the only ones not badly 
 hurt." 
 
 As he spoke he nodded in the direction of a tall, 
 fine-looking Frenchman, who might that instant 
 have posed for a portrait of a hero, so striking did 
 he look in his battle-stained uniform of a sous-
 
 lieutenant, upon the left breast of which Daniel rec- 
 ognized, among several ribbons, the green and 
 red one of the Croix de Guerre and the blood-red 
 one of the Legion d'Honneur. His hand and head 
 were bandaged. Now he approached them, and 
 Jean came to attention, a little unsteadily, and 
 saluted. 
 
 " Le Jeune?" the newcomer demanded, sharply. 
 
 " Dying, my lieutenant." 
 
 Under his tightly curled mustache, a black as a 
 raven's wing, the officer's strong white teeth 
 clicked together, as he bit off a muttered oath. 
 Then he scowled at Daniel as though he bore him a 
 personal grudge. " Dien, these Americans!" he 
 growled. " They have men aplenty, and so do not 
 care how they throw lives away. If their country 
 had been bled white through four years, as mine 
 has been, it might be a different story, but 
 now . . . You speak French, then? " he added, ap- 
 parently reading the understanding in Daniel's 
 eyes. " Let me tell you that it has been slaughter 
 up there, Monsieur. Picture for yourself a deep 
 wood rilled with underbrush to the height of a 
 man's head, and with Boche trenches and machine 
 gun nests as thick as flies in summer. We sweep 
 it clear at last your countrymen, and our guns. 
 We come to the outer edge. Before us lies a plain
 
 THE RED RIVER 63 
 
 a kilometre wide, flat as a table, and full of wire. 
 Beyond it is a steep hill crowned by a village, shat- 
 tered, yes, but still bristling with German guns. 
 Two forests, like that through which we have just 
 fought our way, flank it to right and left. That is 
 Montfaucon. The command is ' Advance, and take 
 it by assault,' after our guns have paved the way 
 with steel. Well, it is taken, but behold ! " He in- 
 dicated the room, and its wounded and dying oc- 
 cupants, with a passionate sweep of his arm. 
 
 An American officer, also wounded, had been 
 standing near-by and listening. Now he answered, 
 with thinly veiled sarcasm, " Yes, it is taken, and 
 the French high command said that it could not be, 
 by assault . . . that it was impregnable." 
 
 " The words were relative, Monsieur. Nothing 
 is impregnable in modern warfare, but we, at least, 
 have had to learn that it is necessary to count the 
 cost of such an enterprise. Your country has not 
 learned that lesson . . . yet. But pardon me, Mes- 
 sieurs, I spoke hastily, and it is not for me to 
 criticize. Perhaps it will help to hasten the end. 
 
 " Nothing can be done, then, to save this boy ? " 
 he added, addressing the doctor. 
 
 " Nothing, lieutenant." 
 
 " Ah, well, after all he is merely one more going 
 beyond to join the million of his comrades. Take
 
 your place in the line, and have your arm attended 
 to." The command was addressed to Jean. 
 
 " But, my lieutenant, I am not badly injured. 
 May I not stay with my comrade, until . . . ? " 
 
 His superior merely nodded sternly toward the 
 waiting line of " walking cases," and Jean reluc- 
 tantly turned to join it. 
 
 Left alone for the moment, Daniel bent over the 
 lad whose slow return to consciousness made every 
 breath a moan. The head stirred restlessly, the 
 eyelids flickered, and the pale lips moved. Daniel 
 believed that he caught the sound of a whispered 
 word and bent closer. 
 
 " Jean." 
 
 " Yes, Henri," he answered. 
 
 " Jean ... in ... the pocket . . . tunic . . . 
 picture ... of Joan." The cryptic sentence was 
 uttered very slowly, and with obvious difficulty. 
 He arose, found the torn and stained coat and 
 slipped his hand into the pocket where he had seen 
 the boy place the picture-card. As his fingers came 
 in contact with it, they instinctively drew away, for 
 it was wet. Then he overcame his momentary re- 
 pugnance and brought it to the light. There was 
 an ugly, jagged hole through the card, but neither 
 it, nor the dark stain, had marred the girl's sweet 
 face.
 
 THE RJED RIVER 65 
 
 Very gently he laid it in the boy's hand, and 
 closed his nerveless fingers upon it. 
 
 "Take it ... Give it ... her. Promise." 
 The whispering voice trailed off into silence. Then, 
 haltingly, it began again. " Tell . . . tell them 
 . . . all . . . ' Daniel held his breath, for he 
 thought that this time the tortured spirit had es- 
 caped its shattered prison. But the pulse in the 
 lad's wrist still fluttered, and the voice came once 
 more, like a mere echo of spoken words. " Tell 
 them ... I ... died like a man . . . for 
 . . . France." 
 
 Again silence followed. Daniel heard a footstep 
 by his side, and, without turning his head, realized 
 that Jean had stolen from his place in the waiting 
 line, and rejoined him. 
 
 "Joan!" 
 
 Both men started visibly, for the word had 
 sprung from the motionless lips, clear and strong, 
 as though every last atom of physical energy in the 
 stricken body had been summoned to assist its 
 utterance. There was a mighty yearning, and a 
 strange note of triumph, likewise, in the word. 
 
 Wonder on their countenances, they bent to- 
 gether over the still form. 
 
 " It is finished." Jean spoke in a low, choked 
 voice.
 
 66 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " Yes. How strange it is that he should have 
 called aloud like that, at the end. It was the name 
 of his sister, was it not ? " 
 
 " Yes. But I think that he was rather calling 
 out to another Joan, the Immortal Maid. Men say 
 that she stands at the portals of Paradise, with her 
 young arms stretched out to welcome home the 
 soldiers of her beloved France." Jean's voice was 
 deep with awe. He crossed himself. 
 
 " Perhaps . . . perhaps he saw her standing 
 there."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 BY THE POST 
 
 " HE is ! He is ! " shrieked Pierre, his face red 
 and his childish voice high with anger. 
 
 " He is not," came the positive rejoinder, in a 
 girl's thin tones. 
 
 " He is, I say." 
 
 " Then why is he not now leading the armies of 
 France? Tell me that, thou little fool." 
 
 " Because he is not old enough ; and I am not a 
 little fool." 
 
 " No, thou art a great fool like all children, 
 and most grown-ups," came in an old, cracked 
 voice. " And Rose is no better. Get thee home, 
 evil one, before I lay my cane about thy legs for 
 thus teasing the little man." 
 
 Joan, who had been listening with amusement in- 
 side the window, now glanced out in time to see 
 her whom the village called " Old Barbette," a 
 queer little deformed old woman, make a threat- 
 ening pass with her stick at the frail white-faced 
 girl, whose age might have been anything from 
 
 67
 
 eight to fourteen years, for her small undernour- 
 ished body suggested the former, and her elfish 
 face the latter. Then she turned with a grimace, 
 to shake her cane at Pierre, also. He started back 
 so hastily that he stumbled and fell, and when the 
 old hag broke into malicious laughter, the small 
 soldier set up a wail. Joan knocked on the win- 
 dow-pane with her thimble and beckoned him in, 
 whereupon he hastily dried his tears, and, with an 
 April smile, turned and trudged up the little path 
 to the cottage door. 
 
 When his small face, besmutted and streaked 
 with tears, beamed through the doorway, Joan 
 called, " Come hither, my little one, and tell me 
 who is, and who is not what." 
 
 " It is my brother Jean who is a greater soldier 
 than Marshal Foch. That Rose said that he is not, 
 but he is is it not so, Joan?" 
 
 "If we think so, thou and I, that should suffice. 
 But why didst thou run from poor old Barbette? 
 She was not angry with thee." 
 
 " I was afraid, for she is a witch, and if she 
 touches one with her stick he turns into a toad," 
 was the earnest explanation. 
 
 "Who has told thee that foolish story?" 
 
 " It is not foolish, it is true. My sisters and all 
 the children say so, Joan."
 
 BY THE POST 69 
 
 "They are fooling thee, little Pierre. She is 
 only a poor, and very lonely, old woman, and thou 
 shouldst try to be kind to her, instead of calling out 
 names, as I have heard thee and the others do. 
 Come, wilt thou promise? If thou wilt I shall give 
 thee a piece of newly baked bread." 
 
 "With sugar on it, my Joan?" the child de- 
 manded, appealingly. 
 
 " Joan! " came from the next room in the voice 
 of her mother. 
 
 The girl made a little grimace, but answered, 
 " No, not to-day, my little one, but something even 
 better. I have been saving a tiny piece of sweet- 
 ened chocolate for thee. Wait, and I will seek it 
 in my room." 
 
 She was prevented by the sound of the postman's 
 whistle, and, instead, flew to the door to receive the 
 letter which the grizzled, one-armed veteran thrust 
 into her eager hand. 
 
 " A letter from our Henri, a fat one, my mother. 
 Come quickly, and I will read it aloud to thee," 
 she cried. 
 
 " But, Joan, thou saidst that thou ..." 
 
 " Canst thou not wait in patience for a few mo- 
 ments, little glutton? Here, here is the book at 
 whose pictures thou lovest to look. See if thou 
 canst not be quiet for a little while."
 
 70 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Joan's mother came hurrying in, as she tore open 
 the yellow envelope with its military frank, and be- 
 gan to read: 
 
 " ' MY DEAREST MOTHER, FATHER AND SISTERS, 
 
 " ' This is the last letter that I shall be able to 
 write to you for some time, I fear, for to-morrow 
 my battery goes into action on the new front. 
 
 " ' We have marched many kilometres since I last 
 wrote you, and where we are now, there are a 
 great many Americans, more than I have ever seen 
 before, and every one says that we shall drive the 
 Boche out of our beloved France soon, and bring 
 an end to the war. 
 
 " ' I pray the dear God that it may be so, for I am 
 tired of it all, and long to be at home again. It is 
 not that I do not like the fighting, when all is ex- 
 citement, but now the cold winter is coming again, 
 and the mud is already beginning to grow deep, 
 and there is much discomfort. For myself, I do 
 not care so much, but I pity the older men who 
 have now fought four years and were some of 
 them in the army for three before the war began. 
 To be a soldier seven years ! I hope that it will not 
 be my fate. 
 
 " ' The Americans complain bitterly of the mud, 
 and I think that their great country must be one of 
 perpetual sunshine and flowers. How would you 
 like to have me take you there all of you after 
 the war is finished? There is undoubtedly much
 
 BY THE POST 71 
 
 money to be gained there, for all Americans are 
 rich why, their poilus are paid more than five 
 francs a a day, whereas we, who have fought so 
 much longer, receive only 25 centimes,* and a short 
 time ago received but five. 8 
 
 " * Would it not be fine to be rich, as they are ? 
 But, no, I am only dreaming pleasant dreams, for 
 we men must all stay and help our poor France, 
 which will need us as much in peace as in war, she 
 has lost so many of her sons already. Yes, I must 
 stay, even though you write me that the cotton 
 factory, where father and I used to work, now em- 
 ploys but sixty, instead of five hundred, since the 
 coal and cotton are so hard to get. What is our 
 country going to do, with her fields and cities in 
 ruins, her machinery stolen from her, and no 
 money with which to buy raw materials? 
 
 " ' Ah well, perhaps thou, Joan, wilt go to Amer- 
 ica as the wife of some rich man. How wouldst 
 thou like that?' 
 
 " I should not like it at all," asserted the girl, 
 her eyes flashing. " I am French and can, perhaps, 
 help bear the burdens of France as well as a man." 
 
 " What Jean says, is true," answered her mother, 
 sorrowfully. " We shall need every man to help 
 rebuild that which has been destroyed, after the 
 Boche have been beaten." 
 
 dollar. 2 Five cents. 'One cent
 
 72 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Joan nodded, and continued. 
 
 " ' Yes, it is hard to realize that we are so poor, 
 when the Americans are all so rich. I have ac- 
 tually seen them lighting their cigarettes with fifty 
 centime, and even with franc, pieces of our paper 
 money, and laughing about it. Surely no French- 
 man, no matter how much he possessed, would do 
 that' 
 
 " Why, it is a crime," cried Joan, angrily. " To 
 think of their burning up good money when we need 
 it so much, and have to work so hard for a few 
 francs. 
 
 " ' Yet, in spite of this, they insist that we over- 
 charge them for everything. I have talked often 
 about it with one who is encamped with us. He 
 is of French descent and speaks our language flu- 
 ently, and I tell him that, if it is true, our people 
 cannot be blamed, and that he would do the same 
 thing if he were in our place. He laughs, and says, 
 " Perhaps." If another American ever comes to 
 stay at our home, as did the one last spring, I hope 
 that thou wilt remember this, my mother.' 
 
 " But no," said the girl, earnestly. " Henri 
 reasons like a man, and from one standpoint is 
 right, perhaps ; but we would never do it, would we, 
 my mother? Have not the Americans come to aid us
 
 BY THE POST 73 
 
 in the hour of our need, and is there anything that 
 we should not do for them ? " 
 
 " Do not interrupt thy reading so often, Joan. 
 I want to hear the letter from my son." 
 
 " ' They are splendid fellows these Americans ; 
 brave, strong and full of fun. I admire them, al- 
 though they, like all the world, have faults which I 
 do not like. Sometimes I become angry when they 
 speak slightingly of our women, but then I remem- 
 ber that they see few, except the bad ones, who are 
 always near the camps and about the city streets. 
 Still, it is not fair to judge all, by a small number, 
 and have they then not the same kinds in America? 
 But perhaps it is natural to think as they do. 
 
 " ' Then there is another thing. When we drink 
 a little liqueur we sip it slowly, for it is our habit, 
 and besides, liqueur costs much money, but they 
 toss off at one gulp a glassful that costs a franc, 
 and then perhaps a second and a third. Then they 
 are zig-zag, but instead of wanting to sing and 
 dance, as we Frenchmen do, they often start to 
 fight among themselves or with us, as though it 
 were not enough to fight with the enemy. And 
 many of our men are learning to do the same, 
 which is sad. 
 
 " ' While I am writing of the Americans ; I met 
 one the other night while we were on our way 
 through XXXXXXX (deleted by censor). Very 
 late in the night he arrived at the Foyer du Soldat 
 where Jean and I were resting, and we had a very
 
 74 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 pleasant talk with him. He is not a soldier, for he 
 belongs to the Society of Friends, which does not 
 believe in fighting, but . . . ' 
 
 " Are they then cowards, that they will not 
 fight?" exclaimed Joan. "If our Frenchmen had 
 not fought, where would we have been to-day 
 what would the world have been? / should not 
 have liked him, no matter how pleasant he might 
 have been. Of that I am quite sure." 
 
 " And I am quite sure that thou art very young 
 and foolish, Joan," her mother replied. " All men 
 cannot fight. There are many other important 
 things to be done, even in wartime, and who knows 
 if they are not the harder to do, when the battle is 
 calling." 
 
 " Perhaps. But if I were a man . . . " re- 
 sponded Joan, and her lips closed tightly. 
 
 "Continue, then." 
 
 " * ... but they are here to help France in her task 
 of reconstruction, and I have heard that they are 
 'loing wonderful things.' ' 
 
 :t There, what did I tell thee? " spoke her mother. 
 
 " * I showed him thy picture, Joan, but what he 
 said about it I shall not tell thee. And he showed
 
 BY THE POST 75 
 
 me the likeness of his sister, also. She was very 
 beautiful. Perhaps, after all, I shall go to Amer- 
 ica, who knows ? ' 
 
 " Now I am angry because he showed my picture 
 to the man who would not fight," said Joan, with 
 her dark eyes flashing. 
 
 " Well, why dost thou not read on ? " demanded 
 the other, as the girl paused. Joan flushed at the 
 question and continued hastily, in a somewhat 
 lower voice: 
 
 " * My comrade, Jean, can talk of nothing but 
 thee, Joan, and of his little visit to Mirabelle. He 
 joins me in sending to all of you the sincerest ex- 
 pression of regard, to which I add that of affec- 
 tion. Henri.' " 
 
 " The battle is again terrible. God grant that he 
 come through it unharmed, my dear boy," whis- 
 pered mother le Jeune. 
 
 " Why should we fear the contrary, my mother? 
 He has gone through almost the whole of the war 
 unscratched, and his letter shows that he is still 
 well. Pierre, thou hast been very patient. Now I 
 shall go to get the chocolate for thee." With a pat 
 on his close-cropped hair, Joan departed, but as 
 she mounted the narrow stairway she heard the
 
 76 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 postman's whistle again, and paused to hear her 
 mother greet him, and his reply, " A thousand par- 
 dons, Madame, but here is another letter which had 
 been misplaced, so that I overlooked it when I 
 passed the first time." 
 
 Singing blithely, the girl tripped down the stairs 
 with the tiny square of precious chocolate in her 
 hand, but as she entered the door she was brought 
 to a sudden stop. 
 
 Her mother was seated in a chair with her thin 
 arms stretched out across the table and her head 
 buried upon them. An open letter was desperately 
 clenched in one hand. 
 
 "Mother!" 
 
 " Oh, my God, my God, my God ! Henri, thy 
 brother . . . my only boy . . . ' 
 
 " What has happened ? What is the matter ? 
 Tell me quickly, mother." Joan ran forward and 
 dropped on her knees beside the silently shaking 
 form. 
 
 " Dead." 
 
 "Dead? Oh, no! oh, merciful God, no! Why, 
 it cannot be. See, I have his own letter in my 
 hand." 
 
 The other passed her the brief official notice. 
 She read it through with eyes which grew bigger 
 and bigger, although no tears came.
 
 BY THE POST 77 
 
 The unnatural silence in the little room was 
 broken by Pierre's whisper, half frightened, half 
 imploring-, " Joan, may I not have my chocolate ? 
 See, you are squeezing it all up in your hand."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 NOVEMBER THE ELEVENTH 
 
 PEACE! 
 
 Or if peace itself had not actually come, at least 
 the fighting was ended for a time. 
 
 Like a fire, running wild through dry grass, 
 spread the news that the rumored armistice had 
 really been declared, an hour before noon. The very 
 winds paradoxically bore the tidings, for, since that 
 hour, they had ceased to come weighted with the 
 rumblings of the battle, which had now receded far 
 to the north. 
 
 As was the case with most of the grim fighters, 
 Daniel found himself too weary of body, too soul- 
 encompassed by ugly sights, to respond to the an- 
 nouncement other than by drawing a deep breath of 
 relief which sounded like a sigh. There is such 
 a thing as being, both physically and in point of 
 time, too near a great event to appreciate its real 
 significance. So, at first, was it with him, upon the 
 cessation of hostilities. It meant merely the end 
 of the red tide which still flowed in, although in a 
 
 78
 
 NOVEMBER THE ELEVENTH 79 
 
 diminished stream, for its course had been in part 
 diverted to a more northerly channel. 
 
 This thought, however, brought its own reaction. 
 As a man who has valiantly scaled the sides of a 
 precipice, unfalteringly, and without realization of 
 his danger and fatigue, so long as his eyes are fixed 
 on the rocky ascent, sometimes sways and becomes 
 weak with dizziness upon reaching his goal, so it 
 was with Daniel. Sleep, like a potent drug whose 
 effects have been stayed for a time, now over- 
 powered him, and he stumbled blindly as he walked 
 to his cot bed, upon which he threw himself fully 
 dressed. 
 
 Neither joy over the end of the slaughter, nor any 
 of the gloomy forebodings that perhaps a terrible 
 mistake had been made in that fateful hour, which 
 were later to be forced upon his mind, then dis- 
 turbed him. 
 
 But, tired as he was, refreshing rest was denied 
 him. His dreams carried on the nightmare work in 
 which he had so long spent himself, unsparingly. 
 Sleep made a bungling job of her knitting, and the 
 noise of each passing vehicle caused him to start, 
 with the vague idea that he was needed outside to 
 assist in the removal of its cargo of halt, lame and 
 blind. An hour of this doubtful repose was brought 
 to a termination by the rattling stop of a motor car,
 
 80 THE MAID OF MIRAEELLE 
 
 and the sound of his own name spoken outside the 
 barrack building. Like a call to battle, it brought 
 Daniel to his feet, wide awake, despite his weari- 
 ness. His legs carried him unsteadily to the door. 
 
 By the side of an army automobile stood four 
 French officers, their left sleeves marked with the 
 galons of a captain, two lieutenants and an aspirant. 
 All of them were talking and laughing hilariously, 
 and Daniel had no need of being highly trained in 
 deduction in order to decide that champagne had 
 taken the place of the mild vin ordinaire at their 
 recent dejeuner. 
 
 One of them hailed his appearance with an en- 
 thusiastic, " Ha, my young puritanical friend, be- 
 hold the ' day of glory has arrived/ " whereupon 
 his three companions took up the words, and chanted 
 the rest of the Marseillaise full-throatedly, to the 
 hearty applause of several doughboys and hospital 
 attendants, who formed an amused group of 
 listeners. 
 
 The one who had addressed Daniel by name, was 
 the lieutenant whose acquaintance he had first made 
 on the dark afternoon when the brother of the un- 
 seen girl, Joan the photograph of whom he still 
 carried with that of Faith over his heart had 
 briefly reentered his life only to depart therefrom, 
 forever. The continued presence of that picture had
 
 NOVEMBER THE ELEVENTH 81 
 
 more than once troubled his conscience, for he knew 
 that he might, and perhaps should, have passed it 
 over to Jean, for whom it had obviously been in- 
 tended. And he could not comfort himself with the 
 excuse that it had not been possible. The young 
 poiliSs wound had proved to be more serious than 
 he would himself admit, and for several days he had 
 been kept in the rude hospital, burnt up with fever, 
 before the inflammation had been conquered. 
 
 It was during those days that Daniel had grown to 
 know Lieutenant Villier, for the Frenchman had 
 come several times to have his own minor injuries 
 dressed, and never had he failed to stay and talk for 
 a little while with his orderly, Jean, always evidenc- 
 ing that close and friendly esprit de corps, which 
 exists between French brothers-in-arms of whatever 
 their rank, to a far greater degree than in any other 
 army in the world. And at these visits he had also 
 fallen into the habit of chatting with Daniel. For 
 some reason, he had seemed to take an instantaneous 
 fancy to the young auxiliary worker perhaps it 
 was the psychological attraction of Nature's oppo- 
 sites, for he was ordinarily as gaily volatile as 
 Daniel was serious. In any event he obviously en- 
 joyed conversing with the Friend, and found keen 
 amusement in leading him on to haltingly expressed 
 comments upon the different aspects of French life
 
 82 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 which were at variance with what he had known at 
 home. 
 
 There had been times, during these discussions, 
 that Daniel had come to believe that the Frenchman 
 could not be serious, forgetful of his decorations for 
 bravery, and his bitter comments at the moment of 
 their first meeting, but the American's growing irri- 
 tation over the other's perpetual levity in dealing 
 with the most serious subjects, had been definitely 
 dispelled one afternoon, as the result of a chance 
 remark which he had himself made. 
 
 Villier had been laughingly quizzing him, before 
 several others, until his habitual self-restraint had 
 given place to exasperation at the man's apparently 
 frivolous attitude toward everything in life. 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur, but why blame me?" the lieu- 
 tenant had cried. " All the world knows that the 
 French are a light race, is it not so? " 
 
 " Yes, they were very light ... at Verdun," 
 Daniel had retorted sarcastically. 
 
 To his intense surprise, the lieutenant had gripped 
 his hand hard, and for an instant the American had 
 looked through the windows of his soul, and found 
 there a depth which he had not suspected. 
 
 " Ah, Verdun," Villier had half whispered, and 
 turned quickly away. 
 
 " It was at Verdun that he won the Medaille
 
 NOVEMBER THE ELEVENTH 83 
 
 Militaire for exceptional bravery, Monsieur," ex- 
 plained Jean, when Villier had departed. 
 
 Thereafter the strange friendship had grown 
 
 apace. 
 
 ******** 
 
 " What, you asleep at this hour, and on this day ?" 
 the lieutenant demanded, as Daniel appeared. 
 " Mon Dieu, these Americans, they have utterly no 
 sense of the appropriate! Messieurs, behold the 
 young moralist of whom I have spoken to you often. 
 He has appointed himself my conscience, to remind 
 me daily that in the words of one of his own 
 poets 
 
 "'Life is real! Life is earnest!' 
 
 " Ah, but you cannot fool me, Monsieur Steele. 
 Solemnity sits ill upon your countenance, my Chris- 
 tian Friend, for your eyes confess a devil within. 
 Come, for to-day you must doff the dun cloak of 
 morality and don the many-colored mantle of fri- 
 volity, with us." 
 
 As he chattered, he pulled the half -laughing, half- 
 protesting American toward the waiting automobile. 
 
 " Do you shrink ? Have no fear then, my pure 
 one; you cannot be led very far from the paths of 
 rectitude where we are going to take you, for there 
 are no women there. My young friend is mortally 
 afraid of the women or rather, he is mortally
 
 84 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 afraid of himself, when they are around," he went 
 on, addressing the laughing company. 
 
 Daniel was not in a mood for jests, and an- 
 swered rather curtly, " I'm not worried. I haven't 
 seen any of your French women yet, who could play 
 the siren to my mariner." But instantly he was 
 contrite and apologized for his discourtesy. 
 
 " Oh, that is all right, I'm not offended," laughed 
 the lieutenant, breezily. " I am well aware of the 
 idea that most Americans have gained of our wo- 
 men, judging all by their association with the gri- 
 settes of the cities, and the camp followers, neither 
 of which exist in America, the land of the Pure, of 
 course," he added with a tinge of sarcasm. " Per- 
 haps some day you'll learn that they exist for, as 
 well as off, our visitors, by whose bounty they 
 live in luxury, whereas they would starve to death 
 if they depended upon their countrymen. To be 
 sure, passions of all kinds grow hotter under the 
 fiery breath of war, and we Latins are I rejoice 
 to say a race somewhat more warm-blooded than 
 you frigid Anglo-Saxons; but just wait until I in- 
 troduce you some day to a real girl, perhaps some 
 village lass with the fascination of true simplicity 
 added to that which is natural with every woman of 
 France then see if you do not have to keep a 
 tight check-rein on your plunging heart. I have an
 
 NOVEMBER THE ELEVENTH 85 
 
 idea that you are human inside, Monsieur Steele, 
 despite the meaning of your surname if I have 
 not forgotten the little English that I learned at the 
 University." 
 
 This time Daniel could not but join in the laughter 
 at his expense. 
 
 " But to-day you need not be afraid, as I have told 
 you. We go to join in the celebration of the full 
 deliverance of Verdun, the Portal of France 
 which my comrades and I helped to hold for over 
 a year. We have secured a permit to enter the city, 
 and it is our wish that you accompany us. What do 
 you say ? " 
 
 Lieutenant Villier's spirit was infectious. The 
 weariness seemed to slip from Daniel, and, almost 
 before he realized it, he had allowed himself to be 
 pulled inside the car, by boisterous friendly hands. 
 Why, after all, should he not go? His conscience 
 was his only dictator, he had surely earned brief 
 recreation, it was a fete day the world around, and 
 the opportunity was verily one of a kind which 
 knocks but once in a life-time it never could hap- 
 pen again. To cap all the thoughts which flashed 
 through his mind, was the magic-bearing name 
 VERDUN, which, in h'is imagination, had long 
 stood as the epitome of romantic faith and unfalter- 
 ing courage.
 
 86 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 An instant later they were jolting eastward, over 
 roads that momentarily grew rougher and more 
 shell-pocked. 
 
 " It will be time enough if we reach the city to- 
 ward evening," said Lieutenant Villier. " Let us 
 make a detour to the north, and show the man of 
 peace a little of what was, only yesterday, one of 
 the great battlefields of all time. Besides, he has 
 come to help our France build anew on the shattered 
 foundations of the old, and it will be an opportunity 
 for him to learn, first-hand, something of the magni- 
 tude of the task. Drive to Chattan court and thence 
 via Charney," he ordered the chauffeur. " The road 
 is scarcely a Champs Elysees, but it should at least 
 be passable for a ' flivver.' ' He pronounced it 
 " fleever." 
 
 In time they reached, and crawled up, a long bar- 
 ren slope, and, at a word from Villier, the car was 
 brought to a stop on the summit. Instantly, the 
 continued hilarity of the party was stilled, as the 
 scene stretching far before them brought to the 
 minds of all, except Daniel, fresh recollections of the 
 horrors which it had held for them in the days that 
 were past, and which could never wholly be erased. 
 Without fully understanding, the American felt and 
 shared their mood, although all that his eyes saw was 
 a wide stretch of drear November landscape, backed
 
 by distant hills and broken by an occasional tiny 
 hamlet, too far away for him to realize that none 
 but Death dwelt within its walls. Later, his eyes 
 made out stretches of tangled barbed wire at inter- 
 vals on the billowy surface of the nearer fields, and, 
 far ahead, patches of silver which marked the ser- 
 pentine windings of the Meuse through the low flat 
 valley. Just beyond it, a thread-like scar of black 
 showed the course of a dried-up canal, whose tiny 
 bordering trees were only half standing. 
 
 A speechless moment followed; then his host 
 stretched out his arm toward the left, and said, 
 " The hill yonder is Number 304. Just to the right 
 of it ' le Mart Homme ' Deadman's Hill." 
 
 The announcement stirred Daniel's mind to a 
 recollection of the newspaper stories which he had 
 read at college, nearly three years before how, on 
 the once heavily wooded slopes of that historic hill, 
 two mighty armies had swayed back and forth, back 
 and forth, like giants locked in a death grapple, with 
 their daily gains or losses measured in yards. 
 
 " ' Deadman's Hill' well named, indeed ! " The 
 lieutenant spoke his bitter musings aloud. " Do you 
 chance to know how many of the flower of France 
 laid down their lives on those slopes, Monsieur? " 
 
 Daniei shook his head in mute denial. 
 
 " More than fifty thousand, Monsieur Steele."
 
 88 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Fifty thousand, dead for France on that one small 
 hill, and as many more clad in the gray-green of the 
 enemy on the other side! " It is horrible," he an- 
 swered, in awed tones. 
 
 Lieutenant Villier laughed, but without mirth. 
 He shrugged his shoulders. " Fifty thousand? A 
 mere bagatelle as we have had to count our dead. 
 In the defence of Verdun we sacrificed ten times 
 that number in killed alone, but they did not pass, 
 those Boche, and they left seven hundred thousand 
 to rot there. Oh, we who fought on Deadman's Hill, 
 and on the slopes 'below the fort de Vaux, know the 
 full meaning of the words, ' wholesale slaughter.' 
 Remembering that, perhaps you will forgive me for 
 speaking as I did about the attack on Montfaucon. 
 It was not that I lacked in admiration for the splen- 
 did courage of our American allies, but that I could 
 not forget that France has lost nearly a million and 
 a half dead, already, and your troops less than the 
 number of ours who fell on that one hill yonder." 
 
 " Yes, I understand," Daniel rejoined. " Well, it 
 is ended, thank God. The world can now beat its 
 swords into plowshares." 
 
 " For a time it is ended, yes, and none too soon 
 for France. To-day we can laugh and sing, and 
 turn our eyes once more toward the pleasures that 
 Peace holds in her lap. But do not think that
 
 NOVEMBER THE ELEVENTH 89 
 
 France is foolish enough to beat her victorious 
 swords into anything. There, over those dark hills, 
 the filthy serpent still lies, scotched, but not yet 
 killed. Unless a miracle occurs, our sons will have 
 to gird their loins for battle as did their sires. 
 
 "And when France ever puts her trust in the 
 word of a Boche she deserves to die! "
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 WHERE HISTORY WAS MADE 
 
 " WE will go on," he said at length, but in spite 
 of his declared intention of forgetting the past, 
 filled with tragic shadows, and thinking only of the 
 sunlight breaking through the clouds ahead, the 
 memory-provoking sights on every side proved too 
 strong for Lieutenant Villier. A man may try to 
 think and to talk of anything but war while he is in 
 the midst of it, but when it is over his thoughts irre- 
 sistibly revert, and at times must be given expres- 
 sion. So it was that afternoon, and as the car 
 started its jolting descent towards Chattancourt and 
 the river valley, he and his companions fell to rem- 
 iniscing instinctively, and Daniel sat silent and en- 
 thralled. For the talk of these men who had lived 
 history, brought home to him, more than any printed 
 story ever could, the reality of what had seemed like 
 a shuddering dream. 
 
 The lieutenant began by pointing out a hill be- 
 yond, and slightly lower than that of the Dead 
 
 90
 
 WHERE HISTORY WAS MADE 91 
 
 Men. " There is Cumieres, where his all-mighti- 
 ness, the Crown Prince, had his famous concrete 
 dugout, from the security of which he was to view 
 the fall of Verdun that was to end the war. His 
 eyesight proved remarkably bad," he added with a 
 short laugh. " They tell me that it is not so big or 
 so magnificent as fable has already begun to picture 
 it, but it was perfectly safe. Oh, yes, his precious 
 life was never in any danger there, and what did he 
 care for the lives of others ? ' I have another mil- 
 lion men whom I am willing to sacrifice to take 
 Verdun,' he said. Do you remember, my captain, 
 how they broke like gray-green storm waves over the 
 crest of the ravine before Douaumont?" 
 
 The one addressed nodded, his eyes flashing in 
 recollection. 
 
 " Our poilus in the trenches mowed them down, 
 time after time, until the barrels of their machine 
 guns became too hot to touch, and they fell asleep 
 from sheer exhaustion. Oh, he was a noble strate- 
 gist, was Willie. Look, there is Douaumont, the 
 highest elevation on the horizon ahead no, a little 
 more to the right. Of course you cannot see the fort, 
 for it is all underground, except for a conical steel 
 turret or two. Even the high granite-walled moat 
 has been obliterated by the shell fire now. Brrr, but 
 it's cold and horribly damp inside those corridors.
 
 92 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 yet men actually lived there, month after month, 
 scarcely ever seeing the light." 
 
 " The Boche finally succeeded in capturing it, 
 didn't they? " queried Daniel, not quite sure of his 
 history. 
 
 " Yes, by means of a trick, but it took them seven 
 months of constant fighting to get it, the fort de 
 Vaux, and work their way step by step down the 
 slope on this side to the village of Fleury I'd like 
 to set you down at the crossroads there and ask you 
 to locate that hamlet, which once housed seven 
 hundred souls. One year's growth of grass and 
 weeds has completely covered every vestige of what 
 remains of it," said the captain. 
 
 " Ah, but you haven't told him the glorious sequel 
 to the tale, my captain," interrupted Villier. " When 
 our General Petain was able to assemble something 
 approximating an equal number of troops to that of 
 the enemy, and sufficient ammunition to warrant an 
 attempt to recapture them, we accomplished it in 
 just three hours." 
 
 " Yes, but you should get Lieutenant Villier to 
 tell you about the fight in the trenches outside the 
 fort de Vaux: It was there that the fiercest battle 
 of the whole war was waged. Do you remember 
 how they came through the pass from the valley of 
 the Woevre?"
 
 WHERE HISTORY WAS MADE 93 
 
 " Am I likely ever to forget it? " The lieutenant 
 turned to Daniel. " I'm no historian, and if you 
 want to read a masterly story of that inferno, you 
 must get Captain Bordeaux's book, ' Les Derniers 
 Jours du Fort de Vaux' but if you wish I will give 
 you an outline of the fight you may then be better 
 able to appreciate the story of the immortal city to- 
 ward which we are headed. I do not know whether 
 or not it is so in your case, but I have found that 
 many of your countrymen imagine that the so- 
 called battle, which was a real war in itself, was 
 actually fought in the town, and they speak of the 
 historic Citadel as the rock against which the Ger- 
 man tide dashed and broke in vain. That is not a 
 fact, of course. They never got nearer than five 
 kilometres * from Verdun, and the Citadel, with its 
 seventeen kilometres of chambers and corridors, was 
 used only as a rest and ravitaillement center, but 
 without it the battle would have been lost. It served 
 its appointed purpose a combined headquarters 
 and gigantic bakery for when not a soul could 
 have lived in the rain of shells which daily fell upon 
 the town, only one struck home in what the world 
 calls { The Underground City,' and it merely burst 
 in an entrance, killing and wounding a few men." 
 
 He found an old envelope in his pocket, and, on 
 
 1 A kilometre is five-eighths of a mile.
 
 94 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 its back, drew with his fountain pen a crude plan 
 of the town and its environs, elucidating as he 
 worked. 
 
 " The Boche launched their first attack against 
 Verdun here at the north, but it was stopped on that 
 line of hills yonder; they then suddenly changed 
 their tactics, and drove in overwhelmingly from the 
 southeast the plain of the Woevre, as the captain 
 has said striking northward at forts Donaumont 
 and de Vaux. Eventually they swamped us by the 
 sheer weight of numbers and artillery fire, but they 
 came like cattle driven to the slaughter. Some day, 
 perhaps, you will be able to visit that battlefield and 
 for yourself see the scene which, for years to come, 
 cannot but hold a thrill of horror and awe for the 
 beholder, but now try to imagine these scratchy 
 lines as representing the sides of two steep hills 
 overlooking a deep ravine. They are crowned 
 with powerful modern forts Douaumont and de 
 Vaux two of the thirty which almost encircle the 
 town. Opposite them rises another steep elevation, 
 and our trenches run along the slopes on both sides 
 of the deep intervening valley. Four years ago it 
 was part of a beautifully wooded park, with a pretty 
 little pond in the bottom the ' etang de Vaux,' 
 here. 
 
 " It was into this cul de sac that the Crown Prince
 
 WHERE HISTORY WAS MADE 95 
 
 drove more than a million men, in repeated close 
 formation assaults. 
 
 " To-day, not a tree, and scarcely the remnant of 
 one, remains, and the ground for square mile on 
 square mile appears like the surface of a choppy sea, 
 with the shell holes, often as big as the cellar of a 
 house, so close together that you needs must step 
 from one to another in walking across it. No man 
 living can even guess how many shells fell there, 
 but it is said that in one day almost forty thousand 
 landed on the fort de Vaux alone, and it has been 
 estimated that every millimetre of that sector was 
 turned over fifteen times by the steel plow of the 
 Sower Death. Neither French nor Boche could 
 bury their dead, nor would it have availed anything 
 to do so, for bodies were torn up, and re-interred, 
 time and time again by the hurricane of iron. 
 
 " To me it seems that no other spot in all the 
 world could possibly serve so perfectly as a scene 
 for a Dore to paint as hell, as that pool de Vaux, 
 now sunk amid surroundings of utter barrenness 
 and desolation ruined trenches like ugly gashes 
 on the earth, twisted wire, shell holes innumerable, 
 and its own waters green with horrid, stinking scum, 
 since its slimy bottom is the last resting-place of 
 three thousand dead Boche, for whom it was the 
 source of the river Styx. Oh, it's a pretty sight, even
 
 96 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 now ; and I have lain in the trenches above it through 
 many a night when the earth quaked and shuddered 
 ceaselessly, and seen its troubled waters red with 
 blood and the reflection of ruddy lights, while the 
 air above reeking with poisonous gases was 
 filled with flying death, a veritable storm of steel 
 which swept it, hour after hour, to the accompani- 
 ment of unceasing thunder and lightning never 
 equaled by the elements." 
 
 He paused, and Daniel had only to close his eyes 
 to see the scene in all its hideousness and horror. 
 Was it possible that mortal men had lived through 
 such a thing, and come forth sane? Strangely 
 enough the calm words of the Elder came to his 
 mind : " The Lord in His infinite wisdom never lays 
 upon us burdens heavier than we can bear." And 
 one who had been through that valley of death was 
 speaking calmly beside him again. 
 
 " Douaumont fell first, after the trenches had all 
 been wiped away; it was retaken, and lost again. 
 Then came the fight for Vaux a struggle that 
 eclipses any tale of ancient romance, Monsieur. The 
 Boche swarmed around and on top of the fort at 
 last, but so long as the west side was free the be- 
 leaguered city did its valiant best to get sustenance 
 and succor to the doomed defenders. Night after 
 night a meager supply of food and ammunition was
 
 WHERE HISTORY WAS MADE 97 
 
 borne to them by volunteer runners, who, in order to 
 reach the fort, had to cross another deep ravine, 
 every millimetre of which was swept by the fire from 
 hundreds of German machine guns, placed on both 
 sides and in the opening to it. This is now called 
 the ' Ravine of the Dead,' for ten Frenchmen fell 
 there to every square metre 1 of ground. 
 
 " Then the Boche cut this line of communication, 
 also; they swarmed by thousands over the hidden 
 fort, like ants on an ant hill. Inside, its small but 
 desperate band of defenders fought on and on, for 
 days which must have seemed each an eternity, sti- 
 fled with nauseous gases and the smell of their dead 
 which they were unable to bury, and with the cries 
 of the wounded, whom they could not care for, ever 
 in their ears. With little food, and almost no water 
 scarcely more than a mouthful a day for each 
 man entombed in that living hell they fought from 
 corridor to corridor, on wet and slippery floors, with 
 rifles, with hand-grenades, with knives, against the 
 most hopeless of odds and without a single comfort- 
 ing hope of relief. Then ... it, too, fell." 
 
 All of the party were silent for a moment. 
 
 " Tell him about the buried trench west of Douau- 
 mont, also," the captain suggested. 
 
 " How can I ? " Villier threw his hands wide with 
 J A metre is slightly more than a yard.
 
 98 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 a gesture of despair. " I'm not a Homer, and that 
 tiny piece of terrain was the scene of an epic. But 
 the bald facts are these : imagine again a single nar- 
 row trench, defending the fort's left flank a shal- 
 low cut in a flat field, exposed to the full blast of the 
 furious storm. It is held tenaciously by the remnant 
 of a decimated regiment of French colonial troops 
 bearded, haggard, weary unto death. For God 
 knows how long, no others have been sent to relieve 
 or reinforce them. 
 
 " Through the withering blast comes a messen- 
 ger, creeping alone across the stubbled field. They 
 see him with eyes weak and burning from the ' tear 
 gases,' and hope is born again in their hearts.- Does 
 he then bear the tidings that they are to be relieved ; 
 that they can find rest ? His message is, * You must 
 hold this trench at all costs ; France cannot help you.' 
 
 " It spells death to the last man ; they look at one 
 another, but there is no sign of faltering on their 
 dark and grimy faces. One by one the survivors 
 fall. The enemy is desperate. Are his swelling 
 plans to be ruined by this pitiable handful of fools, 
 who do not know enough to realize that they are 
 beaten ? 
 
 " He turns all the furies of hell on the thin dark 
 line, which marks the doomed trench. The earth 
 erupts, the trench is utterly obliterated from the
 
 WHERE HISTORY WAS MADE 99 
 
 landscape. One instant it is there, barring- his path ; 
 the next, nothing remains to show where it had been. 
 Nothing? But no; at regular intervals, here and 
 there, appears a bayonet, the end of a gun, like the 
 first outcropping of armed men such as those which 
 sprang from the dragon's teeth in the ancient legend. 
 That is all ; but no monument will ever be needed to 
 mark that hallowed spot, for they show where 
 valiant men were buried alive, standing bravely 
 erect at the posts they would not quit. 
 
 " Oh, the fields about Verdun are thick with me- 
 morials like that. Lately I have thought often of 
 words which I learned in translation when I was at 
 school part of a speech by your Civil War Presi- 
 dent, Lincoln, at the Gettysburg cemetery. ' We 
 cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot 
 hallow this ground. The brave men, living and 
 dead, who struggled here have consecrated it far be- 
 yond our poor power to add or detract.' 
 
 " Do you wonder that we of France feel the same 
 about the fields of Verdun, and that the city itself 
 stands, and shall always stand, for us, a perpetual 
 memorial to an accomplished ideal ? "
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WITHIN THE PORT OF FRANCE 
 
 THE way grew rougher, more pitted with marks 
 of bursting shell. The ragged remnants of small 
 towns, and desolated hamlets, began to appear at in- 
 tervals along the valley road. 
 
 Towns, hamlets ? " They are giant corpses which 
 have fallen athwart the highway to lie in contorted 
 postures ; mere stripped skeletons of things in which 
 once dwelt the living spirit of a home," thought 
 Daniel, whose imagination had been quickened and 
 morbidly colored by Lieutenant Villier's words. 
 
 About them spread the waste fields, brown and 
 sere, which shivered as the cold November wind 
 blew fitfully over them, laden with the river damps. 
 Here and there stood what had once been precious 
 trees bringing forth their fruit or yielding their 
 shade, now poor, dead, decapitated things. 
 
 Marre and Charny they passed, as through gi- 
 gantic graveyards yawning wide at the Trump of 
 Doom. From the latter, Villier pointed out Bras 
 
 100
 
 WITHIN THE PORT OF FRANCE 101 
 
 across the cold gray river. It looked like the bony 
 framework of some prehistoric monster, with its 
 denuded and broken ribs piercing the gray sky. 
 Thence through Thiercourt they rode, finding it less 
 demolished, but made up, nevertheless, of disem- 
 boweled houses, and finally began to climb the steep 
 ascent which was crowned with the twin towers of 
 Verdun's twelfth-century Cathedral. 
 
 The first near view of them drew an exclamation 
 of surprise from the American. " Why, they are 
 still intact ! Look, only one piece of the balustrade 
 has been shot away. But I understood that the city 
 was in ruins." 
 
 " The old towers stand, yes, like sentries sym- 
 bolizing the unconquerable spirit of the place. It is 
 no less than a miracle, Monsieur, for during three 
 years they have been the especial target of thousands 
 and thousands of Boche shells, the last of which fell, 
 without doubt, only a few hours ago. A pure 
 ' spite ' bombardment has been carried on daily, I'm 
 told, since early in July. The fiends have known 
 that the Port of France was forever closed to them, 
 since that August day, two years ago, when we drove 
 them far back over the hills to the north and east, 
 and yet they have been pouring steel into the already 
 ruined city, with absolutely no military object to 
 be gained. It was pure wanton destruction.
 
 102 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " There, Monsieur, behold a part of the western 
 wall of the historic Citadel, which was actually com- 
 menced in pre-Roman days." 
 
 Daniel gazed at the wall of heavy gray masonry, 
 now green with patches of ancient moss, which 
 showed like an outcropping of a granite ledge in the 
 tree-clad hillside, and tried to picture the miles 
 of dim caverns stretching behind it into the bowels 
 of the earth, and the far distant past, as the modern 
 car crawled on low speed up the winding road, now 
 little better than a rocky path. 
 
 It reached the summit, and swung sharply to the 
 left. 
 
 Before them stood a row of ruined houses, curv- 
 ing down the hill, and pierced by a narrow, arched 
 portal the Black Gate, a rich relic of medieval 
 times that had been providentially spared by the 
 hand of Fate. Daniel caught himself in the act of 
 drawing his breath with a sharp intake, and murmur- 
 ing the words which had rung through France as a 
 battle-cry, " On ne passe pas." Through it, as in a 
 frame, he saw the quaint picture of a little street 
 piled with rubbish broken beams and scattered 
 stones, mortar and tile but, lining the road, on 
 either side, were what seemed to be substantial 
 houses, unhurt. A vague sense of disappointment
 
 possessed him. Was this, then, a famous city of 
 ruins? 
 
 The feeling quickly vanished, however, for, as the 
 car crawled on its tortuous course through the debris 
 and he came abreast of each dwelling in turn, he 
 could see the sky outlined in every window. Mere 
 shells they were, mere husks of homes, roofless, and 
 with their interiors filled with litter, from which 
 everything of value had long since been stripped. 
 They stood erect, still, but like corpses which stared 
 into the familiar street with sightless eyes. 
 
 Again they turned a corner to the left, and now 
 full devastation burst upon his view. To the right 
 the Cathedral raised its unscathed walls, symbol- 
 ically, but it was roofless, and under the shadow of 
 its towers lay the pitiful remains of the once beauti- 
 ful cloister of Saint Margaret's College; and oppo- 
 site appeared what had formerly been spacious, sub- 
 stantial residences, now looking for all the world 
 like the discarded doll houses of some race of giant 
 children, since whole fagades were missing, and 
 their three-storied interiors were exposed to every 
 curious eye. Fragments of furniture hung here and 
 there, suspended half in space on sagging floors, or 
 bare protruding rafters. 
 
 " Now, look below you on the left." The lieuten- 
 ant's voice broke grimly into his reverie, as the
 
 104 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 chauffeur steered wide to avoid a gaping hole in the 
 street beside the Cathedral wall, where a recent shell 
 of huge dimensions a 42omm. perhaps had 
 viciously torn its way into a vaulted cellar beneath. 
 
 Daniel obeyed. On the downward sloping hill- 
 side to the north appeared wrack and ruin enough to 
 satisfy even the most ghoulish Hun, for naught re- 
 mained of acres of homes but tumbled walls and 
 heaped up piles of mortar and stone, splashed with 
 the red of bricks like spattered blood. 
 
 " Do you wonder that the underground chambers 
 of the Citadel were good enough for us to occupy 
 during our brief periods of rest, even though we 
 were shut off from the light of day? To be sure, 
 all of the city is not demolished like that section, for 
 it lay in the direct path of the hurricane of steel that 
 swept down from the North, but I'll wager that not 
 over twenty houses remain unscathed in this city, 
 which was once the home of more than twenty 
 thousand civilians, with thousands of garrisoned 
 troops in addition." 
 
 The streets were filled with many American, and 
 a few French soldiers, swinging arm in arm over the 
 piles of debris, laughing, jesting, singing. Their be- 
 havior struck Daniel as a profanation. It was not 
 that he begrudged them their day of joyous relief, 
 but he found that he wanted to be alone with his
 
 WITHIN THE PORT OF FRANCE 105 
 
 imagination in this city of memories. And when his 
 conductors were hailed by a group of passing ac- 
 quaintances, and invited to celebrate the auspicious 
 meeting with wine and song, he seized the opportu- 
 nity to excuse himself from the party, on the plea 
 that he did not drink, and wanted to view the ruins 
 more closely. They acquiesced in his mood, after 
 the usual show of hospitable insistence, and agreed 
 to meet him at nightfall, with the Cathedral as the 
 rendezvous. 
 
 He was content to be alone, to wander through 
 the twisting streets, so rich in history and tradition, 
 and to people them with men of his own imagining 
 not Yanks and poilus, gay with wine and song, 
 but warriors, grim with the sweat and dust of battle, 
 plodding their way wearily in from the distant fields 
 under cover of the protecting night, to find rest and 
 refuge in the bowels of the earth. 
 
 For an hour, undisturbed by passing throng or 
 military police, who, to-day, greeted him merely 
 with a friendly glance and nod, Daniel wended his 
 way through cluttered streets, and up and down 
 steep alleys, their well-worn stone steps shadowed 
 by antique houses which leaned toward each other 
 above them, like gossiping neighbors. Many a 
 demolished domicile he entered to poke aimlessly 
 through the wreckage within, and construct ro-
 
 106 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 mances from the fragments of what had once been 
 the household goods of happy families, now van- 
 ished whither? There was no one to prevent him. 
 and as yet none of the doors bore the placards which 
 were later to inform the passer-by, in French and in 
 English, that " THE OWNER BEING BACK IT 
 IS VERBIDDEN TO GET IN." 
 
 He trod gingerly at first, for there was danger at 
 almost every step, but in time familiarity with jump- 
 ing holes in floors bred carelessness, and as he was 
 edging his way along a narrow path, made by a 
 substantial beam, on the second story of one piti- 
 able travesty on a home, his foot struck a protruding 
 nail, he lost his balance, jumped wildly, and landed 
 on the sagging floor beyond. 
 
 There he lay in the mortar dust, hanging half over 
 the edge and almost afraid to attempt to pull him- 
 self forward, so frail was his support. Daniel's 
 heart seemed to crowd up into his throat, and it, 
 with the dust that filled his mouth, made it almost 
 impossible for him to cry out. But there was no 
 need of his doing so. A young poilu came bounding 
 up the shaky stairs, calling to him to hang on, and 
 an instant later two strong hands had grasped his 
 wrists and pulled him to safety. 
 
 Daniel rolled over, and sat up, breathing hard; 
 then he glanced up at the face of his timely rescuer,
 
 WITHIN THE PORT OF FRANCE 107 
 
 who was nursing his left arm, and upon whose face 
 there appeared a look of pain. It yielded to one of 
 astonishment and the American's countenance re- 
 flected it as he scrambled to his feet, and held out his 
 hand, exclaiming, " Jean ! Is it you who saved my 
 life?" 
 
 The Frenchman showed his white teeth in a glad 
 smile, as he eagerly grasped the outstretched hand. 
 " Ah, is it then really my friend the American ? It 
 is a joy to see you again, even looking like that." 
 
 Daniel glanced ruefully down at his dust-covered 
 uniform, and smiled sheepishly. 
 
 " Yes, it is I, but do not thank me for saving your 
 life at the most you would only have had an 
 unpleasant fall, and received a few bruises. You 
 must excuse me for laughing, Monsieur, but your 
 face ... it is covered with powder like a chorus 
 girl's." 
 
 " Your arm ! I forgot that it had been wounded. 
 Did you hurt it badly pulling my hulking body out 
 of the hole?" 
 
 " Only for an instant, the pain has gone now, and 
 I am very glad that I was down stairs and so heard 
 your fall, for few soldiers pass through this side 
 street." 
 
 " What a coincidence it is ... you, of all people, 
 here."
 
 108 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " That I found you in this house is a coincidence, 
 yes, but not that I am here. Behold the home of 
 Jean Harent" He stretched out his arms in a com- 
 prehensive gesture. 
 
 " This . . . your house ? " 
 
 " But yes, at least it was once the happy home of 
 my family. For many, many generations the 
 Harents have been born, and lived and died within 
 these broken walls. And now . . . ' 
 
 He stopped, and Daniel asked gently, " Your 
 family? They are not, then ... ?" 
 
 " The father and mother . . . dead, yes. He 
 was killed in the first battle of the Marne, Monsieur, 
 and then the mother died of grief. She was old, 
 you see," he hastened to add, as though an apology 
 were necessary. " My sisters, Marie and Georgette, 
 and the little baby brother Pierre, are all refugees 
 in a village that has escaped the destroyer. Ah, but 
 I forget. Monsieur himself has heard of the place. 
 It is Mirabelle, where dwells the family of my friend 
 who is now dead." 
 
 At the simple words it seemed to Daniel as though 
 the picture which rested over his heart actually 
 burned, yet he could not bring himself to mention its 
 possession. Besides, he had made a mental vow 
 somehow to return it, himself, to Joan, and so re-
 
 WITHIN THE PORT OF FRANCE 109 
 
 deem the promise that he had made, even though it 
 had been demanded under a mistake. 
 
 " But how came you here to-day? " he asked, by 
 way of changing the subject. 
 
 " I am still on sick leave, but now quite well 
 enough to be about, thanks to the good Lord. I 
 longed to be in my old home, my triumphant Ver- 
 dun, on this day of days, and was able to beg a ride 
 hither in the motor car of one of your kind com- 
 patriots. And you, Monsieur ? " 
 
 " I, too, came from X ... by automobile, as the 
 guest of Lieutenant Villier and some of his friends." 
 
 " My lieutenant ? And he is here, also ? Is it not 
 strange ; it is the third time that our paths have met 
 in different places. Somehow I have a feeling that 
 we shall see each other again, perhaps be friends, 
 Monsieur." 
 
 " But surely I hope that we are friends now 
 especially after what has just happened. Is it not 
 so?" 
 
 " Ah, but yes, Monsieur." Instinctively Daniel's 
 hand went out anew, and Jean's came to meet it. " I 
 wish that I might offer you a more hospitable wel- 
 come on this, your first visit to my house. Indeed, 
 if Monsieur will attend I will try to purchase some 
 wine . . . but I forget, you do -not drink the wine." 
 
 " No, and I will gladly take the word for the deed.
 
 110 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Come, tell me something about your former life 
 here, and your little ones." 
 
 " There is little to tell, Monsieur. Before my 
 father he was nearly fifty was called out with 
 the other reservists to help stem the German tide 
 along the banks of the Marne, and I, myself, joined 
 the colors, we lived a very simple, a very peaceful 
 life. I was learning his trade, that of wood carver, 
 for, as you may know, Verdun has long been famous 
 for its wood carving, as well as its beer, spirits and 
 confiture. 
 
 " It was in this room that I slept with my elder 
 brother, who also has died that France might live. 
 Our high-post bedstead stood in that corner. Now it 
 is gone, but I do not mourn its loss, for perhaps some 
 other weary poilu had need of it to rest in, or per- 
 haps he and his comrades were cold and needed 
 wood to make a fire." The words were simply ut- 
 tered, and touched Daniel's heart and his imagina- 
 tion. " Yonder in the next room slept my little sis- 
 ter Marie, who was only seven when they had to 
 leave our home in such haste, and Georgette who 
 was four. Pierre was still but a baby, and slept with 
 the mother and father in the room below. It was 
 only three years ago, Monsieur, for it was in Feb- 
 ruary of nineteen sixteen that the Boche first at- 
 tacked Verdun, after failing to reach Paris from the
 
 WITHIN THE PORT OF FRANCE 111 
 
 north, but already it seems to me like another age ; 
 as though I had dwelt in another world." 
 
 As he finished speaking he led the way by another 
 door back to the room which Daniel had just quitted. 
 Now his eyes caught sight of something half-buried 
 in a pile of refuse in one corner, and, with a little 
 exclamation, he bent and drew it forth. 
 
 " Look," he cried. " It is little Marie's poupee. 
 What a treasure ! I must keep it carefully and take 
 it to her some day. Surely she will remember it, for 
 a little mother never forgets her baby." 
 
 There was a burning mist in Daniel's eyes for an 
 instant, as they made out the misshaped remains of 
 what had once been a baby's cherished rag doll. 
 More poignantly than had any of the other sights, 
 it brought straight home to him the vision of the 
 broken fireside, the scattered family. The same 
 thought was in his mind as had been in Jean's that 
 of a little mother forced to flee, as hundreds had 
 been, leaving behind her dearest possession, her 
 child. 
 
 The afternoon was already far spent. The shad- 
 ows of advancing evening were stealing into the 
 house to lend added gloom and grimness to the pic- 
 ture of desolation. The spirit of the place laid its 
 specter hand on Daniel's heart, as he compared it to 
 the peaceful scene in the living-room at home, so
 
 many miles away, and he was nothing loath to fol- 
 low Jean's suggestion that they depart before the 
 darkness made movement dangerous. 
 
 " Soon there will be much celebration in the 
 streets, for it is better to forget the days that are 
 gone, and to think only of the new day which is now 
 being ushered in with song and rejoicing. Hark ! " 
 
 Both paused to listen, standing in the darkened 
 doorway, for night had already entrenched itself in 
 the steep, close-walled street. High on the hill above 
 them sounded the triumphant pealing of clear, melo- 
 dious bells, chanting the song of deliverance. 
 
 " Come quickly, Monsieur. Listen, they are ring- 
 ing the Cathedral chimes. It is the first time in 
 three long years. Hasten, hasten ! You, too, must 
 pull on one of the ropes so that you can tell your 
 children and grandchildren, in the days to come, that 
 you helped ring the bells of Immortal Verdun, on 
 the night of its liberation." 
 
 Clang, clang, clang! Through the still evening 
 air swelled the vibrant message of the chimes, which, 
 for a hundred years, had been famed for the clarity 
 and sweetness of their tone. 
 
 The pair sped up the narrow, cobbled way to the 
 Place de la Cathedral, and found it already filled 
 with moving, shouting forms. Together they 
 forced a passage through the crowd around the
 
 WITHIN THE PORT OF FRANCE 113 
 
 doorway in the base of the left-hand tower, and 
 slowly made their way up the stairway of thick 
 oaken planks which wound up through the darkness 
 to one of two square chambers, joined by a passage. 
 The gleam from several flaring briquets the 
 French soldier's inevitable cigarette lighter pro- 
 duced a fantastic illumination, by which Daniel 
 made out the figures of a dozen uniformed men, 
 swaying back and forth as they tugged at the four 
 or five ropes which dangled out of the blackness 
 above. With the eagerness of youth they elbowed 
 others from their path, and together seized one of 
 the rope-ends. A long, bending pull, and the big bell 
 above them sounded forth its deep-voiced note. 
 Again. Again. The perspiration began to start 
 from Daniel's warmly clad body, but he pulled on 
 and on, in a sort of ecstasy, for he felt that it had 
 been granted to him to participate in a unique cere- 
 mony the birth of a new epoch for a city whose 
 name History had written oft in letters of untar- 
 nishable gold. 
 
 Weary at last, they yielded the rope to other eager 
 hands, and Jean led the way up the remainder of the 
 two hundred steep steps to the open space atop the 
 square tower. 
 
 The chill night air smote Daniel's heated body, 
 but he forgot to feel cold as his gaze swept the dis-
 
 114 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 tant skyline formed by billowing hills. It was al- 
 most fully dark, but each stood out against the sky 
 as though silhouetted in fire. Jean anticipated the 
 question which was on his tongue. " Look ! " he ex- 
 claimed. " They are firing off the now useless flares 
 and rockets, with which we used to illumine the night 
 in order better to watch the foe. Ah, Dieu, but it is 
 beautiful . . . now! There are no guns sounding 
 to-night, Monsieur, but can you not imagine yourself 
 a sentinel here during the long watches of the night, 
 or in the daytime, when the shells are bursting over 
 the town and all about you, as you gaze at those dis- 
 tant hills? For years poilus have stood as we now 
 stand, helpless targets for some well-directed shell 
 which never came, although how close some of them 
 fell, you can observe, Monsieur." 
 
 He pointed downward, and Daniel leaned over the 
 stone balustrade to peer into the black interior of the 
 Cathedral whose roof had been torn away. The 
 American shuddered. 
 
 The song of the chimes at length died into the 
 stillness, and a clear tenor voice behind them sud- 
 denly began a song that thrilled him to his depths, 
 so martial, so triumphant were both the words and 
 the melody : 
 
 " Et Verdun, la victorieuse, 
 Pousse un cri qui portent la bos
 
 WITHIN THE PORT OF FRANCE 115 
 
 Les echos des bords de la Meuse, 
 
 Halte Id! On ne passe pas! 
 
 Plus de morgue, plus d' arrogance, 
 
 Fuyez barbares et laquais, 
 
 C'est id la Porte de France 
 
 Et vous ne passerez . . . jamais! " l 
 
 There was a short burst of applause, but Daniel's 
 attention was immediately attracted to Jean, who 
 was looking- down into the square beneath. " See, 
 there is my lieutenant; I could recognize his figure 
 anywhere." He pointed to an automobile whose oc- 
 cupants were thrown into clear relief by the head- 
 lights on a car behind them. " Doubtless they are 
 waiting for you. Shall we not descend, Monsieur? " 
 
 sic******* 
 
 With a regretful last glance at the never-to-be- 
 forgotten picture painted on the blue-black sky, 
 Daniel nodded his assent, and turned to follow his 
 guide. 
 
 1 And Verdun, victorious, 
 Starts the river echoes clear 
 With her watchword glorious, 
 * ' Halt ! Ye shall not pass.' For here 
 Ends barbaric arrogance. 
 Fails your boast like sounding brass 
 This is the portal of our France 
 And ye shall never, never pass ! " 
 
 "Verdun, On ne passe pas." 
 
 Free metrical translation by the Author.
 
 116 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 And all through the long, tiresome drive home- 
 ward it lingered in his memory. As Jean had proph- 
 esied, he had truly experienced something of which 
 he could proudly tell his children in future years. 
 With the thought, his heart went out anew to Faith, 
 so sweet, so constant, waiting for him in the quiet 
 harbor that he called home.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE ROAD TO MIRABELLE 
 
 THE days added themselves into weeks, the weeks 
 slipped swiftly by, bringing Christmas and a New 
 Year in their train. 
 
 Winter lay over the land not the clear, crispy 
 season that Daniel had known and loved at home, 
 but one of shivering damps and frequent thaws, 
 when the moisture-laden earth became a clinging 
 mud, ankle-deep in the unkempt streets of the ruined 
 villages into which his daily labors took him. The 
 precepts of his people had set a bridle on his tongue, 
 but he was at times shocked at the profanity within 
 his heart over the elements. The truth is that the 
 blasphemy of the soldiers, with whom he had been so 
 long and so closely in contact, had rubbed the edge 
 off his conscience, in this respect, and words, at the 
 expression of which he had once shrunk inwardly, 
 now passed wholly unheeded. 
 
 Almost invariably cold, wet always, and physi- 
 117
 
 118 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 cally miserable when he paused in his absorbing 
 duties long enough to consider himself, he was, 
 nevertheless, strangely content, for the fires of en- 
 thusiasm for his work burned high within him, and 
 kept his spirit warm. 
 
 In the newly liberated area, of which Verdun was 
 the center, the French government had assigned 
 thirty destroyed villages to the American Society of 
 Friends to rehabilitate, and several of them were 
 within the radius apportioned to Daniel for investi- 
 gation. He had to determine their former popula- 
 tion, their condition for habitation; he had to plan 
 for the establishment of one huge centre de recep- 
 tion where the returning refugees could be housed 
 temporarily, and for the future erection of concrete 
 huts and neat little portable homes, which should 
 later be rented to them for nominal sums, or sold at 
 practically cost, and on easy terms. And there were 
 canteens to be arranged for, wherein the weary way- 
 farers, often sick at heart from viewing the des- 
 olated spots which had once been their homes, might 
 find rest and comfort for body and soul. And shell- 
 filled fields to be examined to find out how much 
 if any agriculture could take place on them that 
 spring, and how many implements would be re- 
 quired. And . . . oh, there was a multitude of 
 kindred tasks, such as the pioneer is always called
 
 THE ROAD TO MIRABELLE 119 
 
 upon to perform, and although, for the time being, 
 he missed the satisfaction which comes from per- 
 sonal contact with those one serves, the work 
 brought its own reward. 
 
 The contentment which filled him was made 
 deeper by the subconsciousness that, after the season 
 of labor, there awaited him a sure reward at home, 
 for Faith's weekly letters gave him bright glimpses 
 of the haven where he would be. They were always 
 sweet and simple, like herself, but in every line 
 Daniel read the story of a love which daily grew 
 more deep. The realization was wonderful to him, 
 yet not quite real like one of his old-time imag- 
 ined romances for it was difficult for him to vis- 
 ualize the flesh and blood Faith in the role of sweet- 
 heart, having known her so long as a sister. And he 
 had yet to learn the great truth, that when real love 
 enters the heart of a pure woman it straightway 
 weaves itself into every fiber of her being; body, 
 mind and soul becoming one with it. 
 
 Not that his own affection had waned, but a man 
 who is more essentially a physical being gen- 
 erally requires a tangible object to arouse his love 
 to its fullest. An ideal and a memory are seldom 
 enough. 
 
 In the full absorption which his labors pro- 
 duced, Daniel almost ceased to think of the girl,
 
 120 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Joan, whom he was promise-bound to seek, but at 
 times the recollection came unbidden, to prick his 
 conscience on the most unexpected occasions. And 
 one night the sight of her mutilated picture, which 
 4ie had drawn from his pocket by mistake for 
 Faith's, made him suddenly determine to clear his 
 mind of the whole matter by sending it to her with 
 a brief explanatory note, since he had begun to 
 despair of his ever being able to go to Mirabelle. 
 He spent nearly an hour with dictionary and phrase 
 book, in an endeavor to couch his message in ex- 
 pressive French, but when he re-read the finished 
 note he tore it up as hopelessly crude, and vowed 
 that he had been a fool for having allowed the ro- 
 mantic impulse of a moment to rule his better judge- 
 ment. 
 
 Then the three women who weave human desti- 
 nies busied themselves again with the pattern of his 
 life. 
 
 Daniel received orders to move on to the other 
 half of the ruined area, to the south of his present 
 field of operations, and the letter carried the sugges- 
 tion that he might possibly locate his headquarters 
 in some still habitable village, in, or close by the 
 devastated section, when he could travel by train, 
 bicycle or foot, as the occasion demanded. He 
 turned to his map of that section, and started to
 
 THE ROAD TO MIRABELLE 121 
 
 draw a red ink outline around the villages named in 
 his orders. Suddenly the moving pen stopped 
 as though of its own accord. The line had reached 
 a small black dot, against which, in diminutive 
 letters, was the word " Mirabelle." 
 
 Perhaps the Fates were chuckling! 
 
 ******** 
 
 Running true to form, if not to schedule, the train 
 panted into the junction station, several hours late. 
 The early armistice period had produced little, if 
 any, improvement on the debilitated railroads of 
 Northeastern France, and as the movement of 
 freight was vastly more important than that of 
 passengers, the two were frequently carried in com- 
 bination in which cases the hare naturally took 
 the tortoise's pace. Thus it was with the train on 
 which Daniel journeyed southeastward. It was 
 made up of equal numbers of flat cars, piled with 
 cord-wood, and dirty, third-class coaches some of 
 them still bearing German signs crowded with 
 poilus, and stuffy with the bitter smoke of many 
 strong French cigarettes. 
 
 One other American was in his coach, a corporal 
 whose left shoulder bore the Lorraine Cross and 
 " A.S." advance sector and his sleeve three 
 gold chevrons. " Can you beat it ? " he demanded, 
 plaintively, for the tenth time, as the train slowed
 
 122 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 down to the speed of a moderate walk. " These 
 frogs have about as much ' pep ' as a bowl of cam- 
 bric tea. I'd get out and push, if I wasn't afraid of 
 shoving their dinky engine off the track." 
 
 Daniel laughed. " Where are you headed? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Back to the mudhole that the frogs call Neuf- 
 chateau, to act as valet to a bunch of ornery army 
 mules. G d, how I hate it." 
 
 " Then what are you in such a hurry to get back 
 there for?" 
 
 " Me ? In a hurry to get back ? How do yer get 
 that way?" 
 
 " But you were just complaining about the speed 
 of this train, buddy." 
 
 " Aw, well ; let's go somewhere, I say, and these 
 frogs are the plumb slowest, laziest race on the face 
 of the earth. Look at this here train now." 
 
 " Well, I'm not crazy about it, myself," confessed 
 Daniel. " But we might as well be honest and admit 
 that France has been, and is still, * up against it.' 
 She hasn't had, for four years, either time or money 
 to keep her rails and rolling stock in repair; more 
 than half the time she is obliged to use wood instead 
 of coal on these branch lines, and when you are liv- 
 ing a hand to mouth existence you cannot always 
 eat on schedule. Of course we like to think that
 
 THE ROAD TO MIRABELLE 123 
 
 in the good old U. S. A. we do everything a little 
 better than it is done anywhere else in the world, but 
 have you ever noticed how smoothly these French 
 trains start and stop even mixed affairs like this 
 one and compared it with the bumps and jolts 
 which we get at home? I see that you have been 
 over here more than eighteen months, so perhaps 
 it will be difficult for you to believe me, when I tell 
 you that, since our government took over the rail- 
 ways, things haven't been such an awful lot better 
 in America than they are here with the war more 
 than three thousand miles away, instead of right on 
 the premises." 
 
 The Yank turned on him a look of unbelieving 
 disgust that made Daniel smile, but instead of com- 
 menting on the statement, which he obviously con- 
 sidered absurd, the soldier remarked, " And we had 
 to come them three thousand miles to win the war. 
 The Frenchies couldn't do it." 
 
 " Look here, buddy," answered Daniel, no longer 
 amused. " I like to believe that America was God's 
 instrument in ending the war, as well as you do. 
 But as a sporting nation, and I hope a nation 
 of good sports, we ought to be both just and gen- 
 erous. We came in with a hand-picked bunch of 
 trained athletes capable of putting over the knock- 
 out blow, but it isn't fair to forget that France, with
 
 124 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 an army made up of soldiers ranging from mere 
 boys to men past middle age, had been wearing down 
 the enemy for four years, and, groggy from the loss 
 of her best blood, was still hanging on." In his 
 earnestness he was surprised to find himself using 
 expressions which had never passed his lips before, 
 and he suddenly smiled as he mentally pictured the 
 look on the Elder's calm face if he could have heard 
 him then. " I'm not a military man, and I don't 
 pretend to know much about fighting," he continued, 
 " but I've heard American officers say that, although 
 the French troops don't look like much, and perhaps 
 have not the dash of our boys which is not 
 strange they are the stubbornest fighters on earth 
 and the best marchers." 
 
 "Ah, h 11 begging your pardon," said the 
 Yank. " Well, maybe you're right, friend, but 
 nearly two years of this sort of thing blood, mud, 
 
 cooties, a queer foreign lingo . . . and 
 
 rnules, certainly gets a fellow's goat. I suppose 
 that after I've got one good look at the Goddess of 
 Liberty, God bless her, I'll be telling my friends 
 that France is there, all ways from the center. Well, 
 we're here at last. Glad to have met yer." 
 
 A spur line ran up the bank of the Moselle on the 
 opposite side of the river from Mirabelle, but, long 
 before their arrival at the junction, Daniel's watch
 
 THE ROAD TO MIRABELLE 125 
 
 had told him that the one afternoon train thither 
 had departed, and when he disembarked he found 
 himself faced with the dismal alternative of getting 
 a room in the crowded, uninviting town if, in- 
 deed, it were possible to do so or plodding the 
 seven kilometres which lay between him and his 
 avowed destination, with even less certainty of ob- 
 taining accommodations for the night upon his ar- 
 rival in that hamlet of six hundred souls. 
 
 Nevertheless, a streak of Quaker stubbornness 
 made him take to the road that wound with the 
 Moselle into the open country, northward. 
 
 The day had been mild, and, as he left the paved 
 street for the highway, the mud underfoot began to 
 make walking both unpleasant and difficult ; but the 
 first gray tones of the long twilight brought a sud- 
 den change in the weather. The air grew rapidly 
 more chill, and the rising wind came laden with the 
 damps of the river valley. Snow began to fall, at first 
 in vagrant flakes that were softly caressing, but which 
 soon grew larger, wet, and adhesive. The blended 
 dull greens and browns of the fields, on either side of 
 the highway, slowly faded into white, but for a time 
 the road itself remained, a dark, bisecting line. 
 Then it, too, yielded, and the only color in all the 
 landscape was furnished by the black of bare tree 
 trunks, the cold gray of the rushing river, and the
 
 126 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 vanishing line of brown footprints left behind by 
 the traveler. The wind increased, raw and piercing. 
 
 Thoroughly wet at last, and with his spirits at 
 low ebb, Daniel buried his square chin in the up- 
 turned collar of his heavy jacket, and drove on into 
 the face of the storm, still stubborn, but inwardly 
 anathematizing his stubbornness. 
 
 The cheery squares of yellow light which marked 
 the windows of two intermediate hamlets, beckoned 
 him from before, and then faded into the fast clos- 
 ing darkness behind. His muscular legs grew weary 
 from the continued effort of pulling his weighted 
 feet from the freezing mud. An hour later he had 
 trudged over the last of three rolling hills, and be- 
 low him appeared the blurred outlines of the little 
 village which he sought. Save for its scattered 
 window lights, it was almost indistinguishable in the 
 gray- white dusk, for its jumbled roofs had changed 
 from terra-cotta to white, and its uniformly gray 
 walls faded into the sky with scarcely a suggestion 
 of demarcation. Still, his goal now lay before him, 
 and he consciously quickened his steps, while the 
 rhythm of his heart-beats responded, subconsciously. 
 
 He entered the silent town, through which an 
 army might to-night have marched without a foot- 
 fall being audible. Not a person was in sight, but, 
 from a long cement barrack upon a slight elevation
 
 THE ROAD TO MIRABELLE 127 
 
 beside the roadway, there came the muffled sound of 
 voices and laughter, and the clink of tin on tin. It 
 announced the hour of the soldiers' " soup," and 
 Daniel suddenly realized that his own anatomy 
 yearned for food. Somewhere in the distance ahead 
 a dog barked his entreaty to be allowed to go in- 
 doors out of the snow and cold, and the man ex- 
 perienced a strong desire to sit down, and howl in 
 sympathy. His imagination pictured the thought, 
 and it struck him as so ludicrous that he laughed, 
 and stepped out again in better humor, mentally 
 calling out " good appetite " to the unseen diners.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE PROPHECY OF OLD BARBETTE 
 
 INDEED Daniel had traversed nearly the full length 
 of the village's main street, and was drawing near 
 to the severely plain church which raised one square 
 tower dimly into the gray darkness above, before he 
 saw a person. 
 
 A cheerful glow spilled out from the open door of 
 a small, shed-like affair, built in an angle of the 
 church, close beside the high arched entrance, and, 
 silhouetted against the panel of light, a motionless 
 sentry was standing his lonely vigil. Another and 
 smaller illuminated square a window was tri- 
 sected by two thin bars of black. " Why, it's a 
 guard house ! " thought Daniel. " What a strange 
 place to put it what an anomaly. But, after all, 
 it is rather symbolic, the everlasting arms stretched 
 out around those in prison and affliction." 
 
 With a feeling of relief, he obliquely approached 
 the sentry, and addressed him. " Pardon, Monsieur, 
 but can you perhaps tell me where I may find a 
 lodging for the night ? " 
 
 128
 
 PROPHECY OF OLD BARBETTE 129 
 
 The poilu shook the snow from his shoulders, and 
 answered, "A lodging? I regret, but I do not 
 know, Monsieur. The village is full of troops, and I 
 am afraid that every spare room has been requisi- 
 tioned for the use of our officers. Que voules-vous? 
 The ' class * must have the best there is, you know. 
 However, it will do no harm for you to inquire at 
 the corner house, there; the billeting officer may, 
 perhaps, know of a place. If not, there is a larger 
 village on the other side of the river, where possibly 
 . . . ' He finished with another expressive shrug 
 of his shoulders. 
 
 Daniel's heart sank; his weariness flowed back, 
 redoubled. He knew that this was no more than he 
 might reasonably have expected, for experience 
 should have taught him that it was the everyday 
 lot of most villages in that area to be overcrowded, 
 but this did not prevent him from feeling rebellious 
 disappointment. 
 
 It had not been his intention, on so dismal a night, 
 to visit the le Jeune family, with the message which 
 could not but re-open old heart-wounds, but now he 
 determined to do so, and thus accomplish his pri- 
 mary purpose in visiting Mirabelle. He would ful- 
 fil his promise, and then dismiss the whole matter 
 from his mind. 
 
 " Yes," he replied. " I'll follow your suggestion,
 
 130 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 but first I have an errand to perform here. I want 
 to find the home of the le Jeune family. Do you 
 happen to know where they live ? " 
 
 " I regret, Monsieur, but again I cannot help 
 you. My battalion has but recently come to this 
 village, and I am not acquainted with any of the 
 civilians, as yet. Perhaps if there are some pretty 
 daughters in the le Jeune household, and Monsieur 
 will come back a week hence and ask me that ques- 
 tion . . . ' He laughed so frankly that Daniel 
 could not help joining him. 
 
 " But look ! There is someone who may be able 
 to tell you." The soldier pointed through the gloom, 
 and Daniel made out a queer, distorted figure of an 
 old woman, who was toiling painfully along, with 
 her misshapen back still further bent beneath the 
 weight of a load of snow-covered branches. " She 
 is an old hag a sort of gypsy who lives around 
 the corner, and on pleasant days sells little trinkets 
 from a push cart, and tells fortunes for the poilus." 
 
 " Thank you, Monsieur." Saluting, Daniel has- 
 tened towards the retreating figure, which had now, 
 panting audibly, paused to re-adjust the heavy 
 burden. 
 
 As the American approached he saw a strange 
 and pitiful picture, for the light from a window of 
 the little shop where Joan did her purchasing, fil-
 
 tered wanly through the sheeting snow, and illu- 
 minated the old woman. He took only passing note 
 of her shapeless garments, which were scarcely more 
 than an assortment of rags, so patched were they, 
 or of her feet, although a glimpae of her bare ankles 
 which showed above the wooden shoes, made him 
 shiver. It was rather her unusual face which 
 gripped his imaginative mind, for it looked as old 
 as the ages, yet, underneath the scanty white eye- 
 brows, burned two eyes like living coals. Stringy 
 locks of iron-gray hair, wet with melting snow, 
 escaped from beneath the frayed black shawl around 
 her head, and were plastered to a wrinkled counte- 
 nance, the color and texture of tanned leather. 
 
 " Permit me, mother." Without waiting for her 
 to get over her surprise, and make reply, he seized 
 the clumsy bundle of uneven fagots, and shifted it 
 from her deformed back to his own broad shoulder. 
 " They are heavy, I will carry them for you." 
 
 He started forward, and, as his new companion 
 hobbled along by his side, she began to speak in a 
 voice so cracked and unsteady, and so blurred with a 
 southern accent unfamiliar to Daniel's ears, as to 
 be almost unintelligible. Nevertheless, he managed 
 to make out the words, " Thank you heartily, young 
 and kind Monsieur. You are very considerate." 
 And then. " It is a villainous night, is it not? "
 
 132 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " Yes, terrible, and it is rapidly growing much 
 colder. You will have need of the firewood this eve- 
 ning." 
 
 " It is true. The hot blood of youth courses 
 swiftly in young veins, like yours, but in mine it is 
 slow, slow. I suffer much, but it is the will of the 
 good God that I should live on and on, so I do not 
 complain." Her words became a muttered jumble, 
 and she rubbed her bony fingers, stiff and blue with 
 the cold, until their joints cracked. 
 
 " You live far from here, mother? " 
 
 " But no ; not far, not far. My home is just 
 around the corner. Yes, just around the corner is 
 rest ... it is always so, is it not, Monsieur? " 
 
 Not quite certain whether he was listening to the 
 ravings of a cracked brain, or the wisdom of a ven- 
 erable philosopher, Daniel contented himself with 
 nodding. 
 
 " He speaks the French well, yes, very well, but 
 he is nevertheless a foreigner, the young Monsieur,'* 
 she continued, as though talking to herself. " And 
 he is not an Englishman ... ah, I know, I know 
 them all. I see a far distant land across broad 
 stretches of blue water, which he will recross not 
 many moons from now. He will be happy at last, 
 there by his own fireside, but first there is to be 
 much unhappiness for him; yes, much unhappiness.
 
 He loves our France, he wishes her well, but she 
 will repay his kindness with sorrow and suffering, 
 for I see a shadow before him, a heavy shadow 
 which lies across his path. Ah, it is too bad, too 
 bad, for he is kind of heart, the young Monsieur." 
 
 Daniel very nearly stopped from shocked surprise, 
 as his brain caught the significance of her mum- 
 blings. He felt that it was childish of him, but the 
 dreary setting and the hag's unpleasant predictions 
 gripped his heart like a cold hand, for an instant. 
 " Of course the poor old thing is utterly mad," he 
 decided, but he could not help remembering that the 
 sentinel had declared her to be a fortune-teller. 
 Certainly the experience was proving anything but 
 agreeable. 
 
 As though she had actually read his thoughts, the 
 old woman uttered a mirthless cackle, and cried, 
 " Oh, la, la, the heart of the young Monsieur 
 is disturbed; perhaps he thinks that poor old 
 Barbette is a witch,, because she says that evil 
 lies in the pathway before him as though evil 
 were not the lot of all mortal men; and because she 
 has declared that he is kind of heart, which any fool 
 could tell, since he helps a poor old woman with 
 her burdens. But perhaps old Barbette may be able 
 to repay his kindness some day; yes, perhaps some 
 day she can help him. Who knows ? "
 
 134 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 s 
 
 Then, abruptly, she turned and addressed Daniel 
 direct. 
 
 " You are dressed in uniform, like a soldier, but 
 you are not a soldier, Monsieur; I see no blood on 
 your hands. Do I not speak the truth, young Mon- 
 sieur ? " 
 
 " Yes, you are quite right," Daniel agreed, un- 
 comfortably. " I belong to the American Society of 
 Friends, which tries to relieve, and not to cause 
 suffering in the world." 
 
 " Ah, that is good, good. Although it seems 
 sometimes necessary to cause pain in order, in 
 the end, to cure it. Still, I think that too much blood 
 has been shed of late, for nowadays I see it every- 
 where on the hands and in the hearts of men. 
 Take care that you do not dip your hands in it, 
 also, Monsieur." 
 
 Daniel forced a laugh to cover his uneasiness. 
 " There is little danger of that, Madame. I am not 
 a soldier, you know; and, besides, the righting is 
 over." 
 
 " ' The fighting is over,' says he ! " she derided. 
 " The war may be ended, yes, but while men are 
 men, and kin to the beasts, fighting will never cease. 
 Old Barbette has said it, and she knows. Don't for- 
 get, too, that she has warned you." 
 
 They turned the corner full into the face of the
 
 [PROPHECY OF OLD BARBETTE 135 
 
 storm, which swept, shrieking, down the hillside 
 road, but close against a high wall, and in its deep 
 shadow, Daniel made out the blurred shape of a tiny, 
 one-room cabin, perched on wheels. A light shone 
 through a small square window, and it seemed to 
 him as though he caught a glimpse of an elfish face, 
 drawn, and as white as the world outside, pressed 
 for an instant against the snow-streaked glass. The 
 old woman veered toward it, panting and mutter- 
 ing. 
 
 " It is here, then, that you dwell, mother? " 
 " But yes. Is it not magnificent ? " She spoke 
 with a derisive cackle. " Still, it is cosy, and plenty 
 big enough for old Barbette, even though once 
 she . . . But why think of the days that are gone? 
 A roof to shelter one from the storm, a little fire to 
 warm one, and a place to lay the weary head is more 
 than had the Son of Man; and what more needs 
 man, who is kin to the beasts ? " 
 
 He helped her up the slippery steps to the little 
 place which served both as driver's platform and 
 front porch, and not until she had her clawlike hand 
 on the latch of the door, did he remember his pri- 
 mary reason for joining her. Raising his voice 
 above the gibberish of the winds, he called, " There 
 is something that I forgot to ask you, Madame. I
 
 136 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 am seeking the home of the le Jeune family. Can 
 you, perhaps, direct me to it ? " 
 
 "The le Jeunes, then? Yes, certainly. If the 
 moon were shining, and directly behind you, you 
 would have but to follow your shadow to the top of 
 the hjll and enter the last house on the left in order 
 to find them. Aye, aye, merely to follow your 
 shadow," she repeated, wagging her head, and Dan- 
 iel found himself wondering if there were any hid- 
 den meaning in her peculiar manner of giving the 
 directions. Was she still referring to himself, or 
 could she read his thoughts, and foresee that he was 
 bringing a shadow out of the valley of death to the 
 le Jeune family? 
 
 " Thank you, mother. I am not rich like so many 
 Americans, but if you will accept a trifle perhaps 
 as compensation for the fortune which you have told 
 me I shall be happy." He reached up, and 
 slipped a franc piece into her hand. 
 
 " A thousand thanks, Monsieur. Old Barbette 
 was not mistaken when she said that you were 
 kind of heart, and she will not forget; no, she will 
 not forget. Good-night, and may the good God at- 
 tend you always." 
 
 " Thank you. Good-night, mother." 
 
 A stumbling walk, all too brief in which to decide 
 just what he meant to say on his arrival, and how
 
 PROPHECY OF OLD BARBETTE 137 
 
 best to say it, brought him opposite the last house 
 on the hillside a two-storied, cement cottage 
 somewhat smaller than its neighbors, which, per- 
 haps, accounted for the fact that its front wall bore 
 no wooden sign announcing that it served as military 
 quarters for so many men, and so many horses. A 
 dark smudge at the right hand indicated the pres- 
 ence of an entrance, and a dull glow of curtained 
 light in a lower window told the story of a family 
 circle within. Daniel turned up the short path, hes- 
 itated, stamped his wet feet on the silencing snow to 
 start a little circulation in them, and then strode de- 
 terminedly forward into the pitch black entryway, 
 to meet the uncertain welcome that awaited him. 
 A pencil line of light at one side showed the location 
 of a door, and he knocked. 
 
 There was the sound of a scraping chair, the 
 shuffle of woolen-slippered feet from within. Then 
 the door opened part way, and he saw the bent 
 shoulders, and kindly, wrinkled face of a seemingly 
 old man, who peered inquiringly at him through the 
 small lenses of a pair of rusty steel-rimmed spec- 
 tacles. 
 
 " Good-evening. Monsieur seeks ... ? " 
 " I beg your pardon for troubling you on such a 
 night, but I am looking for the house of Monsieur 
 lejeune. Is this . . . ?"
 
 138 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " But yes. I am he. You wish to see ... ? " 
 
 Daniel hesitated, then said, as gently as possible, 
 " You are then the father of ... of Henri le 
 Jeune, late of the French artillery?" 
 
 " Henri ! Oh, mon dieu, mon dieu! " came from 
 within the room in a woman's voice. 
 
 " Hush, my mother. Hush then, dear. Father, 
 ask Monsieur to enter. Perhaps he has some word 
 . . . some message . . . ' 
 
 The man shuffled backwards, his seamed hands 
 clasped and working, and Daniel followed him into 
 the little room, with a word of apology for the snow 
 which fell from his coated garments to melt on the 
 tiled floor. Feeble as was the illumination from the 
 single unshaded lamp, his eyes, adjusted to the dark- 
 ness, could not, for an instant, make out the details 
 of the picture before him. All that he knew was 
 that five mistily white faces had turned startled, 
 wondering eyes upon him. 
 
 Then, as the scene cleared to his vision, all save 
 one faded from his notice. For directly in front of 
 him, with the shadow of a hidden pain making more 
 than ever appealing her sweet, sensitive face, was 
 the girl of the picture card Joan.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE HEART OF A HOME 
 
 STANDING, Daniel very simply told the story of 
 his brief acquaintance with the boy who had died, 
 delivered his message, and placed the picture in 
 Joan's outstretched hands. She gave it one glance, a 
 slight shudder passed through her and her lips trem- 
 bled for the briefest instant, but no tears came to 
 her large and luminous eyes as she bent her head, 
 and pressed the card close against her breast. 
 
 His words had been addressed to them all, but it 
 was as though he spoke to the girl alone, and it was 
 she, only, of whom he was conscious when he had 
 finished. He realized, but only in a vague way, that 
 her mother and apparently younger sister were sob- 
 bing freely, and that Monsieur le Jeune was un- 
 steadily pressing a large colored handkerchief to his 
 bearded lips. There was an aged woman present, 
 also, but she had not moved since his entrance, and 
 still sat gazing stolidly before her. 
 
 And it was Joan who spoke first, saying in a low, 
 139
 
 140 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 liquid voice, " Thank you, Monsieur, you have been 
 most kind to bring to us the message, which we shall 
 always cherish in our hearts. We knew that my 
 dear brother surely died like a true Frenchman, but 
 it is good to hear it also, and from the lips of one 
 who knew him." Then, for the first time, the even 
 flow of her musical voice broke, she turned abruptly 
 away with her hands covering her pale face, and 
 Daniel heard the barely whispered words, "Oh, God, 
 why could it not have been I instead ? " Instantly 
 the younger girl was by her side with arms about her 
 shoulders, and the light hair mingled with the dark 
 as she pressed her lips to Joan's neck. 
 
 Ill at ease, the American ventured the words, " He 
 was a wonderfully fine lad, Monsieur. Although I 
 really talked with him only that once, I somehow 
 felt when I saw him again . . . there at the hospital 
 ... as though I had found a friend. He was so 
 boyish, and so brave, that I know I shall never for- 
 get him. Was he ... was his body . . . brought 
 home?" 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur, we have that small comfort," 
 answered Joan, as she faced him, dry-eyed once 
 more. " He lies over yonder in the little graveyard 
 where we can see the cross above him, and every day 
 be reminded of his sacrifice. And so we thank the 
 dear Lord, for he does not lie in an unmarked grave
 
 THE HEART OF A HOME 141 
 
 on the battlefield. Perhaps it is foolish, but some- 
 how his spirit seems to be ... at home, again." 
 
 " It would have been with you in any event, I am 
 sure, for he thought of you always, his friend Jean 
 said. But I think that I understand, Mademoiselle." 
 
 " And the young soldier . . . Jean ? Is he ... 
 was he much wounded ? You see we know him also, 
 Monsieur." 
 
 There was a sweet note of entreaty in the girl's 
 voice, a perfectly natural one, but Daniel expe- 
 rienced a slight sense of inexplicable irritation, and 
 was angry at himself for so doing. " No," he re- 
 plied. " His arm was torn by fragments of the same 
 shell, but it has now healed." And he described 
 their later meeting in Verdun, ending by inquiring, 
 " It is here that his little sisters and brother live, is 
 it not?" 
 
 " But yes, almost across the street. Ah, the little 
 Pierre. Monsieur would both laugh and cry over 
 him, he is so pathetic, and so sweet." 
 
 " I'm sure that I should like to see them all, for I 
 love children passionately," Daniel rejoined, as he 
 picked up his cap and took a step backward. 
 
 The others stood up, except the old grandmother, 
 and Monsieur le Jeune moved slowly with hand 
 held out, and trembling. " We desire to thank you, 
 my wife and I, for your visit will mean much to us
 
 142 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 in the days that are before, Monsieur ... I do not 
 yet know your name," he said. 
 
 " It is Steele Daniel Steele, Monsieur." 
 
 " Ah, yes. Monsieur Steele. I hope that some 
 day we may be able to repay your kindness to us; 
 and now will you permit me to offer you a little 
 liqueur, perhaps a glass of the Mirabelle made from 
 my own trees? You are wet, and surely cold, 
 also." 
 
 " Thank you, but I do not drink . . . except, 
 possibly, a glass of water, for I am somewhat 
 thirsty." 
 
 " And perhaps hungry, as well, Monsieur? You 
 have not dined? " It was Joan's voice that broke in, 
 with solicitude. " You must pardon us for having 
 been so forgetful of common hospitality, but your 
 message . . . Are you staying in our village, Mon- 
 sieur? I think not, for I have never seen you before, 
 and every one in Mirabelle knows when there is a 
 stranger here except the soldiers, of course. Is it 
 then possible that, on such a frightful night, you 
 have come from some other place simply to tell us 
 about . . . about Henri ? " 
 
 " To tell the truth, I have just arrived in Mira- 
 belle, coming from X ... but not entirely for the 
 reason you have suggested. I had hoped to find a 
 place to stay, here, since my work is to be in the
 
 THE HEART OF A HOME 143 
 
 near-by ruined area, but I am told that there is little 
 chance of it the village is filled with troops, is it 
 not?" 
 
 Instead of answering his question, Joan ex- 
 claimed, "Monsieur! You have just arrived, and 
 the train reached B . . . across the river, hours 
 ago. Then you must have walked all the way, and 
 we would have permitted you to go away out 
 into the storm again like this. Oh, I am humili- 
 ated. And you have eaten nothing, is it not so? 
 Mother, dost thou understand ? The kind American 
 has eaten nothing. Quick, Suzette, put on the kettle. 
 No, you must stay, we insist, Monsieur. It will be 
 but a moment before we have something prepared, 
 which will be at least hot and nourishing, even if 
 the fare is simple." In her eagerness, Joan had 
 placed her hands against Daniel's shoulders, en- 
 deavoring to push him into a chair, and the contact 
 gave him a thrill of pleasure. He protested, but the 
 pangs of a very real hunger made his protests faint, 
 and, besides, they were lost in the bustle of prepara- 
 tion. 
 
 Thus it resulted, that a few moments later he 
 found himself seated at the plain wooden table before 
 a steaming bowl of savory stew, part of a loaf of 
 French bread, a saucer of Mirabelle confiture, and 
 a thick cup of piping hot, black coffee which mother
 
 le Jeune had insisted upon sweetening to a degree 
 far beyond what was palatable to him. His cour- 
 tesy remonstrances had gone for nothing and he 
 could not press them, for he had recognized in her 
 act the true spirit of sacrifice, which had brought to 
 his Biblically trained mind the story of the woman 
 of Bethany with her box of precious ointment. 
 
 Across the table from him, with their chairs 
 drawn close within the radius of the single light, 
 the four women were already re-engaged in their 
 work the old grandmother bent low over one of 
 her son's coarse socks which she was darning, and 
 the others over their dainty needlework. After the 
 scenes of desolation, in the midst of which his life 
 had lately been set, the simple picture of domesticity 
 warmed and soothed the watcher's heart. Daniel 
 in the main kept his eyes bent on his plate, from 
 which the food was rapidly vanishing before the on- 
 slaught of a healthy appetite, but he seldom glanced 
 up without encountering the gaze of the younger 
 girl, fixed upon him with the frank curiosity of a 
 child. For a time the father puttered about the 
 room, doing little unnecessary things, but he finally 
 seated himself beside their visitor and began to con- 
 verse. 
 
 !< You will pardon me, Monsieur, but I think that 
 I do not quite understand what you are. Is it that
 
 THE HEART OF A HOME 145 
 
 you belong to the Red Cross, for you speak of work- 
 ing in the destroyed villages ? " 
 
 " I belong to an organization affiliated with the 
 Red Cross, Monsieur the American Society of 
 Friends have you ever heard of it?" 
 
 " But yes, and of you, Monsieur," responded his 
 wife. " Surely, Auguste, you remember the last 
 letter from our Henri, in which he described the 
 meeting with Monsieur at the Foyer du Soldat" 
 
 " To be sure. It was then he, of whom Joan 
 said ..." 
 
 " Father! " cried the girl. " Monsieur, I owe you 
 an apology, for I must admit that then I did not 
 understand, and I thought that I would not like one 
 who would not fight against the Boche." She 
 blushed hotly. 
 
 " I understand, and I do not blame you, having 
 seen what I have since reaching this area. Our faith 
 forbids us to bear arms, and fight in battle against 
 other men, but there is another kind of fighting 
 that against sorrow and suffering. It is to engage in 
 that, that we have come to France, and to do our 
 little best to help the homeless and fatherless, as all 
 men are commanded to do." 
 
 " Yes, now I understand better," said her father. 
 " It is a noble work, truly, and one which our poor 
 France stands sadly in need of, now. Verily the
 
 146 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Americans have saved us, and we owe you all, more 
 than we can ever repay. Would you be willing to 
 tell us something about the work which you have 
 been doing? " 
 
 Daniel cheerfully supplied a brief outline of the 
 labors of his organization in the two regions around 
 Verdun and Chateau Thierry, and then, carried 
 along by his own enthusiasm, recounted a number of 
 the interesting and pathetic incidents which he had 
 witnessed, helped out by Joan, who seemed often to 
 divine the thought in his mind, and supply the elu- 
 sive word, when he became lost in the intricacies of 
 the foreign language. 
 
 " So now you are to carry on the same sort of 
 work here between the Moselle and the Meuse, is it 
 not so?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And that is why you had hoped to find some 
 place to stay here in Mirabelle, because it is so near 
 the scene of your task ? " 
 
 " Just so. But I might have guessed that all the 
 villages in this neighborhood would be harboring 
 troops." 
 
 " Hmmm." Daniel caught a glance and a nod 
 pass between the man and his wife, and tried to ap- 
 pear unconscious of the whispered conversation 
 which ensued between her and Joan. But his heart
 
 THE HEART OF A HOME 147 
 
 thumped in anticipation, nevertheless, and he was 
 prepared to hear the former say, earnestly, " If 
 Monsieur thinks that he would care to remain in our 
 little house, at least until he finds some place which 
 might suit him better, it would be our pleasure." 
 
 " Truly you are very kind to suggest it, Madame, 
 but I could not think of disarranging your house- 
 hold. You see, I feel certain that you have not a 
 spare room." 
 
 " But we have, we have, Monsieur," Suzette burst 
 out. " There is Joan's room, and she can sleep with 
 me as she did last summer when the other American 
 the captain was here." 
 
 "Suzette, why didst thou say, in my room?" 
 Joan chided, reproachfully. " You must not mis- 
 understand, Monsieur. We often sleep together, 
 Suzette and I, even when we have no guest, for she 
 is a very naughty child, and needs some one to 
 watch over her always." 
 
 " So I am naughty, then, Joan ? Very well, when 
 we go to bed to-night I shall pinch thee, so that 
 thou wilt not be disappointed," the child-woman 
 answered mischievously. 
 
 " Hush, perverse one. I, too, can pinch." There 
 was a little laughter which put a smile in Daniel's 
 own heart, and he thought, " How different Joan 
 looks when she smiles; not prettier, perhaps, which
 
 148 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 is scarcely possible, but more bewitchingly fascinat- 
 ing." And for the first time he realized that the 
 younger girl was also unusually attractive, although 
 still in the bud. 
 
 " So it is all arranged, my mother. The Amer- 
 ican Monsieur shall not go out into the storm to- 
 night, and he shall stay here as long as he likes 
 for he was a friend of our Henri, and shall he not, 
 therefore, be always a friend of ours as well ? " 
 
 " But yes, always." 
 
 " I cannot thank you sufficiently, Monsieur and 
 Madame; you are too generous, but I will gladly 
 accept your hospitality for to-night, although of 
 course I must depart to-morrow, because . . . ' 
 
 " When to-morrow comes we shall see, but we 
 hope that you will want to stay, for already we 
 think of you as a friend." 
 
 " And perhaps he will also teach us the English," 
 cried Suzette. " The American captain started to, 
 and I know a few, and Joan many, words, for she 
 studied diligently, although I think it was because 
 she liked to sit beside him. But he went away and 
 now, perhaps, he is dead, for he has written Joan 
 only once." The girl jumped up, disregarding her 
 sister's blushes and indignation, and opened a 
 drawer in the cupboard from which she brought 
 Daniel a picture postcard of the Place Stanislaus, in
 
 THE HEAKT OF A HOME 149 
 
 Nancy, with a brief message written upon it in Eng- 
 lish. She leaned over his shoulder and, pointing to 
 the signature, said, " His name was Captain John 
 Smith. Did you know him in America, Monsieur? 
 Joan pretends that she understands what he has 
 written, but I am sure that she does not. Will you 
 tell us, Monsieur?" 
 
 " About your captain ? No, I'm afraid that I do 
 not know him. You see America is a pretty large 
 country one of our forty-eight states is almost as 
 big as France and Germany, combined. He merely 
 says that he is going into battle immediately, and 
 that he cannot thank Mile. Joan, and all of you, 
 ( enough for your many kindnesses to him. He will 
 never forget you." 
 
 " There, wise one ! Did I not say as much ? " 
 teased Joan. 
 
 " Ah, but thou merely guessed it. That is what 
 any one would have said, and thou knewest that the 
 Americans had finished their training, and were go- 
 ing into the fighting." 
 
 " How much English did you learn, little made- 
 moiselle? Do you remember any of it?" queried 
 Daniel. 
 
 " Yes, I remember a very little, but I cannot tell 
 you now, for Joan is listening, as always." Daniel 
 amusedly beckoned to her ; she came close, and, with
 
 150 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 her lips almost against his ear, whispered with 
 quaint accent, " I loff you. Giff me a kees? " 
 
 The man was a little shocked, but he laughed, 
 nevertheless, as he said, " My, but you were an apt 
 pupil, certainly. How old are you, my child ? " 
 
 " I ? Oh, I shall be sixteen in a month, Monsieur, 
 so I am no longer a child. And Joan is nearly four 
 years older than I. Thou art, Joan, for when a girl 
 has passed her nineteenth birthday she is almost 
 twenty . . . especially if she is not already married. 
 Is it not so, Monsieur?" 
 
 " But whom should a poor French girl marry, 
 now? Are not most of the splendid young men of 
 France dead ? " demanded her sister. 
 
 " Jean Harent is not yet dead, and there are many 
 Americans in France, who are not married. Are 
 you, Monsieur? " 
 
 Joan blushed furiously again, and started from 
 her seat, crying, " Naughty one, for that, thou shalt 
 be pinched now," but Daniel shielded the tormenter 
 with his big form, and laughed frankly as he an- 
 swered, " No, I am not yet married." 
 
 " Suzette," chided her mother, mildly, " it is not 
 fitting for thee to speak thus of thy sister, and be- 
 fore a stranger." 
 
 "A stranger, my mother? But has he not him- 
 self said that he is a ' Friend? ' "
 
 THE HEART OF A HOME 151 
 
 " I shall be glad to have you count me one, in 
 fact as well as in name, if you will, even though 
 you have known me but a short time." Daniel now 
 spoke with an abrupt return to his natural serious- 
 ness, and Monsieur le Jeune answered with simple 
 sincerity, " Thank you, Monsieur; one who has done 
 what you have, for us, and for our poor boy, has 
 earned a place in our heart of hearts. Please feel 
 that this is hereafter your own fireside so long as 
 you wish to regard it as such." 
 
 " I could ask for none better, and am more than 
 fortunate." 
 
 " It is we who are fortunate. Suzette, go thou 
 quickly and prepare Monsieur's bed, for he is surely 
 tired." 
 
 The younger girl departed, and left silence in the 
 room for a moment. His new host then offered 
 Daniel a cigarette, and, when it was declined, asked 
 permission to light one himself. Leaning back, he 
 blew dreamy blue smoke rings ceilingward. The 
 needles of the women flashed rapidly, the kettle 
 sang on the tiny stove, and Mimite who appar- 
 ently had a penchant for men purred lazily on 
 Daniel's knees. A deep contentment filled the man. 
 
 Joan broke the stillness by asking, " You have a 
 family in America, Monsieur?" 
 
 He started from his reverie. " Yes. At least I
 
 152 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 have a kind step-father and mother, with whom, 
 and their daughter, I live." As he replied, he drew 
 the picture of Faith from his pocket, and passed it 
 to her. 
 
 " Ah, she is very lovely, his little step-sister. Is 
 she not, my mother ? " 
 
 For a second time Daniel was startled to find 
 himself hesitating to explain that Faith was much 
 more to him than a sister. The words were on his 
 lips, but something wholly inexplicable held them 
 there, and again came the thought that it was rather 
 a difficult explanation to make, and what necessity 
 was there of making it at all ? He suffered a twinge 
 of conscience and was angry at that, as well. It 
 was all over in a flash, and Opportunity had fled as 
 swiftly, for Suzette stormed through the door, with 
 her light-hearted chatter going on as though it had 
 not been interrupted at all. For a few moments 
 longer they conversed on random subjects, and then 
 the mother who had previously slipped from the 
 room unobserved returned to announce that Mon- 
 sieur's room was ready, if he wished to go to it. 
 
 Daniel gratefully assented, for he was thoroughly 
 weary, and the warmth of the room had made him 
 drowsy, as well. He bade his hospitable new friends 
 good-night and pleasant repose, and, picking up his 
 little suit case, followed Monsieur le Jeune into the
 
 THE HEART OF A HOME 153 
 
 freezing hallway and up the narrow groaning stairs, 
 guided by the flickering light of a candle. The 
 room which they entered was also chilly, but a 
 newly built wood fire, in the small porcelain stove, 
 was crackling cheerfully, and the high, four-post 
 bedstead with its billowy feather coverlid and crim- 
 son quilt, already turned down for him, beckoned 
 invitingly. With a final " Sleep well," the old man 
 closed the door behind him, and shuffled off down 
 stairs. 
 
 Daniel sighed with weary satisfaction. Standing 
 close to the little stove, that gave forth a comfort- 
 ing warmth to which he had long been foreign, he 
 divested himself of his clothing, and climbed into 
 woolen pajamas. Then he blew out the candle 
 flame, flung wide open the French window, and fled 
 before the driving assault of the storm-laden wind 
 to the protection of the high bed, into whose yield- 
 ing depths he plunged. Oh, the sensuous delight 
 of a real bed and sheets, after weeks of a sagging 
 army cot of canvas, or worse, and wrinkled blankets 
 made Boy Scout fashion to counterfeit a sleeping- 
 bag, and into which one had to insinuate oneself by 
 degrees. 
 
 He was surprised to find that the sheets felt de- 
 lightfully warm to his bare feet, and, as he luxuri- 
 ously stretched at full length, they came into contact
 
 154 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 with something hot and hard, whose smooth contour 
 proclaimed a stone jug filled with boiling water. 
 
 " Blessings on the woman ! " he murmured ; then 
 a new idea sprang to his mind. Hot water! The 
 wherewithal to take a real bath, which was a rare 
 luxury in that region, as he had long since learned. 
 On the instant he was out of bed again, and had 
 relighted the candle. Another, and the lameness 
 was departing from his tired muscles under the 
 soothing influence of the steaming liquid. The sen- 
 sation was glorious, and he blessed Madame anew, 
 as he crawled back into the enveloping feathers. 
 
 Truly Fortune had smiled on him that day, for he 
 had gained more than physical comfort he had 
 found his way into the heart of a true French home. 
 The realization brought devout gratitude. " It is 
 more than I deserve," he thought, as he settled 
 himself for sleep. But, despite his weariness and 
 all, sleep was long in coming. His eyes stared 
 into the darkness which in time became the velvet 
 background for Faith's sweet face, and there grew 
 within his heart the feeling that he had failed in his 
 love for her. Conscience is always the hardest 
 taskmaster, and it whispered accusingly that he had 
 already denied her twice the second time not in 
 words, perhaps, but by his silence which gave tacit 
 assent to Joan's statement. Why? Why? He
 
 THE HEART OF A HOME 155 
 
 could assign no reason for it, and began to toss and 
 turn uncomfortably. And then his now wide-awake 
 thoughts reverted to the girl whom he heard moving 
 quietly about in the next room, and simultaneously 
 Lieutenant Villier's laughing gibe reoccurred to his 
 mind, " Wait until you meet some real French girl, 
 perhaps some village lass with all the fascination of 
 simplicity added to that which is inherent in every 
 woman of our race." It was absurd; what could 
 she mean to him ? Yet he could not deny to himself 
 that she had already exercised a strong appeal to his 
 senses. Or had she? Was it not, rather, the en- 
 vironment, the peace and warmth of the family 
 fireside after the toilsome journey through the 
 storm and bitter night ? Yes, that was it, certainly. 
 To-morrow he would see her again in quite a differ- 
 ent light, and besides, he could not think of further 
 imposing upon his new friends, by prolonging his 
 stay. Yet . . . how good the warm, comfortable 
 bed felt! 
 
 And then his mind shifted again to the journey 
 thither, to his meeting with " old Barbette," as she 
 called herself, and to her unpleasantly prophetic 
 mutterings. " A shadow, a deep shadow across 
 his pathway ahead." What on earth could she have 
 meant ? 
 
 And so, he fell asleep.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE " MORROW " 
 
 MORNING. The storm was over; the sun shone 
 brightly upon a new Mirabelle, spotless, white, and 
 glistening a village such as might have housed 
 Santa Claus, so quaint and clean it looked to Daniel. 
 On the roadway beneath his window, the snow 
 creaked merrily under wooden shoon, and scintil- 
 lated prismic colors. The air seemed fairly to 
 sparkle, likewise, and so did Joan's eyes, as he en- 
 tered the downstairs room in response to an early 
 call to petit dejeuner * a call that had almost 
 caught him napping in the literal sense, for the soft 
 warm bed had held him with a tempter's embrace. 
 
 Daniel would have honestly scoffed, had any one 
 characterized him as an artist, and probably no one 
 would have conceived of him in such a role, he was 
 so big, so outwardly calm and practical, but like 
 
 1 The light breakfast of coffee with milk, and bread. 
 156
 
 THE "MORROW" 157 
 
 most imaginative people he had a keen apprecia- 
 tion for the beautiful things, and the picture of the 
 girl at the open window, with the golden morning 
 light aureoling her dark hair, thrilled him anew 
 with delight. The cold, which would have killed an 
 earth flower, had paradoxically called two pink 
 roses to life in her cheeks, and, indeed, all of the 
 household, even to the aged and wrinkled grandam, 
 were glowing in flesh and vibrant in spirit. 
 
 To his relief, no mention was made of the reason 
 for his coming, nor was he surprised, for he now 
 knew the French well enough to understand that they 
 can hide black grief beneath bright smiles, as can no 
 other race on earth. It was a characteristic which 
 he had come to regard as Providential. Further- 
 more, during the desultory conversation which ac- 
 companied his solitary breakfast of cafe au lait, 
 bread and jam, not a word was said about the pos- 
 sibility of his departing. Then, as he finished eating, 
 he tried to drive himself to make the plunge into the 
 unpleasant subject, with an idea of reiterating his 
 previous night's statement that he could not think 
 of further imposing upon their hospitality. But he 
 was anticipated by Madame le Jeune, who remarked, 
 " I am glad that Monsieur liked the room and slept 
 well, for now he will stay with us." 
 
 Again, a faint protest for courtesy's sake was on
 
 158 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Daniel's lips, and again he was not permitted to 
 utter it, for Suzette broke gaily in with the question, 
 " But tell us, Monsieur, of whom did you dream last 
 night ? You know it is very important to remember 
 the dreams which one has during the first night 
 spent in a strange bed, for it means that . . . ' 
 
 " Cease thy foolish prattle, Suzette," her mother 
 called from the stove. " Monsieur Steele has more 
 important things to think of, than dreams." 
 
 The girl's mischievously expectant look, still fixed 
 on his face, forced him to answer, however. " Of 
 whom did I dream, then? Why ..." he laughed, 
 to cover a sudden confusion, and felt that his face 
 was growing red. " Why, I really don't remember." 
 
 But he did. And when, an instant later, he stole a 
 sidewise glance at Joan, she, too, blushed unaccount- 
 ably, and hurriedly lowered her eyes to her em- 
 broidery. Desirous of changing the embarrassing 
 subject, he announced, " It is so pleasant this morn- 
 ing that I think I shall walk to the nearest of the 
 ruined villages, and start my preliminary examina- 
 tion of my new territory." 
 
 " Good, if Monsieur desires," responded Madame. 
 " But may I make a suggestion ? It is that since 
 every civilian in the village must have a card for his 
 allotment of sugar, you visit the office of the Mayor 
 and apply for yours, first of all. Joan shall ac-
 
 THE "MORROW" 159 
 
 company and assist you in doing the things which 
 are necessary." 
 
 " Certainly, I shall be pleased to follow your sug- 
 gestion, Madame ... if you are quite sure that 
 you want me to stay." 
 
 " That is already settled," said Joan, with a brisk 
 nod of her head which indicated finality. 
 
 " Then I may as well confess the truth, and say 
 that I am exceedingly happy. You know that there 
 is one word in the English language which has no 
 exact equivalent in the French, and which is with 
 the exception of ' Mother ' to us the most beauti- 
 ful of all in meaning. That is the word, ' home/ 
 which signifies so much more than your ' maison ' 
 house, or ' foyer ' fireside. There is the 
 thought of a place of safe retreat from the cold 
 winds of the world, of the loving family gathered 
 together there, and the spirit which pervades the 
 whole and makes it the most desirable place on 
 earth, all combined in that simple word. By no 
 means is every house a ' home,' in this fullest sense, 
 but I know that this one is. So, you see, I am 
 fortunate, for I have found my way into a real 
 ' home.' " 
 
 " 'Ome." Joan repeated the English word softly, 
 and to Daniel it seemed as though she imparted 
 to it an even deeper meaning than he had himself
 
 160 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 ascribed. " Yes, it is a pretty word, and you make 
 it tell a pleasant story. Monsieur is a poet, I think." 
 
 "I? A poet? No, indeed. Just plain man," 
 smiled Daniel. 
 
 " Ah, but the English is so difficult ; one of your 
 words has so many ideas in it, and they are all so 
 hard to pronounce. Why do you not speak the 
 words as they are spelled, the way we do, Mon- 
 sieur?" 
 
 " You are not the first to ask me that question, 
 Mile. Joan, and I wonder if I can open your eyes 
 in surprise, as I haveHhe others. It is true that we 
 do not always pronounce as we spell, though I 
 think that we generally do, but do you, Mademoi- 
 selle?" 
 
 " But certainly." 
 
 " What are your mother and sister doing ? " He 
 drew a pencil from his pocket, wrote the answer 
 to his question, in French, " Elles travaillent, n'est- 
 ce pas? " and passed it to the wondering girl. 
 
 "El traveye, nes pa?" she read phonetically. 
 " Yes, but ... " 
 
 Smiling, Daniel proceeded to draw a line through 
 each of the eleven letters which had not figured in 
 her pronunciation, and Joan's cheeks slowly 
 dimpled into a responsive smile. " Ah, you have 
 trapped me well, Monsieur. I never thought of it
 
 THE "MORROW" 161 
 
 before, but there are many letters which we do not 
 pronounce at all in certain places. Now I can see 
 why it is that strangers speak so funnily our lan- 
 guage." 
 
 "If you really want to learn English, I shall be 
 only too delighted to help you and sister Suzette, 
 also on the evenings when I am at home, and, 
 after you have made a little start, you will find that 
 it is really very easy. Our constructions are much 
 simpler than yours, we are not bothered with the dif- 
 ferent genders, and our verbs get along without 
 terminations, with one exception which is easy to 
 remember. Besides, although there are many more 
 words in English than in French, nearly three thou- 
 sand, which come originally from the Latin, are 
 practically the same in both languages, except for 
 the pronunciation. But you must help me with my 
 French, in exchange." 
 
 " Gladly, Monsieur. Although you already speak 
 our beautiful tongue much more fluently than most 
 foreigners. Oh, it will be great fun ! " 
 
 With her eyes sparkling, and red lips parted she 
 momentarily leaned over the table close to him. 
 Her shoulder barely touched his, but he felt as 
 though there had been established an instantaneous 
 magnetic contact, which thrilled him to the finger- 
 tips, amazed, delighted and frightened him.
 
 " This won't do at all," he said to himself. " If 
 I'm really a fool, it is a good thing to find it out in 
 time, and fight against my folly." With the thought 
 came an inspired solution or so it seemed to 
 Daniel at the moment. 
 
 " Good, it is agreed. And I'll begin right now by 
 teaching you another word that in the sense in 
 which I mean to use it has no counterpart in 
 French, I'm told." 
 
 " And that word is ...'?" 
 
 " ' Pals.' What you and I are going to be, I 
 hope. It means about the same as ' comrades,' but 
 with perhaps a shade more of the idea of frank and 
 friendly intimacy in it. I have been told that, in 
 France, it is not thought possible for a man and a 
 girl to ... to ..." his explanation began to 
 become confused and embarrassed, "... to be 
 like that a sort of brother and sister without 
 playing the part of ... of ... lovers. But in 
 America it is quite the usual thing, and perhaps that 
 is why ... is why . . . ' 
 
 He stopped altogether, and Joan, both laughing 
 and blushing, answered, " I think I know what you 
 mean, Monsieur. And that is why the girls in Amer- 
 ica do not always have to be chaperoned, and can 
 have so much better times than we in France. Yes,
 
 THE "MORROW 163 
 
 I will like that. Listen while I say it. We are 
 ' pals,' now. Is that right ? " 
 
 " Exactly right, and we must shake hands on it, 
 as they say at home." She gave his hand a warm, 
 friendly pressure, which set his blood to leaping 
 again, and he rather hastily withdrew it from her 
 clasp. 
 
 " Ah, but you are amusing, Monsieur. I think 
 that you are as bashful as a girl. Still, I like thee," 
 she added, unconsciously dropping into the language 
 of intimate friendship. 
 
 " Good, then I am fortunate in a thousand ways." 
 
 " It is we who are fortunate, Monsieur," inter- 
 rupted Madame le Jeune, who had been listening to 
 the conversation, with amusement and perplexity in- 
 termingled. " It is pleasant again to have a youth 
 in our family circle our ' 'ome.' ' She repeated 
 the English word diffidently, and Daniel saw the 
 shadow of a great grief pass, like a fleeting cloud, 
 across her face. He understood its meaning, and 
 was silent. 
 
 After a moment, he addressed her. " Then, as 
 Mile. Joan has said, it is settled, but you must, of 
 course, permit me to pay you for . . . ' 
 
 " But no. No, no," chorused the other three, 
 Madame, Joan and Suzette. " A friend of our 
 Henri . . "
 
 " Thank you, I appreciate your kindness, but 
 truly this time I could not accept. We are sup- 
 posed to pay our way always, you see, and the 
 Society to which I belong settles all necessary ac- 
 counts." 
 
 " Ah, in that case, and if Monsieur insists ..." 
 There was another whispered conference, and then 
 Madame inquired, hesitatingly, " Would Monsieur 
 think five francs too much for the room ? " 
 
 " Five francs a day ? " He had been moving 
 from place to place for so long that he had for- 
 gotten how to think in terms of a domicile, and the 
 figure startled him a little. 
 
 " A day ? No, no, for the week, Monsieur, and 
 the grandmother shall do your laundry with our 
 own." It was Joan who answered this time, and 
 Daniel could barely keep from smiling at the ex- 
 pression of distress on her countenance. And, as 
 he mentally translated the sum into American cur- 
 rency, he found himself wishing that every homesick 
 and embittered doughboy who had ever declared 
 that France was a nation of robbers might have been 
 present at that moment; whereupon he actually did 
 smile, for he knew how few of the A. E. F. ha.d ever 
 been granted the opportunity to learn the true heart 
 of France, and his imagination assembled an au- 
 dience of some two million men to their simple
 
 THE "MORROW 165 
 
 transaction. " Five francs." At the existing rate 
 of exchange that was well under one dollar a week, 
 for such a room and such a bed, for the warmth of 
 a fire and the more precious warmth of friendship ! 
 
 " It is far too little, Madame it is nothing. Of 
 course you must allow me to pay more than that." 
 
 " Not a single sou, Monsieur. All that I might 
 ask is, that if Monsieur goes away from time to time, 
 as he has said would be the case, and on his trips 
 eats with the soldiers, or in cafes, he permit us to 
 purchase the sugar that is allowed to him and which 
 he does not use." It was the frugal French house- 
 wife who spoke now. " Indeed, Monsieur, I should 
 be happy to take charge of securing your allotment 
 for you, after you have obtained the card." 
 
 " Most certainly, if you will agree to consider it 
 my small donation to the family, which has made 
 me a part of itself," replied Daniel, and he thought 
 of many other gifts of welcome provender which 
 he might make if ever his trips took him to a town 
 where was located an American army commissary. 
 : " Then truly is it settled. Come, Joan, get thy 
 shawl. If thou dost not hasten the Mayor will have 
 left his bureau. He is also the principal of the 
 village school, and himself teaches the older boys 
 who are too unruly for the mesdemoiselles, his 
 daughters," she added, in explanation to Daniel.
 
 166 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 The man, in his heavy storm boots, and the girl, 
 in her sabots, were soon clumping together down the 
 hillside toward a group of children, who were lag- 
 gardly moving in the direction of school and filling 
 the last precious moments of freedom with human 
 sleighing races, for the purpose of which one of a 
 pair played the part of steed and the other that of 
 driver and equipage combined by squatting upon 
 his, or her, wooden-shod heels. The crisp air was 
 filled w T ith merry cries and childish laughter. 
 
 The voice of one, calling, " Look, an American ! " 
 put an abrupt end to the game, and the participants 
 clustered together in a group by the roadside, half 
 shy, half eager, but all curious. 
 
 " There are the two small sisters of thy friend. 
 Monsieur Jean," exclaimed Joan, as she pointed out 
 two fascinatingly pretty children, slender and grace- 
 ful, with wavy hair so black as to suggest a sheen of 
 blue in the sunlight, and big eyes, nearly as dark. 
 " Yes, and there is my little Pierre, the rascal, hiding 
 behind Marie. Good-morning, children," she called 
 aloud. 
 
 " Good-morning. Joan," came the response in 
 chorus, and then Georgette, looking up at Daniel 
 from under her dark lashes, and with a mischievous 
 smile dimpling her rosy cheeks, called in English, 
 " Good-bye."
 
 THE " MORROW ' 167 
 
 " All of the youngsters in France know that ex- 
 pression, I guess, and use it regardless of appro- 
 priateness," chuckled the man, as he, in French, 
 returned the intended greeting. 
 
 " Marie, Georgette and little Pierre, come hither. 
 You must bid good-morning properly to the Amer- 
 ican Monsieur, who is a friend of your brother Jean, 
 and helped to take care of him when he was the last 
 time wounded," announced his companion. 
 
 .The two girls approached shyly, and each placed 
 a small hand in Daniel's outstretched ones ; but the 
 boy showed no embarrassment. Rather, he leaned 
 confidently against the man's legs, tilted his chubby, 
 soiled face upward, and, with a cherubic smile, in- 
 quired ingratiatingly, " Chew'n gum?" 
 
 " No ' chew'n gum ' this morning, my little one. 
 I'm sorry." 
 
 The light of expectancy faded from the small 
 countenance, and the cherubic lips replied, " Damn." 
 
 Daniel's expression of shocked amusement at the 
 expletive, coming from such a source, must have 
 conveyed something of the unintelligible word's 
 meaning to Joan, for she apologized, " He's only a 
 baby, Monsieur, and perhaps thy countrymen who 
 were here last spring taught him to say some 
 naughty words, is it not so? "
 
 168 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " It certainly is. You had better tell him to elim- 
 inate that particular word from his English vocab- 
 ulary." 
 
 " Ah well, soldiers will be soldiers " 
 
 " * Full of strange oaths,' " quoted Daniel men- 
 tally. 
 
 " and he is so comical that they all spoiled 
 him, by playing with him constantly, and giving 
 him many bonbons and other things. We love the 
 children dearly, but I think that the Americans make 
 more of them, than do the French." 
 
 " Listen, Pierre. It is not a nice English word 
 which thou hast used, but if thou wilt promise me 
 not to say it again, I will surely give thee some bon- 
 bons the next time that I see thee, for I have a few 
 in my bag," promised Daniel. 
 
 " Good. Then I will not say ' Damn ' again, 
 ever, if I may have some bonbons." 
 
 " Hark, the bell is ringing. We must all make 
 haste ! " Joan exclaimed. 
 
 " Quick, then. On my back, Pierre," Daniel cried, 
 and with the boy clinging tightly to his neck, and 
 a shrieking girl dragging at each hand, he headed 
 the troop toward the three storied building which 
 Joan indicated as schoolhouse, Mayor's office and 
 family dwelling combined. 
 
 Their errand completed, and with the precious
 
 THE "MORROW" 169 
 
 carte d' alimentation in Daniel's pocket, the two 
 started to retrace their path, but the girl had an 
 errand to perform in the near-by basement shop, and, 
 on reaching it, excused herself for a moment. Left 
 alone, the American stood idly watching the stray 
 hens which were industriously scratching provender 
 through the snow, and now and then his wandering 
 eyes caught glimpses of gray-gowned Sisters, with 
 stiff white headdresses, which half concealed their 
 placid faces, as they passed and repassed the win- 
 dows within the severely plain convent, beside the 
 church. 
 
 His attention was shortly attracted to a more 
 stirring sight, however, for around the corner swung 
 the head of a battalion of French infantry, in full 
 field equipment, but marching without music, or 
 drums. Even now that peace had come, the appear- 
 ance of armed men en route still thrilled him, and 
 he eagerly studied the brown, bearded or mustached 
 faces that filed by him with scarcely a glance. 
 Around the left shoulder of each was looped the 
 fourragere of twisted red cord, which proclaimed 
 that the regiment to which it belonged had been 
 cited to wear the color of the Legion of Honor, for 
 repeated deeds of exceptional bravery, and the 
 breasts of many of the individuals were adorned 
 with the bars of the Croix de Guerre and the Me-
 
 170 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 daille Militaire. Three months had passed since the 
 fighting ceased, but these stern-visaged men, who 
 had faced four years of horror at the Marne, the 
 Aisne, in Belgium, Verdun and Chateau Thierry, 
 perhaps, still bore the ineffaceable lines of suffer- 
 ing and indomitable resolve, around their lips and 
 eyes. 
 
 The command " Halt " was passed down the col- 
 umn of fours, and the poilus instantly relaxed, 
 dropped their rifle butts to the snow, hitched up their 
 packs, and relighted the inevitable cigarettes. Dan- 
 iel walked a few paces down the line, until he was 
 arrested by Joan's voice, calling, " I am now ready, 
 Monsieur Steele." 
 
 " So? " spoke a deep voice just behind him, and 
 he turned to recognize the sentry with whom he had 
 conversed the previous night. " I see that Monsieur 
 succeeded in finding the house of the family which 
 he sought. Good. Perhaps now if / return in the 
 week's time, he will tell me where dwell the le 
 Jeunes, for I observe that there are some pretty 
 daughters there or at least one." 
 
 " And do you then expect to return so soon ? It 
 appears to me as though you were departing alto- 
 gether." 
 
 " Yes, it is so. We go into Germany to take our 
 place in the army of occupation. The Boche ' Gret-
 
 THE "MORROW" 171 
 
 chens ' will not be as pretty as yonder Mademoiselle, 
 I'm afraid." 
 
 " Too bad. But if you are leaving Mirabelle I 
 should now have no trouble in finding a chamber 
 here, if it were necessary." 
 
 ' There will be plenty of room for a day or two, 
 perhaps, but other troops will replace us, without 
 doubt. The barracks are well built, and the position 
 strategic, -if the enemy plays false." 
 
 "Attention!" 
 
 "Au revoir, Monsieur, and felicitations, for the 
 pretty mademoiselle awaits you." 
 
 " Au revoir, and a pleasant journey." 
 
 " Forward march ! " The column moved on, and 
 Daniel rejoined the waiting Joan. As they turned 
 the corner towards home, they came suddenly upon 
 old Barbette, in the act of sweeping a path through 
 the snow from her little cabin to the road, and he 
 saw on the platform a pale, pitiably thin child, 
 with deeply shadowed eyes and drooping lips 
 the countenance of which he had caught a fleet- 
 ing glimpse through the window-pane the eve- 
 ning before. One startled look at him, and she 
 scurried indoors like a frightened hare to its bur- 
 row. 
 
 The old woman shrieked a malediction after her, 
 and then, with a twisted smile which revealed a few
 
 172 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 odd, discolored teeth, turned to Daniel, and said, 
 " Ah, Monsieur, she runs thus from every stranger, 
 for to her they are all Boche." 
 
 " And she is then especially afraid of the 
 Germans ? " 
 
 " Aye, and with good cause, but I will not think 
 on those things now. 'Tis better not." The thin 
 lips closed grimly. 
 
 " I will tell thee the story some day, perhaps," 
 whispered Joan, with her lips close to his ear. 
 
 " And so the American stays in Mirabelle, with 
 the le Jeune family and Mademoiselle Joan, eh? 
 Well, old Barbette knew that it would be so, she 
 knew." 
 
 "How did you know? I did not myself, until a 
 little while ago," demanded Daniel, with curiosity 
 and growing exasperation both evident in his voice. 
 But the hag merely shook her head, and began to 
 mutter, and wield her broom of twigs furiously. 
 With a " Good-morning, Madame," in parting, the 
 pair started to move on. 
 
 It was still sufficiently early so that the morning 
 sun was only a little above the rim of eastern hills, 
 and its bright, slanting rays cast clean-cut patches 
 of shade on the white ground. As Daniel faced 
 the west to mount the hillside, old Barbette's cack- 
 ling laugh sounded behind him, and he heard her
 
 THE " MORROW' 173 
 
 call, " Be careful, Monsieur. You are stepping to- 
 wards it." 
 
 " Towards what ? " he demanded sharply. 
 
 " Your shadow, Monsieur," was the mocking 
 reply.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 CONVERGING PATHS 
 
 ONCE more it was eventide, and once more Dan- 
 iel was headed toward Mirabelle, but with antici- 
 pations how different from those which had been his 
 when he had first approached the village. Then, he 
 had been weary, cold, and uncertain of what greet- 
 ing awaited him there; now, he looked confidently 
 forward to a friendly welcome in a spot which had 
 already assumed the name of " home " in all his 
 thoughts. Four days had passed since he left it, 
 four busy days in which he had visited by rail, by 
 foot, or motor trucks encountered by chance, most 
 of his new territory. Somehow, the blackened ruins 
 and bare walls, which stood so naked and deserted 
 amid the bleak winter landscape, had touched his 
 heart even more poignantly than before, as he 
 viewed the frozen desolations, and mentally com- 
 pared what he beheld, with his mind picture of what 
 they once had been contented, peaceful places, 
 like Mirabelle. 
 
 174
 
 CONVERGING PATHS 175 
 
 Toward that hamlet, whose quaint charm had al- 
 ready captivated him, still almost a stranger to it, 
 his thoughts had reverted often during the evenings 
 which he had passed in the chilly, overcrowded inn 
 of some partly razed town, or another. And he had 
 never sought his uncomfortable bed without think- 
 ing covetously of the wonderful one which awaited 
 him there warmed by a stone jug placed at its 
 foot by mother le Jeune, its thick covers turned 
 down by the hand of Joan, and close beside it, a 
 friendly fire kindled by his host. 
 
 The strong hold which his new friendship had 
 taken upon his heart, found expression in a long 
 letter that he wrote to Faith at this time. In it he 
 described in detail his arrival at Mirabelle, even to 
 quoting the first, and pleasant, part of old Bar- 
 bette's prophecy. He expatiated at length upon the 
 kindness of the le Jeune family to him, but, when he 
 came to write of them individually, he caught him- 
 self being swayed by an odd temptation to make 
 only a passing mention of the girl Joan. Angry at 
 himself, he finally described her to a greater degree 
 than was in the least necessary. He told of her 
 loveliness of face, her sweetness and natural charm, 
 and then manlike, and afraid that he had said too 
 much went as far out of his way in the other 
 direction, to assure the one who owned his allegiance
 
 176 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 that she need have no fear that this, or any other 
 woman, no matter how fascinating, could have any 
 possible appeal to one who had known, and loved, 
 and been loved by her. It's said that woman's name 
 is inconsistency, with the inference that the male is 
 a consistent creature, but if he is, the ordinary one 
 is consistently absurd where women are con- 
 cerned. And when this epistle reached Faith, a 
 month later, the ardent protestations thrilled her; 
 and if her womanly intuition read aught between the 
 lines which troubled her, her reply did not disclose 
 the fact, even by inference, for she did not find it 
 necessary to reaffirm her steadfast trust in him. 
 Rather, she wrote sweetly of her own happiness in 
 the fact that he was so happy in his new home, and 
 ended by asking him to give her love to Joan. But 
 much water had flowed under the bridge before 
 Daniel received that letter. 
 
 On the evening of this fourth day Daniel was 
 once more approaching Mirabelle, this time by the 
 road that led from the little railway station of the 
 village on the further side of the Moselle. The 
 hamlet, which straggled up the hillside from the 
 river's edge in front of him, was silhouetted against 
 a glowing sunset background, and looked more like 
 a painting than a real place, with its picturesque 
 skyline of deep red roofs, the rich blues and violets
 
 CONVERGING PATHS 177 
 
 of the shadows on its clustered walls, and with 
 here and there a touch of pink in spots where snow 
 reflected the warm light. To add a bit of life to the 
 scene, the beautiful Moselle wound through the 
 nearer snow-clad field, its rippling waters, and tiny 
 rapids, many-colored. The picture bred a great con- 
 tentment within the man. 
 
 As he exchanged the still-sunlit plain for the 
 heavy shadows within the village, and turned into 
 the main street, he saw before him in the distance, 
 winding down the road which curved over the 
 nearer hills, a thin dark line which, as he watched, 
 resolved itself into a rapidly approaching column of 
 horses, guns and wagons. The cavalcade came on 
 at so fast a trot, that before Daniel had reached his 
 turning point, the leaders were almost upon him. 
 He saw that the foremost team of horses, urged 
 forward by the lumbering gun that bounded and 
 rattled at their heels, was practically out of control, 
 and plunging badly. The rider of the near horse, 
 and the driver on the seat of the limber, were mak- 
 ing desperate efforts to slow them down, and swing 
 them around the right angle turn. But their shouts 
 and sawing on the bits only excited the sweating, 
 plunging animals the more. Not knowing what 
 might happen, and decidedly uneasy on his own 
 account for he was caught between a row of
 
 178 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 buildings on either side Daniel made haste to 
 press himself close against one of the walls, and 
 then, for the first time, realized that he was not 
 alone there. 
 
 Two other figures were huddled in the deep 
 shadows. A single glance enabled him to recog- 
 nize in one the crooked form of old Barbette, and 
 he assumed that the other was the strange child. 
 But he had time for one look only. Then he saw 
 the rider lean over, and smash his clinched fist 
 viciously into the nostrils of the off horse; saw a 
 mounted officer, with the expression of a devil on 
 his face, spur up beside the offender and seize his 
 wrist in a passionate grip; saw the newcomer's 
 steed rear and pivot under the check-rein; and saw 
 its flank strike the cowering child, and send her 
 headlong to the ground. 
 
 The tragic action began and ended almost simul- 
 taneously, and Daniel viewed it as something oc- 
 curring in a nightmare, the gloomy shadows on one 
 side, and the unnatural light of dying day on the 
 other, intensifying the effect. His mind was in 
 action, while his body seemed to be bound to the 
 wall against which he had pressed himself. Then 
 his nerves and muscles responded to the call of his 
 brain, and he was also in the midst of the group 
 that had become a melee. He found himself at
 
 CONVERGING PATHS 179 
 
 one time trying to lift the silent child from the snow, 
 restrain old Barbette, who was making matters 
 worse by shrieking maledictions at the officer and 
 beating both him and his mount with her bony 
 fists, and prevent the horse from rearing again and 
 injuring them all. 
 
 The column had closed up behind them, shouting 
 drivers were endeavoring to calm their own horses, 
 which had become infected with the spirit of panic, 
 and others had jumped from the gun carriages, 
 and were running up to assist. For an instant, 
 pandemonium was loose in the dark and narrow 
 street. Then Daniel somehow succeeded in backing 
 free with his burden, and in pulling after him the 
 old woman, whose straggly hair had fallen over her 
 face and whose lip was bleeding, where she herself 
 had bitten it. There was the look of one of the 
 Furies on her face. 
 
 But the man was more concerned over the child, 
 who lay rigid in his arms, her eyes closed, and the 
 blood seeping from a cut on her forehead, that 
 had been made, doubtless, by the rough wall against 
 which she had struck in falling. 
 
 For an instant he believed that she was dead. 
 Then tremors began to pass through her wasted 
 body, and her breath to come in convulsive, sound- 
 less sobs. With a sense of immense relief, he sur-
 
 180 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 rendered her into Barbette's skinny arms, and the 
 old hag began to rock and croon over her with an 
 unsuspected tenderness. Then the officer, who had 
 dismounted and left his horse in charge of a soldier, 
 joined them. 
 
 " God, I was so angry at that driver that I 
 
 didn't see the little one at all, Madame I had eyes 
 only for that fool. I am desolate, and hope that she 
 is not hurt. Here, please take this." He drew 
 from his pocket a handful of small silver coins and 
 held them out to her, but old Barbette freed one 
 arm, and struck the offering so sharp a blow that 
 the money flew in every direction, and she began to 
 shriek at him again. 
 
 He laughed at her foul abuse, and turned to Dan- 
 iel, who was now leaning against the wall, gin- 
 gerly nursing one arm, which had been severely 
 bruised during the affair. " And you, Monsieur, 
 if you had not quickly and courageously inter- 
 posed your own strong body, worse might have 
 happened, so I thank you. You are not injured, I 
 trust?" 
 
 From the shadows which concealed his face, Dan- 
 iel answered, " No, I am not hurt, and you have no 
 occasion to thank me. I am only too glad that I 
 was present. But let this teach you a lesson, my 
 lieutenant, that the innocent are often made to suf-
 
 CONVERGING PATHS 181 
 
 fer with the guilty, when a man loses his temper in 
 the way you have just done." 
 
 " Mon Dieu, is it then my American, Monsieur 
 Steele? But I am glad to see you, even if you read 
 me a moral lecture at the very moment of our meet- 
 ing." He sprang forward, and clasped Daniel's 
 hand heartily. " I was at fault ; yes, I admit it, but 
 I have a hasty temper, and when it is aroused I see 
 everything red. I am sorry for what happened, but 
 not that I was angry indeed, I rejoice in the 
 knowledge that I possess a temper for use when the 
 occasion requires, whereas I wager that you, my 
 mild-mannered friend, do not know whether you 
 have one, or not." 
 
 " Perhaps I would prefer to be wanting in that 
 regard, Monsieur. You forget that my sect tries 
 to follow the commandment of the Master, in all 
 respects, and forgiveness is the cardinal Christian 
 virtue." 
 
 " Without doubt ; but, if I remember my Bible 
 correctly, even He, himself, once whipped the 
 money changers from the temple." 
 
 " Their offense was not against Him ..." be- 
 gan Daniel. 
 
 " Nor was this fool's offense against me," an- 
 swered Villier, triumphantly. "Of course I am 
 sorry for the girl although the old woman amuses
 
 182 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 me but I assure you that if I should to-morrow 
 see another brute strike a horse, which I worship, 
 I should undoubtedly ride down another child, 
 if it happened to stand between me and the object of 
 my anger. This man shall be well punished, al- 
 though perhaps you would like to beg that clemency 
 be shown him, Monsieur," he finished, with a faint 
 tinge of sarcasm in his words. 
 
 " A man who sins must suffer, truly, but I might 
 ask you to remember that his temper was responsible 
 for what he did, and he was sorely tried." 
 
 At this serious statement the lieutenant burst into 
 a hearty laugh, and he clapped Daniel on the 
 shoulder. " It is worse than hopeless to argue with 
 you, my friend, but I'll never get over the delight 
 of doing it, nevertheless. Come, tell me what you 
 are doing here, of all places. You are the last 
 person on earth whom I should have expected 
 to meet in this God-forsaken hole, where we are 
 doomed to spend the rest of the winter in quarters 
 no amusement, no society, no women except 
 the dull village girls. Bon Dleu, but I shall die of 
 ennui." 
 
 " Possibly that is how Mirabelle appeals to you, 
 Monsieur," responded Daniel, suddenly transformed 
 into a champion of the spot which had exercised so 
 strong an appeal on him. " To me it seems like a
 
 CONVERGING PATHS 183 
 
 delightful haven, after the places in which I have 
 been living." 
 
 " So it's like that? And do you then mean that 
 you, too, are staying here ? What luck ! The Fates 
 are kinder to me than I thought, since I shall have 
 you to amuse me. And, inasmuch as you take 
 offense so strongly at my frank characterization of 
 Mirabelle, it must be that you have discovered here 
 some attraction which is hidden from the casual 
 view some jewel, worth another's seeking, is it 
 not so ? Ah, it is ; I read the answer in your face, 
 which was not made for dissembling. * Cherchez la 
 femme' as we Frenchmen always say, in such a 
 case; is it that you have here found the village 
 Mademoiselle, concerning whose appealing simplic- 
 ity I once warned you ? Aha, still waters. But you 
 have my felicitations." 
 
 Daniel hesitated. He was disturbed and angry, 
 both at himself and the questioner, although he sus- 
 pected that the latter was merely baiting him. The 
 arrival of a young poilu, leading Villier's horse, 
 brought what promised to be a welcome interven- 
 tion. But the promise failed, for the lieutenant 
 now in high good humor again turned to the new 
 arrival, who had saluted both men, and cried, " Be- 
 hold, Jean, these Americans are too rapid for us. 
 We come to a village hoping to find at least one
 
 pretty Mademoiselle to entertain us, and lo, one of 
 them is here before us, and has, without doubt, al- 
 ready selected the best for himself. You remember 
 Monsieur Steele, do you not?" 
 
 " But certainly, my lieutenant, we are already 
 friends. Did I not say that we would surely meet 
 again, Monsieur? " 
 
 " You did, and I am glad that you have proved to 
 be a true prophet. Has Jean told you that he prob- 
 ably saved my life in Verdun?" 
 
 " I have not told it, because it is not true, Mon- 
 sieur." 
 
 " Well, I am glad that you are to be here, and 
 I'm sure that you consider yourself fortunate to be 
 sent to Mirabelle, even if Lieutenant Villier does 
 not." 
 
 " Ah yes, the dear God is kind to me, for I can 
 now see my little sisters and brothers, daily. And 
 then there is yet another reason why I am well con- 
 tent to be here." 
 
 " And that is ... ? " 
 
 "Cannot Monsieur guess? You have heard of 
 my comrade's sister, Joan; perhaps you have seen 
 her, if you have been here long, and . . . ' 
 
 There was something about the odd expression 
 which came into the American's face, which caused 
 him to pause. At the same time old Barbette and
 
 CONVERGING PATHS 185 
 
 the child, who was now able to walk slowly, slunk 
 away, and their departure gave Daniel a brief 
 moment in which to control his features and remove 
 the look of surprise from his countenance. He had 
 been shocked at the unreasonable feeling of sudden 
 jealousy which had followed Jean's simple declara- 
 tion, and he now forced himself to respond with al- 
 most boisterous good will, " So, the wind blows 
 that way? If Mile. Joan is a victim of the same 
 contagious malady, you are indeed fortunate, for 
 she is everything that is fine and fair." 
 
 " You have met her, then ? " exclaimed Jean, his 
 face lighting up joyfully. 
 
 " Met her ? Is it not my good fortune to have 
 found a chamber in the house of the kind le Jeunes ? 
 And have I not already told her that you and I are 
 friends?" 
 
 " Perhaps she asked about me, Monsieur? " 
 queried the poilu eagerly. 
 
 " Perhaps she has, who knows," was Daniel's 
 enigmatical reply. 
 
 " Truly ? Ah, I am glad, and glad, too, that I 
 shall be able to see you often, for we are to occupy 
 the barracks almost across the street." 
 
 The lieutenant, who had stepped aside to address 
 the offending and chastened driver, returned in time 
 to hear the last sentence. " So you are also living on
 
 the Rue du Mont? Good. You will be able to dine 
 often at my popote, where we shall renew our in- 
 numerable discussions, and you can, at the same 
 time, learn that Jean, here, is able to cook an omelet 
 as well as he can point a gun. In return, you must 
 promise to introduce me to your village belle, and 
 we shall then see whether she prefers the Parisian, or 
 the priest. Au revoir, Monsieur Steele, we arrive 
 late, and there is much to be done to-night, but to- 
 morrow you must come and see me. Am I not gen- 
 erous ? I give you one more free night, in which to 
 play your hand without a rival." 
 
 He remounted gracefully, wheeled, and spurred 
 away, followed by Jean, who ran to take his place 
 on the gun limber, leaving Daniel with strangely 
 mixed feelings of pleasure and disquietude. He 
 knew the way of the French officer of city birth, and 
 Villier's jest about the unknown girl contained the 
 possibility of a threat, and both it, and the poilu's 
 frank avowal, certainly promised to interfere with 
 the pleasant comradeship which he had pictured as 
 growing up between Joan and himself. 
 
 With quite different sensations in his heart than 
 those which had been there a few moments previous, 
 he turned up the Rite du Mont, beside the now 
 slowly moving column. 
 
 The sight of Barbette's tiny cabin brought his
 
 CONVERGING PATHS 187 
 
 mind back to the recent event, that had so barely 
 escaped a tragic ending, and he climbed to the little 
 platform, and knocked on the door. It was opened 
 a crack by the old woman, who peered out, with a 
 look of hostility on her aged face, but this cleared 
 when she discovered the identity of the visitor. She 
 drew the door wide open, and beckoned for him to 
 enter. He was forced to stoop low in order to es- 
 cape the top of the door, and even within the room 
 was unable to stand upright. Every imaginable 
 sort of odds and ends, mostly broken, cluttered up 
 the tiny place, it seemed to Daniel, but he paid scant 
 attention to his surroundings. For, close to one 
 side, lying on a rude cot made of what had once 
 been two chairs, was the strange and pitiable child, 
 who regarded him unblinkingly, through big scared 
 eyes. Her hair, falling over them, and the dark 
 blue shadows about them, made them appear like 
 those of some little wild thing cowering within a 
 thicket. 
 
 Still, she did not shrink, this time, when the man 
 crouched down, took one of her frail, transparent 
 hands in his, and asked her, gently, how she felt. 
 
 " Answer him, thou ! " shrieked the old woman, 
 but, as the girl remained dumb, she continued more 
 mildly and with a tone of apology, " You must 
 excuse her, Monsieur, for she is very timid. But
 
 188 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 look, she fears you no longer. See?" The child 
 was softly patting Daniel's hand. " It is her way 
 of thanking you for saving her life, yes, for saving 
 her life. And now old Barbette has yet another 
 kindness to repay you for, some day." 
 
 " She was not seriously hurt, mother? " he asked. 
 
 *' Hurt ? No, she was not hurt, Oh, ho-ho, is 
 she not the devil's child, and does not the devil al- 
 ways look after his own? " Daniel was shocked at 
 her words and mirthless laugh, and the girl winced 
 visibly. He was moved to voice a stern rebuke, but 
 before he could speak, the old woman had dropped 
 to her knees and begun to fondle the girl, and mutter 
 soothing endearments. 
 
 " I am so sorry for the little one, Madame. Won't 
 you take this, and get something to amuse her . . . 
 a little poupee or perhaps some sweets ? " he asked, 
 utterly at a loss to understand the scene. 
 
 " No, Monsieur, we cannot accept more of your 
 money, but as soon as it is fully dark, old Barbette 
 will return to the corner, and, on her knees, seek in 
 the snow for the coins which she struck from the 
 officer's hand. Old Barbette cannot be bribed, but 
 what she finds, is hers, is it not so? And he shall 
 pay, ah yes, the lieutenant shall pay in anguish and 
 bitterness of soul, and we will laugh the little one 
 and I. Old Barbette knows, she knows." Again
 
 CONVERGING PATHS 189 
 
 she fell a-muttering, and was, perhaps, unaware 
 when Daniel rather hastily departed. 
 
 He walked rapidly to his new home, and, once 
 he was inside it, all the disturbing shadows of the 
 previous moments fled from his mind before the 
 warmth and brightness of the family welcome. 
 
 But he had much news to relate, during the course 
 of the simple meal, in which they insisted that he 
 join them, and there were many excited exclama- 
 tions and a little laughter over his story. To be 
 sure, the knowledge that the new arrivals were mem- 
 bers of the battery to which Henri had belonged, 
 brought a momentary shade of pain, for they could 
 not but think of the joy which would have been 
 theirs, to have had him so near them. Still, they 
 were able to rejoice in Jean's good fortune, and 
 Joan's eyes and cheeks were bright, as she inquired, 
 " And he is well and strong again, Monsieur ? Ah, 
 I am glad." 
 
 Finally, he briefly recounted his experience in 
 old Barbette's cabin, and asked if they knew the ex- 
 planation of her strange words and stranger be- 
 havior. 
 
 " Yes, every one in Mirabelle knows, Monsieur,'' 
 responded Joan, hesitantly. " It is not a pleasant 
 story, but perhaps it would be better if Monsieur 
 understood, for it is otherwise hard not to blame old
 
 190 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Barbette who is really not to blame for what she 
 may do, or say. It is again the war, Monsieur. It 
 is said that once she was very pretty, in spite of her 
 twisted back, and she was a gypsy fortune-teller in 
 the South of France, where there is much money. 
 She was frugal, and very well-to-do when the war 
 commenced. She had two daughters, one very, very 
 lovely, and much younger than the other, who was 
 the mother of the poor little girl, the father of 
 whom was ... a Boche. They lived all together 
 in one of the villages yonder, in great contentment, 
 and all men regarded him as a good husband and 
 father. But he was Boche, and a devil slept within 
 his heart. So when war was declared he stole all of 
 old Barbette's money and escaped into Germany, 
 where he re-entered the army of his Fatherland. It 
 killed the poor wife, and started to turn the brain of 
 the old grandmother, Monsieur ; but it was only the 
 beginning of horrors for her. For soon he came 
 back, not alone, but with thousands of his country- 
 men. They swept over the little village, which had 
 for years been home to him; they ravaged and 
 burned; they killed his former neighbors, and he 
 laughed to see them die. And then, Monsieur, they 
 . . . Oh, I cannot tell you, but his own sister-in-law 
 that beautiful young girl was made to die also, 
 and he . . "
 
 CONVERGING PATHS 191 
 
 There was a strained silence in the room, and 
 Daniel felt the blood pounding hotly in his temples. 
 
 " Old Barbette saw it all. Then she managed to 
 escape and hide herself and the little one, who was 
 scarcely more than a baby then, in the cellar of her 
 ruined home. And later she got away, the good 
 God alone knows how, and came here on foot 
 through the night, for the Germans were stopped 
 just the other side of those near-by hills, as Monsieur 
 knows. So one cannot blame old Barbette, can one, 
 Monsieur? And we try to be very kind to her, 
 although it is sometimes difficult." 
 
 And Daniel nodded with a new understanding.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE SINGERS 
 
 ANOTHER week had added itself to the caravan 
 of passing days; again Daniel was homeward 
 headed, after a more extended tour of his new 
 region than he had made during his first visit to it, 
 and hastening with a joyful heart toward the mag- 
 netic pole of his thoughts. 
 
 He came to the corner, in the shadows of which 
 tragedy had lurked on the previous occasion, and, 
 as he turned it, he found a group of children, in- 
 cluding his especial friends, standing in unnatural 
 silence before old Barbette's tiny cabin. There was 
 awe and interest on every small face. 
 
 " Why so quiet, my little ones ? " he called out, 
 cheerfully. 
 
 Georgette ran forward, and slipped her hand into 
 his. Then nodding towards the cabin, she whis- 
 pered, " The strange little girl, Rose, is dying in 
 there, Monsieur." 
 
 192
 
 THE SINGERS 193 
 
 Daniel was shocked, but, before he could ask a 
 question, Pierre broke in with eager impetuosity, 
 " My Joan said that she is going up to Paradise, 
 and I am watching to see her go. Do you think 
 that she will come right through the roof, Monsieur 
 American ? " 
 
 " Hush, Pierre. It is wicked to talk like that 
 about people who are going to Paradise," chided his 
 elder sister, as she placed her hand over the loqua- 
 cious mouth. " This morning I took her my best 
 poupee, which Jean found for me in Verdun, and I 
 love the most of all, but she would not look at it. 
 Do you think that the old witch will give it back to 
 me ? " she added, wistfully. 
 
 " Yes, I think so," replied Daniel. " Now all of 
 you run away and play. It is not nice to stand and 
 stare like this." 
 
 The children moved slowly off for a few paces, 
 and then turned, to continue their watch, as the man 
 climbed the platform steps. 
 
 Old Barbette had seen him coming, and she softly 
 opened the door. Within the single diminutive 
 room sat one of the placid nursing sisters from 
 the near-by convent, her hands folded over a crucifix 
 on her lap, from which her eyes did not waver, even 
 when the visitor spoke. 
 
 " They tell me that the little one is very HI,
 
 194 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Madame. Is it true? Is there anything that I can 
 do to help you ? " 
 
 " No, Monsieur, no one can do anything, now. 
 But it is just as well, just as well. She will be 
 happier in Paradise than with old Barbette, and I 
 think that there is enough French in her soul to save 
 her from hell." 
 
 " The soul knows no nationality, Madame," he 
 answered. 
 
 " You think not? The Boche say that there is a 
 German God, so there must be a German soul." 
 
 Not wishing to argue with her, he inquired, " Is 
 it ... is the trouble ..." 
 
 " The soldier doctor said that she was not injured 
 by her fall ; he would say so anyway, and I do not 
 know. But since that night she has faded slowly 
 away, like a bruised flower, and neither he, nor old 
 Barbette who knows of curing herbs that are 
 better than any which the physicians give has 
 been able to help her. But I hold no regrets. The 
 part of her that I hate, will die, and that which I 
 love will live on forever, and be again with her 
 sainted mother, who was also a martyr on earth. 
 Old Barbette knows; has He not told her that it 
 would be so ? " 
 
 "'He?'" 
 
 " But yes, the bon Dieu," came the simple answer.
 
 THE SINGERS 195 
 
 " I am sorry . . . No, perhaps it is better that I 
 be glad, with you, Madame. But if there is any- 
 thing that I can do, you will call on me ? " 
 
 " I thank you, Monsieur, but there is nothing, 
 nothing." 
 
 The old woman had been speaking more calmly 
 than Daniel had ever heard her speak before, but 
 the placid look suddenly left her eyes, and her 
 strange face twisted horridly. " He has killed her, 
 the lieutenant has killed my little Rose, but he will 
 pay, his soul will sweat with the tortures of the 
 damned, and then old Barbette will laugh." The 
 uncanny cackling which the man had heard several 
 times before, and which sent a creepy sensation 
 down his back, began again, and he hastily with- 
 drew, to seek the happier welcome which he knew 
 
 awaited him at the top of the Rue du Mont. 
 
 ******** 
 
 A detailed record of the incidents of the two 
 months which followed would furnish but varia- 
 tions upon one theme, a simple composition based 
 on the life and labor of every day, with familiar 
 strains of Love's Old Sweet Song in it, little trills 
 of laughter, and a deeper obbligato, which carried a 
 note of pain and struggle. 
 
 There was a chorus to complete the harmonies, 
 but three persons furnished the leading parts.
 
 196 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 It was Joan, whose life sang the lighter melody, 
 for, except when her thoughts turned toward the little 
 graveyard across the way, she was very happy. The 
 familiar cottage had an element of new enchantment 
 because of the presence there, at intervals, of the 
 American, who had become for her the dearest com- 
 rade imaginable, and the presence almost constantly 
 of the brave and gay young poilu, who, without the 
 need of spoken words, proclaimed himself her suitor. 
 And surely he was one of whom any girl in Joan's 
 place might well have been proud. Her happy 
 thoughts made play of the daily tasks which were 
 hers to perform, for when one's mind is filled with 
 air castles which it is perpetually building, mundane 
 matters can find but little place in it a fact which 
 was often exasperatingly apparent to her mother, 
 who would catch her day-dreaming, with her em- 
 broidery held in idle hands, and cry, " Joan, 
 what art thou thinking of, to be so idle ? Dost thou 
 not remember that the price of everything was never 
 so high as to-day, that it daily goes higher, and that 
 only by all of us working ceaselessly, can we live at 
 all? Thou, who wert ever so common-sensed and 
 so industrious, hast changed into something which 
 thy mother cannot understand. Is it, then, that the 
 American has rilled thy empty head with foolish 
 visions of a country, not like our poor France, but
 
 THE SINGERS 197 
 
 where every one is rich thou rememberest the 
 letter of thy brother Henri? Dost thou dream of 
 being a fine lady, dressed in silks and the fine linen, 
 such as we embroider, but cannot afford to wear? " 
 
 " No, my mother, it is not of that, that I dream," 
 Joan would answer, as, flushed of face, she re- 
 busied herself with her work. 
 
 " Perhaps of that poilu, Jean Harent, then. Is 
 it not bad enough that he is here at all hours, taking 
 up thy time with his foolishness, without thy think- 
 ing more foolishness concerning him, when he is 
 absent ? I shall certainly speak to Monsieur le Com- 
 mandant, and ask him, for the love of God, to give 
 his men something to do to keep them busy, for they 
 are a lazy lot, now that the fighting is over, and they 
 have only to eat and sleep, and draw pay from 
 France for doing it." 
 
 " That is not their fault, my mother, and surely 
 they have earned the right to rest for a while. Be- 
 sides, what is twenty-five centimes a day? " 
 
 " Yes, what is twenty-five centimes a day ? It is 
 nothing, in this age especially it is nothing to 
 dream of marriage on," she would add, pointedly. 
 
 "And who is dreaming of marriage? Not I!" 
 Joan would toss her pretty head, airily. 
 
 But whether she spoke the full truth, or not, there 
 was one who did dream of it, night and day.
 
 198 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Jean had come to stay in Mirabelle, rejoicing in 
 the thought that he was to be close to the girl who, 
 seen but once, had spoken to his young heart with 
 the voice of a simple siren, and every day thereafter 
 the ship of his life was drawn nearer and nearer to 
 the passionate rapids which would sweep it on to the 
 rocks where it might be dashed to pieces, or caught, 
 and safely held. He wished for no wax with which 
 to stop his- ears against the song of the siren, no 
 rope with which to bind himself to the restraining 
 mast. 
 
 He heard other voices; the sharp military com- 
 mands of his officers, the boisterous talk, and loud 
 laughter of his companions and the every-day con- 
 verse of the villagers, but they merely furnished 
 rude interruptions to the love song that his heart 
 was everlastingly singing. 
 
 For a time he had been quite content to dwell in 
 the land of dreams, for his anticipations were per- 
 fect, more perfect, he knew, than their realization 
 might be, for they were what he made them, while 
 life is subject to many things beyond one's control, 
 and such forces are not always kindly ones. 
 
 Besides, the thought of that twenty-five centimes 
 a day was a deterrent to speech. Yes, it was al- 
 together better to wait for a little while. He had 
 served more than his three required years under the
 
 THE SINGERS 199 
 
 tri-color, and, in a few months, at the most, he would 
 be demobilized and free again. He had no fear of 
 the future; the natural optimism and courage of 
 youth saw to that. Perhaps he woujd settle down in 
 Verdun, and ply his old trade for the benefit of the 
 many visitors who would be sure to come there, 
 to view the battlefields ; perhaps he would remain in 
 Mirabelle. Men were scarce, economic readjust- 
 ment would occur in time, and he would grow pros- 
 perous, become a landowner, a substantial citizen 
 of the place, perhaps even the Mayor and then his 
 children would be very proud of him. 
 
 As the days passed, however, a discordant note 
 marred his song, a shadow crept into his bright 
 dreams, and made him decide to end them, and see 
 if they had been merely dreams. Jealousy is often 
 bred of nothing at all, and in any case its conception 
 is amazingly easy. An idle whisper of gossip is 
 enough to father it, or an intercepted glance, which 
 may have meant nothing. So, at least, it proved 
 with Jean, and his heart was troubled. 
 
 There was a third singer, and Daniel's part was 
 the most difficult, and full of troublesome passages. 
 
 He strove continually to turn his eyes away from 
 the notes which were engraven on his memory, and 
 to forget the haunting melody in his heart, by in- 
 creasingly close application to his work. The labor
 
 200 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 was hard, interesting, absorbing, and he devoted 
 himself to it so imstintingly that he went back to 
 Mirabelle rarely, and each time more tired in body 
 and mind a condition which made his powers of 
 resistance to the siren's song less strong. But, 
 Achilles-like, he continued to struggle against it with 
 all the will which he possessed. 
 
 Nevertheless, the memory of Faith grew daily 
 more dim, effaced by the image of Joan, which was 
 cut deeper and deeper into his heart. When he was 
 at home, he found it impossible not to be with her 
 almost constantly, and she added to his troubles by 
 seeking his companionship at every chance, for the 
 revelation of the possibility of a frank, natural 
 cameraderie between a man and girl, such as he had 
 pictured to her, carried a powerful appeal. More- 
 over, her active mind craved the knowledge which 
 he was able to impart, especially during their all-too- 
 rare lessons in English. 
 
 Joan even appeared a little jealous of the atten- 
 tions which he paid to Suzette, who had also become 
 very dear to him, and whom he now called his little 
 sister a term which he could never bring himself 
 to use in respect to Joan. On her part, the younger 
 girl frankly worshipped him. 
 
 Daniel and Joan took many walks together, or, 
 during the cozy evenings, sat close side by side over
 
 THE SINGERS 201 
 
 the same lesson book, which he had bought for her, 
 and the practice themes which she wrote during his 
 absences. They were the cause of much amusement 
 and happy laughter, but one particular exercise 
 lingered persistently in his mind, for it had stirred 
 him deeply because of the picture of her own heart 
 which it carried. She had written it after having 
 given him her word not to look in the vocabulary or 
 dictionary, and to use only words which he had 
 taught her. Its title was : 
 
 " A Evening of winter at a happy family's." 
 And it read : 
 
 " It is five o'clock. I wak with my mother. The 
 moon shines not yet. Under a gloomy sky, the 
 ground is white. It snows. Br! Br! It is very 
 cold. 
 
 " We enter to our friends Mrs. N. ' Good eve- 
 ning ! ' * Good evening ! ' The children bring us 
 chairs, we thank them and we sit down. A good 
 fire is burning in the stove. One lamp lights the 
 room. Here it is bright, it is warm, it is very good. 
 
 " Mamma is speaking to Mrs. N. I hear them; 
 and am looking into the room. 
 
 " Placed before a little desk, Charles and Mary, 
 the eldest, do their exercises and learn their lessons. 
 They are good pupils, very diligent, who will do 
 pleasure to their parents.
 
 202 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " Daniel, the last born, who has drunk milk, is sit- 
 ting on his mother's knees. Upon his white lips he 
 spreads his red tongue, he is glad. 
 
 " But soon his pretty little eyes shine less, he is 
 sleepy. His mother, who looks him with kindness, 
 is speaking of him, ' He is charming, is it not ? ' I 
 think, ' what a happy mamma, but how much good 
 also!' 
 
 " I see, under the stove, the slippers of Mr. N. 
 From the kitchen comes a good smell, the supper is 
 made. Everything is ready for arrival of the father. 
 
 " Somebody knocks at the door. The children 
 tell, ' it is papa ! It is papa ! ' It is time for us to go 
 away. We tell good-night to the happy family and 
 we leave, delighted of our evening, we go home."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 MORNING 
 
 APRIL had come, and Sunday. As Daniel awoke 
 from a long sleep in his comfortable bed, and 
 stretched lazily, in the recollection that it was the 
 day of rest after six days of grinding toil, the 
 feeling of spring in the air pervaded his body with a 
 pleasant languor. Perhaps it uas the spring which 
 made his first waking thought turn on Joan, but 
 probably it would have been the same under any 
 circumstances, for she had been in his mind when he 
 went to sleep. Indeed, she was now seldom out of 
 it at all. She was with him, consciously or sul> 
 consciously, during his waking and working hours, 
 and he went to sleep to dream of her. 
 
 He lay there, beginning to toss restlessly, as the 
 oft-waged battle between his heart, and his allied 
 will and conscience, was renewed, and caught him- 
 self thinking, " If I were a painter, and wanted to 
 picture the devil, it would not be as a terrifying 
 
 203
 
 204 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 brute with cloven hoofs, horns and a tail, but as the 
 fairest woman I could imagine . . . and that would 
 be Joan." And straightway he laughed over the 
 utter absurdity of the idea of one so simple and so 
 sweet made to represent Satan. " Just the same, 
 there is some foundation for the common saying 
 of men, that women are the very devil, for they are 
 temptation personified." 
 
 A gentle rap on the door interrupted his musings, 
 and, when he answered from the depths of his bed, 
 the girl's merry voice called. " Thou art a sleepy- 
 head this marvelous morning, pal of mine. But I do 
 not blame thee for thou must have been very weary 
 last night." 
 
 " Why must I have been ? " he demanded. 
 
 " Because thou wert cross to those who love thee, 
 and I had never seen thee so before." 
 
 " Was I ? Then I am sorry and apologize hum- 
 bly, although not on bended knees, because . . . ' 
 
 " That is where thou shouldst be, and I, as well, 
 for the bells have already ceased their calling to the 
 morning mass, and thither I am bound, as soon as 
 I have delivered a message to thee." 
 
 " Is it really so late ? " Daniel asked in surprise, 
 as he swung himself half out of bed. " Then I 
 must have slept for twelve solid hours." 
 
 " As, indeed, thou hast, which is the reason that I
 
 MORNING 205 
 
 called thee ' sleepy-head.' But I cannot wait here 
 to talk with thee. I must deliver my message, and 
 run. Monsieur Jean is waiting below, and . . . ' 
 Daniel's heart sank. "... and he says that the 
 Lieutenant Villier invites thee to take dejeuner with 
 them at noon, and will not receive ' no ' for the an- 
 swer, since it is his last day in Mirabelle, and as a 
 soldier. This afternoon he departs to be demobi- 
 lized, and return to civilian life in Paris. What 
 shall I say that thy reply is to be? " 
 
 The man knew that the meal would be an hilari- 
 ous one, and his Quaker conscience sternly forbade 
 him to be a party to such a festivity on the Sabbath. 
 But Villier was a friend whom he might never see 
 again, and* a refusal would appear churlishly dis- 
 courteous. He was weary of finding himself at all 
 points in conflict with his environment, and, with 
 the thought that it would only be for once, he 
 yielded. " Tell him that I will come . . . gladly," 
 he called. 
 
 " Good. I go, but I am blowing thee a kiss 
 through the crack above the door, Monsieur Lazy- 
 bones." Joan's feet, daintily shod this morning, 
 from the sound on the stairs, pattered away, and 
 Daniel was left alone. The balmy air gently stirred 
 the curtains at the window, birds were singing out- 
 side, all nature seemed to have allied itself with his
 
 206 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 heart. What was the use of continuing to struggle 
 against the ever-strengthening tide, when it was so 
 much easier to drift? He hurried to the window 
 to catch a glimpse of the girl, whose laughing voice 
 he now heard outside, and, from his position of 
 partial concealment, saw Joan and Jean as they 
 started down the street close together. The soldier's 
 hand was grasping her elbow, and the sight filled 
 him with a senseless anger. Suddenly she turned, 
 caught a glimpse of him, before he could draw back, 
 and tossed him another kiss from her finger-tips. 
 He had a feeling that Jean was rebuking her for her 
 act, for the poilu also looked quickly around, and 
 then began to speak rapidly, whereupon the girl 
 withdrew her arm from his grasp. 
 
 Another had witnessed the incident, also, little 
 Pierre, who was once more engaged in his ever- 
 lasting march up and down the roadway, more com- 
 pletely than ever arrayed as a soldier, for a cast-off 
 canteen of his big brother's dangled against his legs, 
 and part of a knapsack hid his whole back from 
 view, when he reversed. Although Daniel had hur- 
 riedly stepped out of sight, the child ran to a spot 
 beneath the window, and called, shrilly, " Good- 
 morning, Monsieur Americain. It is a long time 
 since Pierre has seen you. What have you got to 
 give me, to-day? Did you bring me any bonbons ? "
 
 MORNING 207 
 
 There was something irresistible in the naive ap- 
 peal from the childish lips, and Daniel braved the 
 public eye long enough to lean for a moment from 
 the window, and answer, " Yes, I have some of thy 
 beloved bonbons, which I bought thee at the Amer- 
 ican army store in Nancy. If thou wilt wait until 
 I am dressed, I will bring them to thee." 
 
 " Then I will wait." The lad seated himself on 
 a corner stone of the low curb, a very diminutive 
 Patience on a Monument, and Daniel retired to 
 make his morning toilet. When he went downstairs 
 and out-of-doors, the boy had disappeared, however, 
 to play house with the three-year-old daughter of a 
 neighbor, within the stable aperture of their dwell- 
 ing, but Daniel's call made him a connubial deserter 
 another bit of evidence in support of the 
 saying that the way to a man's heart is through his 
 stomach. 
 
 " But why art thou not at church, with thy sis- 
 ters ? " he asked as he surrendered a handful of the 
 tinsel-wrapped sweets to the beseeching child. 
 
 " I am a soldier, and they never go to church," 
 answered Pierre, between munches. 
 
 " Indeed ? Is not thy big brother Jean a soldier, 
 and did I not see him starting for church, but a few 
 moments ago?" 
 
 " Oh, he did not go to church he went merely
 
 208 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 to be with Joan, who was going there. He is going 
 to marry her, I think," the boy added, seriously. 
 
 " Perhaps Mile. Joan will have something to say 
 about that," replied the man, and was immediately 
 struck with the absurdity of making such a state- 
 ment to a six-year-old. 
 
 " But of course she will marry him, if he wants 
 her to. He is my brother, Jean," asserted Pierre 
 with finality. " I should like to live with Joan, be- 
 cause she gives me much bread and sugar, and I 
 love her. But I would also like to go to America 
 with you, when you return. Will you take me, 
 Monsieur ? " 
 
 Daniel had many times told the children of France 
 stories about the wonderland across the sea, and, 
 more than once, had been asked the same question 
 by other little orphans, whose dearest home ties had 
 been broken. And he had had to watch the light of 
 happy expectancy die from their faces, as he an- 
 swered that he could not make their dreams come 
 true, for France had need of all her children, and 
 would not let them go. 
 
 " But if I should take thee with me, what would 
 thy brother Jean do ? Would he not be lonesome ? " 
 he responded, evasively. 
 
 " He would have Joan, and so would not be so 
 very lonesome."
 
 MORNING 209 
 
 " Perhaps. We shall see." Daniel turned ab- 
 ruptly towards the house, leaving Pierre standing 
 with his mouth wide open in surprise, and dripping 
 
 chocolate. 
 
 ******** 
 
 Mass was ended. Joan and her soldier escort 
 who walked very erect, and paid no attention to the 
 winks and whispered remarks of a group of his 
 comrades, who were lounging near by stepped 
 from the cool shadows of the church into the warm 
 spring sunshine. 
 
 " Come, I need not return to assist at the popote 
 for another half-hour, and thou canst surely give me 
 so short a time, Joan. Let us walk a little way into 
 the country, for truly spring has come to-day, and 
 it has been a long time since it was a pleasure to be 
 out-of-doors," pleaded the man. 
 
 Joan demurred for a moment, and pretended that 
 her services were immediately in great demand at 
 home, but it was fairly evident that she hoped her 
 protest would be masterfully overruled ; and she was 
 not disappointed. 
 
 .Side by side, they strolled slowly up the Rue du 
 Mont, past Lieutenant Villier's quarters, from the 
 door of which Jean's fellow orderly and chef hailed 
 him to say that there were other things to be done 
 that day beside taking a pretty damoiselle walking,
 
 210 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 past the barracks and Joan's own home, and out 
 along the road which quickly dipped down amid the 
 newly tinted fields, and in the beginnings of its 
 wanderlust forgot the village where it had been 
 born. 
 
 Twice Jean tried to take possession of the girl's 
 hand, and she laughingly snatched it away from 
 him, but her face proclaimed that she was not angry, 
 for the color came and went in her cheeks, and her 
 eyes sparkled mischievously. 
 
 " Why dost thou tease me like that?" he finally 
 cried, in manlike exasperation. " Thou knowest 
 that I am not merely playing with thee, Joan." 
 
 "'Not playing?' " she echoed, in a tone of in- 
 nocent surprise. " But it is in games that the chil- 
 dren join hands, is it not so? " 
 
 " Perhaps, but we are no longer children ; at least 
 / am not." 
 
 " Not children ? " she mocked, teasingly. 
 
 Half angry, and desperately in earnest, he made a 
 third attempt, and grasped her fingers so firmly that 
 her struggles to free them were futile, whereupon 
 she cried, " How strong thou art, Jean I Thou art 
 hurting me." And he instantly released them, with 
 a word of tender solicitude. " See," she said, 
 holding her hand up very close to his lips. " There 
 are the red marks which thy big, brutal fingers
 
 MORNING 211 
 
 made." Marks may have been there, but he did not 
 pause to make a close examination, rather prefer- 
 ring to apply the ancient remedy immediately, and 
 take no chances. And thereupon a coal black crow, 
 that had been standing in the field beside the road, 
 with his sharp head cunningly tilted and his bright 
 eyes taking it all in, turned, and flapped lazily away, 
 giving utterance to a disgusted caw at such human 
 foolishness. That was clearly not his idea of love- 
 making, and he heartily agreed with Puck. But the 
 pair in the roadway were oblivious of his departure, 
 or observation. 
 
 " Jean ! They are not thy fingers," chided Joan, 
 but the rebuke sounded more like a caress. 
 
 " Perhaps not yet, but I mean to make them mine 
 some day, dear heart, for I love thee. Surely thou 
 knowest that." 
 
 "If thou hadst not waited until spring came, to 
 tell me so, perhaps I might have believed thee. But 
 any girl knows that she cannot trust the word of a 
 man on such a day as this." 
 
 " But thou dost believe me, Joan," he insisted, 
 still retaining her hand, and drawing her a little 
 closer to him. " And I know that thou lovest me, 
 also." 
 
 " Then thou knowest more than I do," she an- 
 swered, as she deftly eluded the arm that was almost
 
 212 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 encircling her slim waist. " Perhaps them art over- 
 full of self-conceit, Monsieur Jean. Has it never 
 occurred to thee that I might love . . . another ? " 
 " Joan ! " There was sudden pain and a note of 
 jealousy in the word, and the woman's heart leaped, 
 and laughed, for what woman does not like to tease 
 a man, and thus test his love in such a manner, or 
 play with the fire within it a little, before yielding 
 herself as a sacrifice to the god of the flame? And, 
 indeed, Joan was not quite certain, in her own mind, 
 that she was yet ready to do that. Her young heart 
 had been in a dilemma for many a day, and if it 
 started to trip in faster measure when Jean's step 
 sounded in the entryway, it also grew warm with 
 an affection which might have been sisterly, or ma- 
 ternal, or something different from either, when the 
 strong, quiet, forceful American was near her. If 
 Daniel had never entered her life she would prob- 
 ably have been certain that she loved Jean, who had 
 appealed to her so strongly from the moment of 
 their first meeting, and who, since his arrival in 
 Mirabelle, had been so constant a suitor. But the 
 former brought into the house an element of ro- 
 mance, the appeal of unknown lands, and she fre- 
 quently asked herself what her heart would answer 
 if he should ever appear in the role of an impetuous 
 lover a young Lochinvar out of the West and
 
 MORNING 213 
 
 always had to give the same answer. She did not 
 know. Not that he had ever, by word or act, sug- 
 gested such a thing, for, having declared himself 
 her " pal," Daniel had undeviatingly lived up to the 
 name as he had explained it. But her womanly 
 intuition had at times served as a seismograph to 
 register tremors within the man which he had con- 
 cealed from the eye. 
 
 Joan was not fickle in this ; she was merely young, 
 a woman, and French. She was made to love, and be 
 loved. Both men appealed to her, each in his way. 
 The appeal of Jean was, perhaps the stronger, be- 
 cause it held the call of kind to kind, but she knew 
 just how he stood and was not quite ready yet to 
 yield her whole heart to him, for Daniel's attitude 
 piqued her. And nothing had happened to stir the 
 hidden depths of her being, and strip her heart and 
 soul bare. 
 
 " Joan ! " repeated Jean. " Thou lovest the 
 American, Monsieur Steele?" 
 
 The girl ignored the question in his voice, and 
 answered, " But thou art very wise this morning, 
 Monsieur. First thou tellest me that I love thee, 
 and then that it is the American whom I love. And 
 I have not said that I care for either." 
 
 " He does not care for thee as I do, Joan," the 
 man went on, heedless of the interruption. " These
 
 214 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Americans are far from home, and but amuse them- 
 selves with the French girls, which is not, perhaps, 
 strange, but they do not marry them. Or if they do, 
 unhappiness is sure to follow for the wife, every- 
 thing is so different over there." 
 
 Joan merely laughed, and Jean became desperate, 
 and, like a drowning man, began to grasp at straws. 
 " Thou hast been unwise, Joan, to have been with 
 him so much, and appeared so intimate. All of the 
 villagers are whispering about it." 
 
 The words produced a complete change in the 
 girl and her vexation showed in her voice, as she 
 replied, tartly, " It is not true, and even if it is, I 
 am very angry with thee for listening to their evil 
 gossip, and repeating it to me. We are but com- 
 rades * pals ' as are all the men and girls in 
 America." 
 
 Her opposition merely strengthened him in his 
 error, and he persisted, " A likely story he has told 
 thee ! He is but using that as an excuse to be with 
 thee intimately. And it is as I have said : he is only 
 playing with thy heart. Doubtless he is already 
 pledged to some damoiselle at home he carries a 
 picture of a very beautiful one, for I have seen it." 
 
 "And so have I, Monsieur. It is that of his 
 sister," answered Joan, triumphantly. 
 
 " Perhaps he has told thee so, but that proves
 
 MORNING 215 
 
 nothing. And a man does not carry the photograph 
 of a sister, next to his heart." 
 
 " Monsieur Harent, you are now forgetting your- 
 self." The girl made no attempt to disguise the 
 anger in her voice. " Poor Henri carried my picture 
 like that, and you are insulting one who is a good 
 friend of yours . . . and of mine as well. I am 
 very angry." 
 
 Jean knew that he was in the wrong, and that in 
 his anxiety he had gone further than he had meant, 
 but, instead of retracting his words, he rushed 
 blindly on, in his hurt pride and passion, crying, 
 " If he is trifling with you, and any harm comes of 
 it, I shall kill him, even though he be my friend. 
 Do you hear me, Joan? I shall surely kill him." 
 
 Suddenly frightened at his vehemence, and realiz- 
 ing that her unwarranted levity had caused its begin- 
 ning, Joan stretched out her hand with an appealing 
 gesture, and would have taken his. But he was 
 wilfully blind to her act. Turning abruptly, he 
 strode off up the road and left her alone, ashamed 
 and greatly troubled. 
 
 As he walked, with the hot blood pounding more 
 and more furiously in his veins, anger partly at 
 himself, partly at the girl, and partly at Daniel 
 mounted steadily. Never, even in the heat of the 
 battle, had he felt himself so completely in the grip
 
 216 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 of passionate wrath, and the sudden sight of the 
 American, who was playing with his little brother 
 and sisters before the le Jeune cottage, snapped the 
 last thread of his self-restraint. 
 
 With fists clinched and working, Jean strode up 
 to him, regardless of the presence of several others, 
 to whom he gave no heed, and scarcely saw, and 
 stilled the friendly greeting which was on Daniel's 
 lips, by shouting, " You're going to keep away from 
 Joan le Jeune. I warn you. You have been seen 
 too much, and too intimately with her, by all of 
 Mirabelle, and if any harm comes to her through 
 you, American, I shall kill you. Remember that" 
 
 He turned away, white with passion, and, mar- 
 shalling the three frightened children before him 
 with a sweep of his long arm, he hurried off, and 
 left Daniel, amazed, troubled and angry.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 NOON 
 
 WITH no very pleasant expectations, Daniel 
 faced the prospect of entering the officers' dining- 
 room, through the kitchen where Jean and his fel- 
 low orderly would be at work. But he had pledged 
 his word to be present at Villier's farewell dejeuner, 
 and, in addition, he could not think of giving any 
 evidence of the concern which was actually his over 
 the poilu's impassioned threat and insinuation, by 
 failing to appear. As the church clock began to 
 announce the hour of mid-day, he stepped from the 
 le Jeune cottage ... to find Jean directly in front 
 of him, in the roadway. 
 
 The soldier paused, and then passed on with 
 face averted, but Daniel thought that he read in his 
 attitude a suggestion of shame over his recent out- 
 burst, and he would have hurried after him and 
 spoken a conciliatory word, if Joan had not at that 
 moment leaned from the lower window, and, with 
 
 217
 
 218 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 her voice lifted so that both men could hear her 
 clearly, called, " It is such a perfect day, that I 
 should like to take thee this afternoon to my secret 
 hiding place in the ruins of the old chateau, as I 
 have often promised thee that I would sometime do, 
 Monsieur Steele. That is, if thou wouldst care to 
 gx> with me." 
 
 The suggestion pleased Daniel, and he gladly 
 assented, not realizing that behind the invitation lay 
 a woman's pique, and sudden purpose to punish 
 another who, through love, had offended her. 
 
 But Jean understood, and he bit his lip angrily 
 as he walked away, head very erect, to complete the 
 errand- upon which he had been despatched. 
 
 As the American drew near the house which he 
 was about to enter, he came upon a group of little 
 urchins who were milling around Pierre, and teas- 
 ing him by trying to wrest away his most precious 
 possession the wooden gun. Tears of rage 
 streaked the child's none-too-clean countenance, and, 
 seeing his friend approaching, he fled to his legs 
 for protection. Daniel effected the rescue without 
 incurring the hostility of the enemy, and, after he 
 had dried Pierre's tears and disengaged himself 
 from the clinging hands, he hastened into the house. 
 
 A half dozen officers were already assembled in 
 the room where the popote was served, although a
 
 NOON 219 
 
 high bed and a piano showed that it had a mixed 
 object in the plan of the house, and the new- 
 comer's arrival was greeted with shouts of welcome 
 and laughter. The reason for the especial hilarity 
 was not clear to him until he turned suddenly, and 
 found the child close to his heels, and regarding him 
 with wistful appeal. 
 
 " They tried to take my gun away again," he 
 confided, as he smiled ingratiatingly, and snuggled 
 his hand into Daniel's, 
 
 Somewhat amused, and a bit chagrined, as well, 
 the protector attempted to lead him out, but Pierre 
 rebelled vigorously with body and voice, and he 
 would not budge until one hand held a big slice of 
 bread, and the other part of a cake of chocolate, 
 produced by Villier . . . and the street appeared 
 free of the attacking force. Even then it was only 
 Jean's return, dismayed at such lese majeste, that 
 sent him scurrying. 
 
 " Dejeuner is served, Messieurs," announced the 
 orderly, pointedly avoiding Daniel's eye. 
 
 " At table, friends," said Villier, and he raised 
 his small glass of porto, adding, " Bon appetit" 
 
 " To your good health ! " responded the others, 
 including Daniel, who would have drunk the toast 
 in water, if he had not been prevented by some one 
 who declared that it was bad luck.
 
 220 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " Were all those children outside, yours, Mon- 
 sieur ? " demanded Lieutenant Villier, beginning 
 the meal with a jest, and when Daniel met his mood 
 by assenting, he cried, " Well done, my American. 
 On behalf of France I thank you." 
 
 All laughed, except a young adjutant, whom Dan- 
 iel had previously found to be of a deeply serious 
 nature. He rejoined with, " That has ceased to be 
 a subject for jest, merely. France is now more 
 sadly in need of repopulating than ever." 
 
 " Truly spoken, O philosophical one, but, if I 
 recall correctly, your preachments and practices are 
 as far apart as the poles. How many children did 
 you tell us that you have? " gibed Villier. 
 
 " None, I regret to say." 
 
 The lieutenant proceeded to call the roll, and 
 although five of the six Frenchmen were married, 
 only one had an heir. 
 
 " Your expression seems to ask ' Why,' Monsieur 
 Steele. Perhaps you think, as there are plenty to 
 tell you, that France is a decadent, a dying race. It 
 may be so, although when History writes the story 
 of the last four years I imagine that such will not 
 be her conclusion. No, the trouble is that we, of 
 the upper classes, at least, are too selfish. We love 
 our comfort and luxury too much to imperil it by 
 having offspring."
 
 NOON 221 
 
 " Then you should be ashamed of yourselves," an- 
 swered Daniel, soberly. Again the rest laughed, 
 with the same exception, but the adjutant agreed, 
 " You say well. We should be ashamed, and unless 
 France has a change of heart in this respect, she 
 will perish, and be one with Carthage and with 
 Rome. Look at the broods which those Boche 
 breed," he went on, passionately. " The little brats 
 fairly get under foot at every side, and fifteen or 
 twenty years from to-day they will be goose-step- 
 ping toward France, just as their fathers did, if we 
 do not take a lesson from their book." 
 
 " Or unless the proposed League of Nations is 
 effective," supplemented Daniel. 
 
 Villier shrugged, expressing the growing disap- 
 pointment of all his countrymen in the way things 
 were going at Paris. " It is a beautiful dream, but if 
 France is to dream it, she will do well to sleep with 
 a loaded pistol under her pillow pointed toward 
 Germany. By the way," he added, addressing Jean, 
 who had just entered with plates of hors d'ccuvres 
 sardines fried in oil, and potato salad, " speaking 
 of pistols, I cannot find that Boche Liiger which I 
 took from the German Colonel at St. Mihiel. Do 
 you remember packing it with my luggage, 
 Harent?" 
 
 " No, my lieutenant," answered the orderly.
 
 222 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " Well, I may have mislaid it myself, but I should 
 regret losing it, for it is not only the sole souvenir 
 of the great war which I have kept, but a pretty 
 weapon, as well." 
 
 " After dejeuner I will seek for it, my lieutenant." 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 The meal leisurely progressed from the hors 
 d'ceuvres to beef stew, deliciously tender, then to 
 green string beans, to an omelet, and, finally, to a 
 big, open-faced tart of .Mirabelle plums; each a 
 separate course as it appeared on the menu that the 
 adjutant chef du popote had written out, and dec- 
 orated with a water-color sketch which would 
 have been more clever if he had not copied it from 
 La Vie Parisienne. And, as one course followed 
 another around the table, always commencing form- 
 ally with the one to the left of him who had started 
 the preceding on its journey, the light wine, and 
 lighter conversation, flowed on. Daniel partook of 
 none of the former, and for a time remained rather 
 moodily a stranger to the latter, as well. 
 
 But an end was put to his somber preoccupation, 
 when Villier suddenly disappeared behind his nap- 
 kin, to reappear with a watch crystal in one eye, for 
 a monocle, and drawled out a dialogue between 
 Baron Someone, and Count Somebody Else, during 
 which he politely inquired of himself whether he
 
 NOON 223 
 
 had wintered at Monte Carlo or at Nice and replied, 
 " Oh, no, my dear Baron, I spent the past winter in 
 Mirabelle, a most delightful village in the Vosges 
 mountains, ye know." 
 
 Daniel had to join the others in laughter, for 
 Villier's gaiety was irresistibly infectious. Then he 
 found it difficult to restrain his awakened risibilities, 
 when there commenced a sudden violent discussion 
 over the mechanics of some cannon or other a 
 subject about which he knew absolutely nothing 
 and the serious-minded adjutant, who talked as 
 vehemently with his hands as with his tongue, re- 
 peatedly attempted to convey a forkful of beans to 
 his awaiting mouth, only each time to be interrupted 
 with a question, or an antagonistic assertion, and 
 replace them, untouched. 
 
 " If this discussion keeps up much longer, he'll 
 be in imminent danger of starving to death," 
 thought Daniel, choking in an effort not to laugh. 
 Fortunately for the adjutant, the subject gravitated 
 to the never-failing topic of conversation at all such 
 meetings women and he was saved. 
 
 As usual, it was the volatile lieutenant who took 
 the lead, and he seized the occasion when Jean was 
 in the act of changing courses, to demand of Dan- 
 iel, " How goes the race between you and Harent, 
 for the favor of ' the Maid of Mirabelle,' Mile.
 
 224 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Joan ? I observe that when she is not with one, she 
 is pretty sure to be with the other." 
 
 " I was not aware that there was any race," an- 
 swered the American briefly, and could have cursed 
 himself, for he felt that his face was growing red 
 to the ears. 
 
 " Oh ho, I see that my shot told. It is fortunate 
 for me that I leave immediately, for I should hate 
 to choose whether I would act as second for my 
 friend, our American ally, or rriy orderly and brother 
 Frenchman, or even take sides less spectacularly in 
 this pretty comedy of rustic love." 
 
 Daniel sent a hasty glance towards Jean, who 
 stood behind the lieutenant's chair, scowling blackly, 
 and, with a hope of turning the subject wholly into 
 a jest, he said, "If we were rivals, I am sure that 
 we should be generous ones. To tell the truth, after 
 what you said to me on the evening of your arrival 
 here, I rather thought that you meant to enter the 
 field also, and make us both retire into the back- 
 ground, my lieutenant." 
 
 " I ? Oh no. The chase would not be sufficiently 
 interesting; for although Mile. Joan is estimable, 
 and passing fair, I'm afraid that she lacks the essen- 
 tial element of surprise she is too sweet and 
 simple for my taste. If I were to play the game of 
 hearts here, it would be with the younger sister,
 
 NOON 225 
 
 Suzette. There is a merry young spitfire for you 
 oh, I know and as pretty as a picture and capri- 
 cious as a colt." 
 
 Daniel laughed outright. " Suzette is all of that, 
 but she's only a child." 
 
 " A child ? She tells me that she is over sixteen, 
 and she is therefore just ripe to pick, for a woman is 
 like a cherry all the more delectable for having a 
 bit of the tang of early springtime in them. I don't 
 like them too mellow. You Americans are funny, 
 but I understand that in the chilly atmosphere of 
 your country the girls develop more slowly than 
 they do here." 
 
 " If that is the way you feel, perhaps I am just as 
 well pleased that you leave Mirabelle this afternoon. 
 I'm very fond of my ' little French sister.' But I do 
 not know why you always speak of us Anglo-Saxons 
 as a cold-blooded race. Any one would think, to 
 hear you, that we have no hearts at all." 
 
 " Oh, I suppose that you are human, under the 
 skin, but, if so, I cannot help thinking that most 
 of you are hypocrites in a way. At least it seems 
 to me that many whom I have met, follow the advice 
 of the English dramatist, Shakespeare, and ' assume 
 a virtue though they have it not.' ' 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " demanded Dan- 
 iel, instantly bristling.
 
 226 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " Well, a great many of you pretend to be shocked 
 and disgusted at what they characterize as the im- 
 morality of the French, and yet I have noticed that 
 they I don't mean you, now are parties to the 
 fall of man, like ourselves, only they pretend to 
 ignore the fact, or, like father Adam, blame it on 
 the woman. Perhaps I am wrongly judging all 
 by a few, which I have found to be a common 
 failing with humanity, but I have seen enough of 
 life to conclude that mankind, except for superficial 
 characteristics, is pretty much alike, the world 
 over. 
 
 " What is the use of ignoring the fundamental 
 facts of human nature? We may be too free, in 
 France, but at least we face them fairly; we are 
 honest about our peccadillos. All men are bigamous 
 by nature, anyway." 
 
 " No, indeed they are not," contradicted the 
 American, with feeling. " And even if it is true 
 that some of our race are hypocrites, as you say, is 
 theirs not the better course? Admitting that temp- 
 tation exists, is it not preferable to endeavor to 
 cloak that fact from the common gaze, rather than 
 to flaunt it openly for all to see; especially the 
 young ? " 
 
 " That is one way of looking at it, of course. 
 But do not forget the time-worn saying that famil-
 
 NOON 227 
 
 iarity breeds contempt. Besides, curiosity concern- 
 ing hidden things is a mighty moving force." 
 
 " Granted. But I guess that our conventions are 
 utterly opposed." 
 
 " And it is always hard to see the other man's 
 point of view clearly and dispassionately. Racial or 
 individual prejudice holds a cloudy glass before our 
 eyes. However, try not to be too hard on France ; 
 we are a hot-blooded race, our traditional religion 
 makes repentance easy and, well, it is the custom of 
 the country. 
 
 " But enough of controversy for the present, my 
 American friend, for I leave in an hour. You must 
 visit me in Paris here's my address ..." he 
 scribbled it on a piece of paper ..." and we will 
 renew the battle there, always ' generous rivals ' 
 to quote your own words." 
 
 Cigarettes were now alight, and the room grew 
 hotter and more stuffy. The table had been cleared, 
 and fresh glasses set at each place. One of the offi- 
 cers was at the battered piano, singing " Madelon," 
 and accompanying himself with octaves in the upper 
 register, and a monotonous, unvaried chord in the 
 lower, which occasionally harmonized, but generally 
 did not. Daniel writhed inwardly, for, although he 
 was not a musician, he had, in common with most 
 Americans, an innate appreciation of it.
 
 228 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " The piano is pretty badly out of tune," remarked 
 Villier, with a wink at Daniel. " When we arrived, 
 I tried to tune it myself, but as the only implement 
 available was a big monkey wrench, and as Madame 
 was singing one melody in the next room, Jean 
 whistling another in the kitchen, and little Pierre, 
 at my elbow, trying to hum the note I happened to 
 be sounding, it was not altogether a success." 
 
 Jean entered with two tall bottles of champagne, 
 and filled the glasses. The singer broke off to re- 
 sume his place at the table. 
 
 " Come, now ; a toast," cried the lieutenant. " To 
 Marshal Foch, a worthy generalissimo of valiant 
 armies." 
 
 They drank .it standing. Daniel found himself 
 on his feet, with his glass lifted, but he set it down, 
 untasted, and his act passed unobserved in the 
 cheers. 
 
 The hilarity grew apace; other toasts were pro- 
 posed, and drunk, and it was not long before his 
 continued abstinence began to draw laughing gibes 
 upon him, together with more and more insistent 
 demands that he drink. And, as the headier wine 
 began to make its effect felt, some of the party dis- 
 played a little ill-temper at his reiterated smiling 
 refusals, and patient explanations. 
 
 Daniel felt himself commencing to grow hot in-
 
 NOON 229 
 
 side, and decidedly uncomfortable. His earlier 
 forebodings were being justified, and he realized 
 that he would much better have sent some excuse 
 for failing to accept the invitation. Physical dis- 
 comfort was added to the mental, for Jean had re- 
 moved the carafe of water which had been placed 
 on the table, as a concession to him, and his throat 
 and mouth were becoming parched, in the close*, hot 
 atmosphere, while the sight of the bubbling liquid 
 made his thirst more acute. 
 
 Twice he started to stand up, and began a halting 
 sentence to the effect that he was obliged to depart, 
 and twice boisterous hands forced him back into his 
 chair. 
 
 There is some hospitality from which no escape 
 seems possible, and Daniel realized that he was vir- 
 tually a prisoner in the hands of his friends. It 
 made him half-angry, but he finally yielded to neces- 
 sity, and settled back to enjoy the increasing merri- 
 ment, in as far as he could, although the stories 
 which had begun to go around the table, shamed and 
 disgusted him, especially when the owner of the 
 house, and his attractive young wife, were sum- 
 moned in to drink a health to their departing lodger. 
 
 At length Villier glanced at his wrist watch, 
 started, and announced that he must leave at once 
 to finish his preparations for the return to civil life.
 
 230 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 He stood up, a little unsteadily, leaned his hand on 
 Daniel's shoulder, and raised his glass, with the 
 words, " To the United States of America Friend 
 of France for a hundred years, and her best com- 
 panion in the struggle against her worst enemy." 
 
 With a united shout the others arose, pulling 
 Daniel with them, and they looked at him with eager 
 expectancy. The words had stirred him strongly, 
 for patriotism was a passion with him, and for the 
 first time in his life the prohibition against strong 
 wine lay heavy on his heart He wanted to drink, 
 and drink deep not for the liquor's sake, but be- 
 cause of the toast. Still, the life-long inhibition 
 proved powerful, and he shook his head. On more 
 than one lip there was a sneer, which goaded him 
 into saying, " I thank you, but this time I stand for 
 America. It is like a toast to me, and so I should 
 not join in drinking it." 
 
 The rest drained their glasses, and Jean promptly 
 refilled them. 
 
 Then Villier spoke again. " I must go, but there 
 is one more perhaps the last that I shall ever 
 drink in uniform. Messieurs to France!" 
 
 Every eye was turned on Daniel. The single 
 word had seemed to cause his oft-tried will to snap, 
 like a frayed strand. He vaguely realized that if he 
 waited even an instant, his conscience would re-
 
 NOON 231 
 
 assert itself and save him and he knew that he 
 wanted to yield, just once. 
 
 " I'll drink that/' he cried, raising his glass high. 
 
 There was a shout of approbation, and Villier 
 clapped him on the back. The glasses flashed. 
 " ' Bottoms up/ as our American friends say," called 
 the lieutenant. Daniel placed his to his lips, and 
 shut his eyes and deafened his ears to the command 
 of his true self. He drank. The effervescing wine 
 strangled him; it seemed to fill his whole head and 
 nose, tears came to his eyes, and he sneezed and 
 sputtered, while the others burst into loud merri- 
 ment. 
 
 " Look, he drank nearly a teaspoonful," ex- 
 claimed Villier, as he pointed to the glass which 
 Daniel hastily set down. " Well done, friend. 
 There is hope for thee, yet. I go, but I must bid 
 thee adieu in the real French fashion." He sud- 
 denly drew the American to him by both shoulders, 
 and kissed him first on one cheek, then on the other. 
 
 The lieutenant was immediately surrounded by 
 his comrades, and under cover of the flow of words, 
 Daniel slipped from the room, filled with sudden 
 shame.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 AFTERNOON 
 
 THE sun was beginning to sink behind Mirabelle, 
 and Daniel and Joan walked on soft purple shadows 
 until they reached the bridge of gray stone over the 
 Moselle, but then the fields before them were flooded 
 with golden light, rich and warm, and bright with 
 new green ; and every red-brown rock and tree on the 
 side of the steep hill which they were to climb, stood 
 forth in sharp relief. The young grass was soft and 
 yielding under their feet, as they struck obliquely 
 across the meadow land, and it was dotted with tiny 
 white daisies, blood-red poppies half unfolded, and 
 blue corn-flowers. In spots, patches of all three 
 came together so symmetrically that the man im- 
 agined Nature had purposely decorated the valiant 
 fields with the victorious tricolore of France. Here 
 and there Joan paused to peek under a tuft of tall 
 grass, or a turned-up hummock of damp earth, and 
 point out, with exclamations of delight, tiny clumps 
 of purple or white violets, in bashful hiding. 
 
 232
 
 AFTERNOON 233 
 
 Behind them, the church bells began to chime for 
 Vespers, and their melodious sound, floating through 
 the still air, carried the man's mind instinctively back 
 home to the Sabbath quiet of his native village, the 
 small gray meeting-house, filled with its silent wor- 
 shippers the hatted men all on one side, and the 
 gentle gray-appareled womenfolk on the other. 
 
 The air was soft and warm unusually so for 
 early spring in the Vosges and by the time the 
 two had toiled up the steep and narrow path, which 
 turned abruptly many times before it arrived at the 
 top of the hill, Daniel was aglow and breathing 
 fast, for during the climb he had lent his hand to 
 the girl, who had accepted it, although by no means 
 in need of any assistance. 
 
 Then the cool dark shade of the ancient trees 
 enfolded them, and shut from sight the world of 
 men below. 
 
 Now Joan took the lead, and made her way over 
 moss-covered boulders, which Nature had placed 
 there, and hewn stones, which men had erected for 
 a habitation and other men had overthrown in their 
 wrath, until they came to the spot which she had 
 christened her own. Part of a fallen wall, thick 
 with ivy, protected it from the wind, which here had 
 a hint of winter chill in it; a mossy bank made a 
 natural seat; the foliage of two towering trees
 
 234 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 formed a canopy overhead dark green interwoven 
 with threads of golden sunshine; while vistas 
 through the wood disclosed distant glimpses of the 
 sunlit valley below, with the Moselle winding and 
 glinting through it. 
 
 They had conversed but little during the walk 
 thither, for the voices of awakening Nature had 
 filled their ears. And now the peace and beauty of 
 the place was sufficient to keep them silent. The 
 girl seated herself, with a faint sigh, leaned for- 
 ward and rested her chin in one cupped palm. Dan- 
 iel dropped at her feet, momentarily closing his eyes 
 in complete relaxation. For the first time, he 
 realized how exceedingly weary he really was ; phys- 
 ically weary from the unceasing labor in which he 
 had sought forgetfulness, to find it only occasion- 
 ally; mentally weary of struggling against the 
 thing which had taken possession of him. Even 
 now the questionings of his heart would not be 
 silenced. 
 
 Faith was far away; so very far away that his 
 memory of her had become almost vague, like that 
 of a pleasant dream. Of course he was fond of her, 
 loved her still, there was not the faintest doubt of 
 this in his heart, but he decided that, after all, his 
 affection was that of a brother for a sister. Had it 
 really been anything else ? Suddenly he found him-
 
 AFTERNOON 235 
 
 self ardently wishing that he had waited to hear, 
 from her own lips, the word which had bound him 
 to her, that he might have held her close in his arms 
 as lover, if only for a moment. " Then," he whis- 
 pered to himself, " I might have had another, and a 
 stronger memory to carry with me always, and it 
 might suffice to . . . ' He did not finish the 
 thought. 
 
 Daniel opened his eyes, and looked up at Joan. 
 Her gaze was far off on the sunlit plain, and it was 
 dreamy and tempting. Her slightly parted lips, red 
 with youth, and the beautiful color in her cheeks 
 were both tempting, too. His heart leaped at the 
 sight, as it had many times before. There was no 
 need for him to try to analyze his feelings for her. 
 He knew that he loved her, and at last he faced the 
 undeniable fact squarely. 
 
 His arms yearned to take her. She was there, 
 close beside him, lovely of form and face ; spiritually 
 congenial; mentally alert, even though her formal 
 education had been a limited one; physically pulsing 
 with life; altogether desirable. And she cared for 
 him. He knew it beyond doubt, and he felt that he 
 might easily, if he willed to do so, turn her simple 
 affection into the broader, deeper channel of love. 
 He might at that moment claim her as his own, if 
 he would.
 
 236 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 The thought staggered him. A choice upon which 
 would depend the course of two lives perhaps 
 three was within his grasp to make or to re- 
 linquish. He vaguely realized the dangers which 
 might attend the choice, if he were to follow the 
 simple dictates of his heart ; she might not be happy 
 in America, and he could not remain in France ; she 
 was not of his people, not of his kind. The visions, 
 first of Faith, to whom he had plighted his word, 
 and then of Jean, to whom he had pledged his 
 friendship, passed before his mind's eye. " Per- 
 haps Joan loves him," he thought, with a jealous 
 pang, " but even if she does, I know that I can win 
 her for myself. It might not be fair, but what does 
 that count compared with love? And I love her." 
 It was the primal nature, male arrayed against male 
 for the possession of a mate, who should later be 
 mastered, that now spoke within him. 
 
 The inner struggle had made his whole body 
 rigid, and caused his strong face, now lean and 
 worn, to set in severe lines. 
 
 Joan's soft voice broke into his thoughts. " Thou 
 art very weary, then, Daniel? Here, lean against 
 my knees, and I will rub thy forehead." She drew 
 him against her, and began to run her fingers slowly 
 through his damp, tangled hair. The sensation was 
 one of infinite caress. Her other hand lay at her
 
 1 AFTERNOON 237 
 
 side, and he reached back and clasped it, nor did she 
 make any effort to withdraw it. 
 
 " Thou must rest, for it is very peaceful and quiet 
 here, while to-morrow the hard work begins again. 
 Listen ! " A lark had commenced a madly thrilling 
 melody, high in the air above them. They could 
 not see the bird, but its liquid notes filled the wood, 
 and seemed to set the new leaves quivering with 
 delight. 
 
 " It is a love song, I think," whispered the girl, 
 " for it is now the mating season." Daniel turned 
 his head, and looked up at her again. There was an 
 expression in her dark eyes that was unmistakable, 
 and, not knowing that it had been called into being 
 by thoughts of another, it stirred him deeply. She 
 glanced down and met his look with a tender smile, 
 then abruptly bent over, and gave his forehead a 
 light kiss. 
 
 The kiss was the electric spark which started the 
 charged dynamo of his heart into swift action. He 
 sprang up, drawing her with him, and cried, " Don't, 
 don't do that, Joan, unless . . . * 
 
 " But why ? " she asked, a little frightened by the 
 look on his set face. " Truly, I meant no harm. 
 Was it wrong, Monsieur ? Are we not dear pals 
 like a brother and sister to one another? " 
 
 " No, we are not pals. I do not want to play at
 
 238 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 being comrades any longer. Don't you know that I 
 love you, Joan love you with all that is in me, 
 want you to be my wife? " He drew her passion- 
 ately to him in a powerful embrace and kissed her 
 cheek and her lips again and again, until, panting 
 and disheveled, she succeeded in twisting free and 
 pushing him away to the full length of her own 
 strong arms. Her eyes were very wide, and held 
 an expression half troubled, half terrified. 
 
 " Monsieur Steele, what is it that you are saying? 
 You do not love me like that. You cannot." 
 
 " Why can I not ? I do. I want you, Joan." 
 
 He stepped towards her again, but she eluded him. 
 " No, no. I will not have it so, Monsieur. I have 
 been so happy in our dear friendship you have 
 meant so much to me since Henri went, and . . . 
 Oh, I do not want to hear you say those words. 
 Besides, there is ... there is the girl whose photo- 
 graph you carry with you always. Is she not really 
 the one whom you love? A man does not carry a 
 picture next his heart, unless . . . ' She stopped, 
 surprised to find herself mechanically repeating the 
 accusation at which she had herself scoffed that 
 morning. 
 
 " Who says so ? " demanded Daniel, hotly. 
 
 " Monsieur Jean." 
 
 " He lies." The words sprang from Daniel's
 
 AFTERNOON 239 
 
 lips, spoken not by himself, but the power which had 
 seized upon him, and although the shock of hearing 
 himself utter them brought to his subconscious mind 
 the story of Peter in the judgment hall, he was 
 past caring. "Is it then that you love him?" he 
 cried passionately. 
 
 "I . . . I do not know. I cannot tell you," an- 
 swered the girl. Suddenly she covered her face 
 with both hands to hide the blushes, then turned, 
 and ran as fast as sh^ could in her wooden shoes, 
 out of sight among the trees. Daniel took one step 
 in pursuit, stopped, and stood rigid, dazed at the 
 suddenness of her flight, and the realization that his 
 dream was ended. 
 
 There was the sound of a branch snapping be- 
 neath her feet, and of a partial stumble, and again 
 he started forward with renewed intention to give 
 chase, to overtake her and hold her close once more, 
 to kiss her, and make her yield her love to him. His 
 senses were in such a turmoil of mad desire as he 
 had never before even conceived of. But something 
 a brief gleam of the clear, calm light of reason 
 breaking through the lurid clouds of passion pre- 
 vented him. Slowly his brain cleared, and he faced 
 the knowledge that he had lost or been saved. 
 Then came remorse, shame. 
 
 He dropped on the bank where Joan had sat, and
 
 240 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 buried his head in his hands. It was aching dully, 
 and there was another ache in his heart. 
 
 Perhaps his first coherent thought was that he 
 had been a fool, a blind, egotistical fool to have 
 believed that the girl was his for the asking, rather 
 than another's. He could not even hug to his breast 
 the slight comfort that he was not solely to blame 
 for his obsession. For he knew that Joan had never 
 once encouraged him in it, and that he had himself 
 paved the way for her natural display of frank and 
 sisterly affection, He had misled her, by both his 
 words and behavior. The thought brought self- 
 reproach, keen and humiliating. Disjointed sen- 
 tences out of the past drifted into his mind, like bits 
 of flotsam on a troubled sea ; the simple words of the 
 girl at home, " You will be true, true to thy faith ? " 
 and his reply; Lieutenant Villier's jest about the need 
 which he would have to keep a tight check-rein on 
 his heart if ever he met a real French girl; the 
 familiar quotation " as true as steel," which he had 
 once regarded in the light of a personal motto. 
 
 Daniel could not, and did not, try to deny that he 
 had actually loved Joan, or that he still loved her, 
 but he now saw the truth clearly, and knew that 
 this love was in the main a purely primitive physical 
 instinct, with little that was sacrificial and ennobling 
 about it. In contrast to it he remembered, with a
 
 AFTERNOON 241 
 
 bitter pang, his feelings toward Faith on that night, 
 which seemed ages past, how he had so longed 
 to guard and protect her. And with the recollection 
 came the strange realization that he still felt toward 
 Faith just as he had on that long ago evening. 
 
 " Is it true, then, as Villier declared, that all men 
 are polygamous by nature? " he demanded of him- 
 self. " Can a man truly love two women at the same 
 time, although, perhaps, in different ways ? " 
 Daniel had, for a long time, felt in his heart 
 that he possessed a deeper conception of life, 
 and that his knowledge was broader, and 
 his judgement therefore more lenient, than 
 those of most of the strict sect to which he be- 
 longed. Now his eyes had been opened by the great 
 teacher Experience and he realized how little 
 he had actually known of human temptation, and 
 human weakness. It made him feel strangely help- 
 less like a leaf which had been torn loose from its 
 familiar place, and made the plaything of the pas- 
 sionate winds. " And I used to think that I had my 
 full share of self-control and will power," he 
 thought, disgustedly, and then found himself saying 
 aloud, " What am I, that I should condemn thee? " 
 for he felt as though there were present with him, 
 in spirit, all the others of all the ages, who had been 
 similarly tempted, and yielded to their temptation.
 
 242 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 A revulsion came over him, and brought a new 
 and stronger idea. In thus seeking an explanation 
 for his behavior he was merely condoning it ; he was 
 like a child who, having stumbled, lay where he had 
 fallen, weeping and pitying himself, instead of get- 
 ting up. Suppose it were true that man could love 
 and desire more than one woman, was that not all 
 the more reason for the establishment of an ideal 
 of steadfast faith toward one, if he were to achieve 
 a destiny higher than the beasts'? And if some 
 were by nature more strongly subject to temptation 
 than others, as his foster-father had hinted, was it 
 not incumbent upon them to face that fact fairly, 
 and struggle against that temptation all the more 
 stubbornly? He had failed, but he realized that, 
 although one failure is a sign of weakness, it may 
 be made a source of strength; for forewarned is 
 forearmed. He could almost feel the fibers of his 
 moral nature which had been loosened by the 
 fingers of the tempter within during many weeks, 
 and that afternoon torn to shreds knitting to- 
 gether again, stronger than before, like a rope which 
 has been broken and spliced. 
 
 Yes, he knew that he was stronger for his ex- 
 perience. But what would the Elder, whose life had 
 been lived throughout within the letter and the spirit 
 of the law, and what would his pure-in-heart wife
 
 AFTERNOON 243 
 
 say, if they should ever know the manner of thing 
 that had befallen him? What would Faith, herself, 
 think? 
 
 Joan was not for him, could never be his, and 
 although he cared for her no less than before, he 
 had at last conquered desire ; but at home the other 
 girl was awaiting his return, and loving him stead- 
 fastly never for a moment did he doubt that. If 
 he confessed the past to her, the comfort of that 
 love might also be taken away, and, on the moment, 
 it seemed more desirable than ever it had before. 
 Like a light within a quiet haven, as he had once 
 characterized it, her affection seemed to shine 
 through the present darkness, beckoning, beckoning. 
 And he had madly built a barrier against himself 
 across the harbor's entrance. 
 
 " I might go back and claim her, as though this 
 afternoon had never happened," he thought. " But 
 pray God that I am man enough now not to do that. 
 No, I shall go back, after my work here is finished, 
 but it will be to tell her the truth, and then she will 
 know what manner of man I have been at heart, 
 and will turn away from me. She could do nothing 
 else, arid keep her self-respect, trained as she has 
 been. Villier would say that I am a fool, but at 
 least I am not going to be a coward.
 
 244 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " But how can I now go back to Mirabelle to 
 live?" 
 
 He paused, and then with set jaw and clenched 
 hands, added aloud, " Yes, I will do that, too, if 
 Joan will forgive me. I'll learn to live up to her 
 belief in me, and become the real pal which I have 
 pretended to be." 
 
 With new resolution and a deeper calm bred of it, 
 Daniel arose. Heavy shadows enclosed him, as 
 though nature were reflecting the mood which had 
 been his, and, as he started down the hillside toward 
 Mirabelle, the prophecy of old Barbette re-echoed 
 in his mind, and he found himself laughing aloud, 
 bitterly. " The old witch was right, after all," he 
 said. 
 
 But he did not yet know how fully right she had 
 been!
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 EVENING 
 
 APRIL weather is as subject to moods in North- 
 eastern France as it is in New England, and, before 
 Daniel's struggle with self was ended, swiftly 
 gathered clouds had hastened the long twilight into 
 a darkness almost as black as the pit, within the 
 woods. The rising wind sighed in minor cadences 
 through the restless branches overhead, and a bird, 
 that had been unduly hurried to its nest, repeated a 
 plaintive call. The man had never known real fear, 
 but the spirit of the place, with its dead ruins, be- 
 gan to play upon his already overwrought nerves, 
 and they quivered in unison with nature. A spatter 
 of cold rain, from a passing shower, struck upon his 
 face and caused him to start so sharply that he 
 laughed aloud at himself. Although his voice rang 
 hollow and unnatural on his ears, the sound of it 
 braced him ; but he was glad to find himself at last 
 free from the sobbing forest, and at the top of the 
 
 245
 
 246 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 narrow path down the hillside. He had to descend 
 it cautiously, for the way was steep and tortuous, 
 but he instinctively clung close to the natural bank, 
 or man-built wall on the inner side, and his mind 
 was free to continue the reflections to which it was 
 the prey. Over and over he re-acted, in memory, 
 the events of the afternoon, and registered the 
 thoughts which had been his during them, and after- 
 wards when he was alone, until his heart cried out in 
 rebellion, " Am I not facing a punishment bitter 
 enough, without being tormented like this ? " 
 
 Daniel was thankful to reach the foot of the hill 
 and the village street, and since it was now far too 
 dark for him to take the short cut across the fields, 
 he turned down the road, and was soon where the 
 lights from peaceful homes shone on either side of 
 him. His mind could not but reflect a little of the 
 cheerfulness which they sent forth, and he walked 
 on, with brisker step and lifted head, until he came 
 opposite a corner cafe, from within which sounded 
 the merry clink of glasses, and many soldier voices 
 in boisterous song and laughter. 
 
 " Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy," his 
 mind quoted. " It is the custom of the country; 
 they see no wrong in it, and, therefore, they are not 
 sinning but truly their ways are not like ours." 
 
 One voice, raised for a moment above the rest,
 
 EVENING 247 
 
 struck on his ears and caused him to stop instinc- 
 tively. It had sounded a little like that of Jean, al- 
 though he realized the next instant that it was 
 probably not his, but the old jealousy flared for a 
 moment in his heart, and then turned to ashes. 
 " That is all over now," he whispered. " Jean was 
 my friend, and he will be again. Besides, he de- 
 serves her; I never did." 
 
 Calmer, now that his renunciation was complete, 
 he turned into the road which led past the little 
 station, through the fields, and across the river to 
 Mirabelle. 
 
 The wind had died down and the brief shower 
 passed, as abruptly as they had come up, but the 
 darkness was so intense that he could keep to his 
 pathway only by looking upward, and guiding his 
 course by the scarcely discernible forms of the trees 
 that lined the road at intervals oh either side. 
 
 The noise of the rushing river grew louder, and 
 at length his eye caught a vague reflection from it, 
 for, while any light remains at all, water seems to 
 catch, and intensify it. He recognized the dim out- 
 lines of the canal, barely showing for a few feet, and 
 then vanishing utterly, and walked more cautiously, 
 for he knew that the sides of the roadway dropped 
 precipitously down to the tow-path on either side of 
 the little bridge, with no protecting rail.
 
 248 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Suddenly he stopped altogether. The night air 
 had seemed to bring a whisper of voices from be- 
 low him, and not far distant one a man's, the 
 other a woman's. For an instant he stood immov- 
 able; then, concluding that it was merely the tryst 
 of two village lovers, he was about to move on, when 
 the whispering was augmented by the unmistakable 
 sound of a scuffle, and then, clear and high, a 
 frightened voice crying, " No, no, I cannot, I will 
 not. Let me go, let me go home." Almost in- 
 stantly a frightened scream pierced the still air, 
 and another, and another. 
 
 Daniel's heart stopped dead, and then began to 
 pound furiously. For he felt that the voice was, 
 beyond the possibility of a doubt, one that he knew 
 and had learned to love the voice of Joan ! 
 
 With an inarticulate shout, he plunged down the 
 steep bank, scrambling and sliding; picked himself 
 up, and raced forward, mad with rage and fear. 
 Almost before he knew it, he had charged headlong 
 against the form of a man, and grappled with him; 
 and at the same instant he was conscious that 
 another figure had fled past him, sobbing uncon- 
 trolledly. Her skirts brushed his legs, and, even in 
 his rage, he could feel an overwhelming sense of re- 
 lief, for he had saved her, and so in part expiated his 
 fault. Then that feeling vanished, swallowed up in
 
 EVENING 249 
 
 one burning, red desire to punish the man, who- 
 ever he might be. 
 
 His powerful hands felt their way upward from 
 the arms upon which they had fastened themselves, 
 to the man's throat. They closed upon it, tighter, 
 tighter. The other still unseen was struggling 
 furiously, tearing at those gripping fingers, and 
 beating Daniel on the face and body. But he held 
 on, grimly, and strengthened the choking pressure. 
 The blows meant nothing to him ; his own muscular 
 action became almost automatic, and his brain, al- 
 though singularly active, did not register present 
 impressions, but was flooded with disjointed 
 thoughts out of the past. Now it repeated old Bar- 
 bette's words, " Beware lest you also dip your 
 hands in blood ; " now the words of the sixth com- 
 mandment, " Thou shalt not kill." Daniel laughed 
 aloud, and tightened his grip. 
 
 The other's hands had ceased to strike at him. He 
 had sunk to his knees. 
 
 Then the American's eyes were filled with the 
 light of a dazzling flash, which disclosed the face 
 of his opponent; his chest received a crushing, 
 burning blow. He had been shot ! The realization 
 astonished him, more than anything else, but, al- 
 though a tearing ache began in his breast, he did not 
 relinquish the grip on the other's throat.
 
 250 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Then came a crashing blow against his temple, 
 a myriad of flashing lights, and oblivion. 
 
 There were calls, and shouted inquiries in the 
 darkness that masked the road to Mirabelle, for the 
 fete day was ending, and many soldiers were re- 
 turning from one village to the other. There were 
 sounds of running feet on the hard roadway, and 
 pocket-lights began to flash and briquets to flare, 
 wavering from side to side, like eyes searching in 
 the night. Then came a cry from below the road 
 by the edge of the canal, and the lights converged, 
 and formed a ring there. 
 
 The combined radiance threw a circular white 
 patch on the trampled soil and young grass. In 
 the center of it lay the motionless form of a young 
 man. His forehead was horribly bruised, and 
 bleeding from a jagged gash, and the left breast of 
 his dark uniform showed a burned patch, and an 
 ugly hole. Beside the silent figure knelt another 
 man, dressed in the uniform of a soldier of France. 
 There was a look of horror on his young face, as 
 he turned it up to the searching light. 
 
 "It's the American." "Is he dead?" "Who 
 did it? " " Who was the first one here? " " Not I." 
 " Nor I." The short, excited sentences fell from 
 many lips.
 
 EVENING 251 
 
 " What's the matter ? What's wrong here ? I 
 heard a shot. Bon Dieuf " Another man, clad in a 
 lieutenant's uniform, arrived on the run, and pushed 
 his way through the circle of forms. He knelt 
 beside the prostrate figure, and laid his hand over 
 the heart; then looked blackly around the ring of 
 frightened faces, and uttered a curt command. "Do 
 not allow any one to leave this place until I give 
 permission. Sergeant Bouvet, see that my order 
 is obeyed. 
 
 " Now then, who was the first to reach this spot 
 after the shot?" 
 
 No one answered. 
 
 " Come, answer me, men. Somebody must have 
 been first." 
 
 " I think that I was the first to reach it, with a 
 light, my lieutenant," responded the sergeant. " At 
 least, I saw none here as I was running up, although 
 I am quite sure that I heard others running also 
 two at least and I thought that one was a woman, 
 for there was a sound like crying." 
 
 "Of course. One would naturally assume as 
 much. But enough of conjecture. What did you 
 see, when you got here with your flash-light ? " 
 
 " I saw the American just as he is lying now, and 
 kneeling beside him . . . Jean Harent."
 
 252 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " Ha ! Were you, then, the first to arrive ? Why 
 did you not answer me, Harent ? " demanded the 
 officer, sharply. 
 
 " I ... I was dazed, I think, my lieutenant," was 
 Jean's halting reply. " Perhaps I was the first to 
 arrive. I do not know. It was all dark." 
 
 " Well, what did you see, and hear? " 
 
 " I saw nothing, my lieutenant. It was utterly 
 dark, as I have said. But I, too, heard the sound 
 of fleeing feet." 
 
 " And a woman's voice ? " 
 
 There was no answer. The officer repeated his 
 question, angrily, and augmented it with the words, 
 " Who was that woman, Harent ? Your silence 
 can only be taken to mean that you heard, and 
 recognized the voice." 
 
 " No, my lieutenant ; at least, I cannot say." 
 
 " Cannot, or will not ? " 
 . Again the poilu failed to respond. 
 
 " Two of you pick up the American, and carry 
 him as gently as you can to the house of the Doctor 
 Piquet." The sergeant selected two of the number, 
 and they started slowly up the path with their heavy 
 burden. 
 
 " Now then, Bouvet, search this man. He knows 
 more about this than he has told us." 
 
 " There is no weapon on him, my lieutenant,"
 
 EVENING 253 
 
 announced the sergeant, after he had run his hands 
 over Jean's clothing. 
 
 " Naturally. Any one would have thrown it away, 
 and the canal is near and deep. But some of you 
 commence to look around. There is a possibility 
 that ..." 
 
 The others scattered to the search, holding their 
 lights close to the ground, and, almost immediately, 
 one cried, " I have found it ! I have found it ! Look, 
 my lieutenant, there is a pistol caught in the grass 
 close to the water's edge." 
 
 The officer turned, and hastened to the spot in- 
 dicated by the searcher, and, holding on to one of his 
 hands for support, slid down the bank and picked 
 up the weapon. The soldier helped him back to the 
 path, and the silent circle re-formed. The lieutenant 
 started, as the light shone full upon the pistol, and 
 then, holding it forward under Jean's silent gaze, 
 demanded, " Did you ever see this pistol before, 
 Harent?" 
 
 The poilu's eyes turned toward him with mute 
 anguish. 
 
 " Yes, my lieutenant, I think so." 
 
 " Ah, so I thought. Is it then the German Luger, 
 concerning the disappearance of which Lieutenant 
 Villier was speaking to you at dejeuner this noon? " 
 
 " Yes, my lieutenant."
 
 254 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " You were his orderly, and had access to his 
 room, is it not so?" 
 
 There was no reply this time. 
 
 " You know the American, of course, know 
 him well?" 
 
 " Yes, he was my friend." 
 
 " They had quarreled about that village girl, Joan 
 le Jeune. At least it has been said that this very 
 morning Harent threatened to kill him, if he did not 
 keep away from her," volunteered one; and an- 
 other's tongue was suddenly loosened to supplement 
 this statement with, " And the American Monsieur 
 and the girl started out walking together this after- 
 noon, my lieutenant. I saw them." 
 
 " Enough. Jean Harent, you are under arrest. 
 Bouvet, appoint two of these men to guard him, and 
 make a note of the names of all who have been here. 
 Are either of you armed ? " he inquired of the pair, 
 who, at a word from the sergeant, had ranged them- 
 selves on either side of Jean. They shook their 
 heads. 
 
 " Very well, I will give one of you this pistol, and 
 see to it well that you return it to me. But first, 
 observe. There is one exploded cartridge, and one 
 bullet to be accounted for." 
 
 He drew the clip of cartridges out, and held it 
 under the piercing eye of one of the flash-lights.
 
 EVENING 255 
 
 The rest crowded close. All of the cartridges, save 
 one, still showed their ugly black bullets. The 
 lieutenant sniffed at it, and nodded. " It has been 
 exploded recently; the smell of burned powder is 
 still strong." 
 
 He snapped the clip back into its chamber, and 
 passed the weapon over. " If you have occasion to 
 shoot, shoot straight," was his curt command. 
 " Forward, march ! " 
 
 The silent company started forward in the wake 
 of the one which had preceded them towards Mira- 
 belle.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 NIGHT 
 
 WITHIN the little living-room of the cottage, 
 everything was apparently as cosy as usual, but there 
 was a spreading spirit of restlessness in the air. 
 Joan blamed herself for it; she knew that it had 
 had its inception within her own heart. The girl 
 was thoroughly miserable. The day, which had be- 
 gun so beautiful and so auspicious, had ended with 
 everything gone wrong, and she could not pretend 
 that the fault was not largely her own. 
 
 She had inexcusably played with Jean's honest 
 love until he had rebelled, and, in anger, left her 
 as any man might have done. Then, as though 
 perversely to punish him for her own mistake, she 
 had flauntingly extended an invitation to Daniel, 
 and had finished by hurting him, although less in- 
 tentionally. " What a little fool I have been," she 
 said to herself. " Truly, I do not deserve the love 
 of either of them, and perhaps I have lost both." 
 The idea frightened her. It was not the image of 
 
 256
 
 NIGHT 257 
 
 the American which came to her mind with the 
 thought. He had, at last, declared his love as pas- 
 sionately as any woman might have desired, and it 
 had left her heart merely troubled, not aroused. 
 Her eyes had been opened; she had come to full 
 realization that what she held for him was deep 
 affection, not love. 
 
 But Jean. . . . 
 
 Joan's perturbed state of mind had somehow 
 seemed to infect the whole family, only the stolid 
 grandam remaining unmoved. Her father and 
 mother had gone to a neighbor's, after telling her 
 pointedly that her fidgetings were insufferable; she 
 had spoken sharply to Suzette, who had come in late 
 for dinner, and the girl had astonished her by 
 bursting into tears, and rushing off to her room, 
 where she still remained " sulking," Joan charac- 
 terized it. 
 
 " Perhaps if I take a little walk in the darkness 
 and the cool night air, I shall feel better," she 
 thought. " One can decide everything more calmly 
 underneath the calm stars, and to-night I have many 
 heavy problems, whereas this morning I thought 
 that I had none." Automatically, she took her 
 shawl from its nail behind the door, while her 
 thoughts continued their troublesome course, " It is 
 very strange that Monsieur Steele has not yet re-
 
 258 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 turned. Perhaps he is angry, or thinks that I am, 
 though truly I am not. If he should leave us I 
 should blame myself, and all the rest would blame 
 me, for they love him dearly." 
 
 She told the old grandmother that she would be 
 gone only a few moments, to get a breath of fresh 
 air, and then stepped into the dark entry ... al- 
 most into the groping arms of old Barbette, who 
 was blindly searching for the doorway. The light, 
 which shone out from the room, fell on the crippled 
 form, and showed Joan that the wizened face was 
 working strangely. 
 
 " What is it ? Has something happened to 
 frighten you, Madame?" she asked, herself a little 
 frightened at the sudden apparition. 
 
 " Aye, aye. All the world is in trouble, and Mira- 
 belle is the center of it, to-night. I came as quickly 
 as my stick would bear me . . . ' The girl gave 
 an involuntary start, for the old hag truly looked 
 like a witch in one of her childhood's story books, 
 but Barbette tapped the pavement with the cane upon 
 which she was leaning heavily, and continued. 
 " You have not yet heard, then, Mile. Joan ? " 
 
 " Heard ? No, I have heard nothing. What is 
 there to hear? " 
 
 The old hag chuckled. There was no mirth in the 
 sound, but it held a certain satisfaction. " No, no,
 
 NIGHT 259 
 
 of course you have not yet heard, but old Barbette 
 has heard, for there are voices which bear tales 
 much faster than do human tongues, and they speak 
 to her. Where, think you, is the American Mon- 
 sieur ? " she demanded, with startling abruptness. 
 
 " I ... I do not know. He has not yet re- 
 turned." 
 
 " Aye, he has returned to Mirabelle, 'though not 
 to your house. He lies at the house of the soldier 
 doctor." 
 
 " ' The house of the doctor? ' . . . ' Lies? ' " 
 
 "Yes, yes, for, but a half -hour ago, one mur- 
 derously assaulted him beside the canal, and now 
 his spirit is hovering in the valley of the shadows, 
 which divides the land of living men, from that of 
 the dead. Aye, he is in the shadows, as old Bar- 
 bette prophesied." 
 
 "Daniel! Wounded . . . dying? Oh, no, no, 
 no ! Bon Dieu, it cannot be true ! " Horror swept 
 over Joan as a flood ; her thoughts were like drown- 
 ing things, groping blindly in the turmoil of many 
 waters, which seemed to sound in her ears. 
 
 "You doubt the word of old Barbette, eh? 
 Then wait, you shall hear the same from many 
 other lips, soon enough." 
 
 " No, it is not that I doubt your word, but . . . 
 oh, it is too awful to believe." Her heart was
 
 260 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 leaden, but uncertainty was worse than the answer 
 which she sought, and feared to hear, and she barely 
 whispered, "Who . . . who did it? Do they 
 know?" 
 
 There was the sound of a faltering- step on the 
 stairs above, but Joan's straining ears did not catch 
 it. 
 
 " It is said that the would-be murderer was an- 
 other friend of Mile. Joan le Jeune . . . the young 
 poilu whom men call Jean." 
 
 " No, no ! O merciful God in heaven save us from 
 that ! " cried the girl, as she turned and flung herself, 
 arms upraised, against the entry wall, and pressed 
 her forehead so sharply on it that the rough plaster 
 bit into her flesh. There was relief in the pain. 
 " It could not be," she moaned. 
 
 " And why could it not have been, Mademoi- 
 selle?" mumbled the woman, maliciously. "Men 
 are kin to the beasts, and since time was, have 
 fought for a soft caress from the female especially 
 if she leads them on, and makes them jealous. Old 
 Barbette knows ; aye, she knows." 
 
 There was a stumbling rush of feet down the dark 
 stairway, and Suzette, her face as white as a ghost's 
 within its light golden frame of unbound hair, 
 fairly threw herself on the old woman, crying 
 fiercely, " Go away, thou witch. It is all a wicked
 
 NIGHT 261 
 
 lie that thou art telling my sister, because thou lovest 
 to torture people." 
 
 " A lie, is it, my little spit-fire ? We shall see, we 
 shall see. But remember that old Barbette is the 
 American's friend, and perhaps her chance has 
 come to help him now ; aye, perhaps she can help to 
 pluck him out of the deep shadows, and send him 
 home to her who waits for him so patiently, so 
 patiently." Still muttering, she hobbled away, un- 
 noticed, for Suzette's arms were tight around the 
 tense body of her sister, and she was whispering 
 words of tenderness, of pity, and of hope to her, 
 while the burning tears, unseen, streamed down her 
 own face. 
 
 " Thou dost not believe what the old witch has 
 said. Say that thou dost not, my dear Joan." 
 
 " But surely she would not have come to tell me 
 such terrible things, if they were not true; even 
 queer old Barbette could not do such a thing as 
 that," the other moaned. " And my heart has been 
 so heavy, to-night. It is as though I had had a 
 premonition." 
 
 " Oh, Joan ! But even if our dear Monsieur is 
 ... is hurt, surely it was not Jean, whom thou 
 lovest, who did it. Surely thou dost not believe 
 that." 
 
 " I do not know ; how can I tell ? O, holy Mary,
 
 262 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 was there ever a girl so wretched as is Joan le Jeune 
 to-night?" 
 
 " Joan, I will not have thee talk thus. Why, thou 
 art quivering all over. Why dost thou not weep? 
 See, I am crying." 
 
 Suzette forced the other to turn away from the 
 wall to which she clung, and gathered her close in 
 her strong, young arms. 
 
 " I knozv that it is not true . . . about Jean. 
 Tell me that thou, too, believest, my sister." 
 
 " Yes, I do believe. Thou hast made me, I do not 
 know why. It must, it will come out all right. Oh, 
 I am ashamed that I should have doubted, while 
 thou whom I thought but a child, and less strong 
 in faith than I ... Oh, I cannot understand, but 
 I thank thee, my little sister." 
 
 The words broke the last barrier to Suzette's 
 emotions and she began to weep passionately against 
 Joan's comforting shoulder, and to utter short muf- 
 fled wails under her breath, as though they came 
 from her heart, rather than her lips. 
 
 There was a new sound, that of other broken 
 wailing and of stumbling feet in the darkness out-of- 
 doors. Three little forms groped their faltering 
 way into the entry, threw themselves upon Joan, 
 and clung close to her skirts. 
 
 They half led, half carried the children inside,
 
 NIGHT 263 
 
 where, to the accompaniment of Pierre's terrified 
 sobbing, Marie and Georgette finally succeeded 
 in making it known that they had been awakened 
 by the sound of excited voices, talking in the room 
 off the chamber where they had been slumbering, 
 and, listening, they had learned that somebody had 
 put their dear brother in prison. With but one idea 
 to bring their grief and terror to Joan they 
 had stolen away, unobserved, and, clad in their long 
 nightgowns, had stumbled through the darkness 
 filled with fearful shapes, to seek her. 
 
 " There, there, don't cry so, everything is going 
 to be all right soon," she crooned, with her lips 
 buried in Pierre's tumbled hair. "It is all a great 
 mistake. Thy Jean will soon be free again." 
 
 " She says that it is all a great mistake, and that 
 Jean will soon be free," repeated the eldest, as she 
 clung tightly to Joan's neck. " Now I am not so 
 frightened, but, oh, canst thou not get him out of 
 that awful prison place to-night, my Joan?" 
 
 " I cannot promise that ; we shall see. But now 
 you must all go back home before you take cold, and 
 Suzette shall accompany you, and sleep with you to- 
 night. Then you will not be afraid, is it not so, my 
 precious ones ? " 
 
 " But why wilt thou not come, instead, Joan ? " 
 beseeched Pierre, as he began to weep afresh.
 
 264 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " Thou canst take better care of me than any one 
 else." 
 
 New anguish wrung her heart at his trusting 
 words, and she murmured, brokenly, " I shall take 
 care of thee always, my little one." 
 
 " Because thou art going to marry Jean, and take 
 us to live with thee ? " 
 
 There was no longer hesitation, either in her heart 
 or her words, as she answered, " Yes, yes, I shall 
 surely marry Jean, and thou wilt live with me 
 all of you. But your Joan cannot come to-night. 
 There are many other things for her to do. Come, 
 kiss me, sweets, and go home with Suzette, like 
 good children. Everything is going to be all right, 
 soon." 
 
 They departed, reluctantly, Pierre borne in Su- 
 zette's arms, and Joan at last stepped forth under 
 the calm, everlasting stars, but it was not to seek 
 solace in the night. 
 
 Her hurrying feet carried her first to the house 
 which was occupied by the surgeon for the battery, 
 a young man who had been hastily summoned from 
 his half -completed studies at the University in Paris, 
 to complete his learning as he labored on the battle- 
 field. 
 
 A light burned in one of the downstairs rooms. 
 Without pausing to knock, so filled with other
 
 NIGHT 265 
 
 thoughts was her mind, she opened the door and 
 entered. 
 
 The doctor and adjutant were seated, smoking. 
 They did not even rise as she entered so unceremoni- 
 ously, but merely regarded her with looks of aston- 
 ishment, for her pale face with its large, shadowed 
 eyes, formed a striking picture of grief and loveli- 
 ness. 
 
 " It is about the American, Messieurs," she be- 
 gan, breathlessly. " He lives with us I am Joan, 
 Joan le Jeune and it is said that he has been . . . 
 been hurt." 
 
 The doctor stood up. " Hurt ? Well, one would 
 be safe in saying that, Mademoiselle. He had a bul- 
 let through his breast which either touched, or 
 barely missed, the heart, and a bad concussion of 
 the brain from a frightful blow on his temple." 
 
 " You mean . . . you mean that he is going to 
 . . . to die?" 
 
 " The former injury alone is enough to kill him, 
 Mademoiselle. And the two together ..." he 
 shrugged his slender shoulders. " Still, I do not 
 hiean to frighten you. Of course he may live, al- 
 though I am afraid . . . ' 
 
 " Where is he now ? " she barely whispered, after 
 a moment of poignant silence. 
 
 The doctor nodded towards the adjoining room.
 
 266 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 the door to which was open, and, by the dim light 
 that entered it from the one in which she was stand- 
 ing, Joan saw a still, silent form lying on the bed, 
 with a sister from the convent sitting beside it, just 
 as motionless and as silent. 
 
 " Can he not be carried to his own room, in our 
 home, Monsieur? I ... I am sure that he would 
 prefer it, and we can help the good sisters in nursing 
 him. Oh, Monsieur, I will not leave him day or 
 night; I would do anything in the world to save 
 him." 
 
 The surgeon smiled, dryly. " I doubt whether 
 he has any preference, at present. But, since there 
 is no hospital near by to which he can be carried, I 
 do not see any reason why he should not go to your 
 house, as well as remain here. Besides, I have a 
 personal interest in that bed," he nodded toward the 
 other room again, and Joan shrank at his apparent 
 callousness; yet, in fact, the young physician w r as 
 quite as willing to sacrifice his rest, and everything 
 else, as any of his brothers-in-service. 
 
 " I may as well tell you, frankly, Mademoiselle, 
 that my personal opinion is that he cannot live a 
 few days at the most, if it proves that the heart has 
 been nicked, but I do not want you to think that, 
 in consequence, we shall not do everything possible 
 to save his life. The Commandant has already des-
 
 NIGHT 267 
 
 patched a telegram to the headquarters of his 
 Society, and to-morrow, without doubt, an Amer- 
 ican physician will be here as well." 
 
 "If he can be moved without danger, it is my 
 wish," she answered, with a calmness which sur- 
 prised the two men. The doctor glanced at the ad- 
 jutant with slightly lifted eyebrows, but he an- 
 swered, politely, " I will have my orderlies do so 
 at once." 
 
 " Would you . . . would you be so kind as to 
 
 wait for a few moments . . . until I return ? There 
 
 .is another thing that I have to do; it will take but 
 
 a very little while, and then I will come back, and 
 
 accompany them." 
 
 He bowed his acquiescence. 
 
 " I thank you, Monsieur." Joan turned, swayed 
 a little, and placed her hand for support on the side 
 of the door, but as the doctor started forward, she 
 shook her head with a faint smile, and walked 
 steadily outside, alone. 
 
 Through the familiar darkness she moved un- 
 hesitatingly until she came before the church, whose 
 squat steeple blotted out a triangular patch of stars. 
 To the left of the black entrance the barred light 
 from a square window shone into the night; she 
 gave it one shuddering glance, and then, regardless 
 of the sentry who, with bayoneted gun, slowly
 
 268 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 paced before it, knelt upon the stone steps of the 
 church. The soldier paused, peered at her curiously 
 for an instant, and then continued his leisurely 
 pacing. 
 
 Joan bent her head in a whispered Ave Maria, and 
 then lifted her eyes to the begemmed black dome of 
 nature's great temple. Her whole soul became a 
 prayer. The petition was not formed in words, but 
 she felt that He who hears before we ask, and is 
 ever more ready to give, than we to receive, under- 
 stood. Strengthened, comforted, she finally arose, 
 and turned toward the sentry, who halted, and 
 barred her advance with his gun. 
 
 " May I ... may I speak one word to Mon- 
 sieur Harent? Surely it can do no harm, Mon- 
 sieur," she pleaded softly. 
 
 " I regret, but it is impossible, Mademoiselle. The 
 orders of the Commandant prohibit it." 
 
 " But if I were to obtain permission from the 
 Commandant ? " 
 
 " Ah, that would, of course, be a different matter. 
 But I think that he has now retired, and so could not 
 listen to you until morning." 
 
 Joan bowed her head, and turned away with a 
 heavy heart. As she reached the street she turned 
 for one backward glance. There was a new shadow 
 in the little square of light upon the ground. Be-
 
 NIGHT 269 
 
 hind the two bars appeared the dark outline of a 
 head. The sentry had resumed his walk, and his 
 back was turned toward her. 
 
 Suddenly, Joan's sweet voice came full and clear 
 through the darkness. " Jean, I know that thou art 
 not guilty; that somehow thou wilt be freed. And 
 Jean ..." there was the- barest break in the sen- 
 tence, " I love thee." 
 
 The sentry wheeled angrily, and took one quick 
 step forward. Then he laughed, for he was French. 
 
 But within the cramped, bare room, a heart was 
 throbbing with a great happiness, and although the 
 body of Jean Harent remained in prison, it seemed 
 to him as though his soul had been lifted to Para- 
 dise.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 "THE MAID" 
 
 "FAITH!" 
 
 For the hundredth time, it seemed to Joan, the 
 cry rang sharply out from the incoherent ravings 
 of Daniel's delirium; for the hundredth time the 
 man tried to struggle up, with outstretched arms. 
 
 Sometimes other disjointed words, and panted 
 sentences, were distinguishable words of love and 
 pleading, words of renunciation and remorse, re- 
 peated over and over. Few of them were intelligible 
 to Joan, but the thought finally came to her that per- 
 haps he might be trying to speak some message to 
 the girl whose photograph he carried; something 
 that she would want to know, if Daniel . . . she 
 would not finish the sentence even in her own mind. 
 
 She slipped from the chamber, which she had left 
 scarcely for a moment during the thirty-six hours 
 that had elapsed since the desperately wounded man 
 had been brought to lie in his own bed, and, shortly 
 
 270
 
 THE MAID" 271 
 
 afterwards, returned with her little French-English 
 dictionary. One by one she spelled out the oft re- 
 curring words, and, after much laborious searching, 
 found them in the book. It was as though she were 
 deciphering a coded message in a foreign tongue, 
 but meaning came slowly out of the jumble, and 
 Joan realized, with a mental start, that Jean's con- 
 jecture had, after all, been correct. The revelation 
 at first shocked and pained her inexpressibly, but, 
 as she mused upon it, the recollection of many past 
 things crowded into her mind and took on new 
 significance; she began to understand the real mean- 
 ing of the man's periods of odd repression when in 
 her presence, which she had found amusing, and 
 called bashf ulness as bad as a girl's ; and the whole 
 story of his temptation and his struggle became as 
 an open book to her. 
 
 Being a woman, she comprehended, and forgave. 
 Then came a gleam of joy ; if he loved the other girl, 
 and his heart had turned wholly back to her, the 
 unhappiness, which she had fancied as being his, 
 would vanish like a dream, and he would awake to 
 full contentment in the affection of the woman to 
 whom he would now return, as soon as he should 
 become able to travel. 
 
 But what did those strange words mean, with 
 which he seemed to be begging her not to despise
 
 272 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 him so deeply, and when he said that it was all over 
 that he would give her up forever ? Was the 
 woman at home so different, then, from what Dan- 
 iel had told her that the name " Faith " signified? 
 Joan felt herself growing angry with the unknown 
 girl, as though she had actually been present, and to 
 blame for the bitter pain in the delirious man's heart. 
 "I would forgive him," she said aloud, thereby 
 drawing a look of puzzled interrogation from the 
 silent nursing sister. And she knew that her decla- 
 ration was true, although it was accompanied by a 
 brief pang of jealousy, when she applied the thought 
 to Jean. 
 
 ******** 
 
 The American doctor had come the previous 
 afternoon, made his examination, and departed, 
 shaking his head. 
 
 " I fully agree with Dr. du Bois," he had replied 
 to her anxious query. " The patient may rapidly 
 recover from the concussion, since his skull was not 
 fractured he must have had some particularly 
 hard-headed Dutchman in his ancestral line but 
 the other wound is a touch and go. From the 
 course which the bullet took, it may have just es- 
 caped, or just nicked, the outer covering of the 
 heart, and in the latter case an aneurism is almost 
 certain to result, and death. Dr. du Bois has done
 
 THE MAID" 273 
 
 everything possible to prevent infection in the 
 wound, which was fortunately a clean one, and, if 
 the heart was not injured, he may recover rapidly 
 time alone will tell. There is absolutely nothing 
 that I could accomplish by remaining here, or that 
 you, or any one, can do, Mademoiselle, except keep 
 him as quiet as possible when the fever sets in." 
 
 All day long, except when Joan fairly drove her 
 out to keep the grieving children amused, Suzette 
 had sat on the top of the stairs just outside the 
 chamber door. Her mother had hardly been able to 
 coax her away for her meals, and they were all 
 strangely disturbed on her account, for none of 
 them had even imagined that her gay, youthful heart 
 was capable of so sustained a grief. For she would 
 not be comforted, and passed the dragging hours 
 between sitting in a dazed silence, weeping spas- 
 modically, and praying with feverish intensity. 
 
 All day long the little village had buzzed with the 
 news of the tragedy, and feelings had run high. 
 Many a black look was directed at the barred win- 
 dow behind which sat Jean Harent, for the Amer- 
 ican had been friendly with every one, and the per- 
 sonal friend of many. No question was raised as 
 to the poilu's guilt. It was accepted, the case was 
 too clear for doubt ; and when the rumor spread that 
 Daniel had died, a rumor born of the earlier one
 
 274 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 that he was dying, there had been much angry mut- 
 tering, and every soldier had been regarded with 
 hostility. 
 
 Towards evening old Barbette had hobbled up the 
 hill, with a cracked pitcher which held some dark, 
 home-made brew, and had demanded that it be given 
 to the wounded man. Dr. du Bois had tasted it, 
 and asked her some questions regarding the ingre- 
 dients used in its concoction. She had, at first, 
 stubbornly refused to answer, but reconsidered, 
 when he threatened to pour it out of the window. 
 When the old woman had finished her voluble ex- 
 planation, regarding the magic healing herbs which 
 she had gathered, some by moonlight, some with the 
 dew still on them, and insisted upon drinking some 
 of it herself to prove that it was innocuous, the 
 physician had smiled a little, and said to Joan, 
 " Well, it cannot hurt him. It is mostly plain water, 
 with some soothing elements which might help to 
 allay the fever, and I have no objections to your 
 giving some of it to him, if it will please the old 
 woman and he will take it." 
 
 Barbette had scowled blackly, and muttered many 
 things derogatory to his know-everything profes- 
 sion, and, when he had left, she had insisted so 
 violently that she had been especially chosen to save 
 the American's life, that Joan with the under-
 
 THE MAID" 275 
 
 lying strain of superstition of the Latin races had 
 half believed her. Thereafter, she had given the 
 liquid, a spoonful at a time, to the delirious man. 
 
 The night had been a thing of horror to her, for 
 he had raved, and thrashed about constantly, during 
 the long hours while darkness and silence reigned 
 outside, but dawn of the second day found him 
 quieter, perhaps through increased weakness. 
 
 Then Joan had first realized how utterly she had 
 spent her strength, how weary she was in body, 
 mind and soul. Her mother commented anxiously 
 upon her wan appearance, and the nurse had gently 
 insisted that she go away, and rest for a while. 
 There was nothing that she could do by remaining. 
 
 For a time Joan had resisted their entreaties and 
 reasonings, with almost the petulance of a tired 
 child, but, in the end, she yielded. Her mother 
 begged her to lie down on her bed in the downstairs 
 room, but the girl insisted that first she must take a 
 little walk in the open air, and she put on her 
 sabots, for it had rained during the night, and went 
 out into the early spring sunshine. 
 
 Her habitual course was down the hillside toward 
 the village, and her feet obeyed their established 
 habit and carried her in that direction, although 
 she had no conscious objective. 
 
 Indeed, she scarcely realized her surroundings.
 
 276 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Not until a voice, close by her elbow, addressed 
 her by name, did she lift her eyes from the ground. 
 
 " And how goes it now, with the American Mon- 
 sieur, Mile. Joan? " 
 
 " He is better at least I think that he is better. 
 For the first time in a day and a half he sleeps 
 quietly." 
 
 " Good, but I knew that it would be so ; oh, yes, 
 old Barbette knew. The shadows are beginning to 
 lift; now he will get well, and old Barbette will have 
 saved him by her potions, which the fool of a doctor 
 would have thrown out of the window. You will 
 see who was right, the fool of a doctor, or poor old 
 Barbette." 
 
 There was a strange light on the grotesque, with- 
 ered countenance, and a firm note of conviction in 
 her voice. They caused the girl's heart to lighten in 
 sympathy, and she actually felt a new courage flow- 
 ing into it. 
 
 " Perhaps it is so. Oh, how I hope that it is so ! " 
 she answered, as she laid her hand kindly over the 
 scrawny claw which held the cane. But the re- 
 flected light faded quickly away, like a sunset's 
 afterglow, and left only shadows on Joan's pale 
 countenance, and in her brooding eyes, as her 
 thoughts carried her around the corner to where a 
 prison stood within the angle of a church.
 
 'THE MAID" 277 
 
 The old woman had not ceased to regard her 
 closely, and now she began to nod, and smile her 
 twisted, toothless smile. 
 
 " And'when the American Monsieur is well again, 
 all of Mile. Joan's troubles will be ended, eh ? " she 
 croaked. 
 
 " Why do you speak and look like that, Madame? 
 Is it then true, that you like to torture one, as some 
 people say of you? " 
 
 " Some people say that of old Barbette, eh ? " 
 Instead of appearing angry, the old hag laughed 
 with apparent satisfaction. " Some people are very 
 wise and think that they know everything and 
 some people are fools," she added, ambiguously. 
 " You have always treated me with courtesy, and I 
 would like to be your friend, though you may doubt 
 it. Yes, I like you; you are kind, you are young, 
 and pretty as a flower, and why should not such a 
 one be happy, as well ? " 
 
 " Yet none is more unhappy than she. Oh, 
 Madame," cried the girl, beseechingly, and she 
 seized the wrinkled hand and pressed it against her 
 young breast. "If thou couldst only help me ! " In 
 her despair Joan was almost like a child, ready to 
 grasp at any straw of comfort, to believe in any- 
 thing even witchcraft if it promised to solace 
 her heart.
 
 278 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 " And perhaps old Barbette can help thee, also, 
 who knows? There are voices that she hears, to 
 which all other ears are deaf, and sometimes they 
 whisper strange things to her, aye, strange things." 
 Again she nodded, sagely, but for an instant Joan's 
 ready faith was shaken, for Dr. du Bois had casually 
 mentioned that the strange old woman, abroad on 
 one of her nocturnal prowls, had been before his cot- 
 tage when Daniel was borne thither, and had lis- 
 tened with eager interest, as well as apparent anger, 
 to the story of the assault upon him. 
 
 " Hast thou ever visited the ruined old chateau, 
 yonder on the hilltop, Mademoiselle ? " she de- 
 manded, with a peculiar insinuation. Joan started. 
 Could the old woman read the thoughts of men, as 
 she had heard folks say, or had she seen Daniel and 
 her together there, on that fateful afternoon? Bar- 
 bette was still watching her, and the girl nodded 
 silently, with a question in her large eyes. 
 
 " It is an interesting spot, is it not ? Old Barbette 
 visits it often, and there sees many, many things 
 fine lords and ladies, in silks and laces, who dance in 
 stately fashion for her ; splendid feasts ; young gal- 
 lants of bygone days at their love-making; aye, 
 and noble quarrels, when blood is shed over the 
 color of a damsel's eyes, or other foolishness. And 
 there the voices speak to her most clearly. Per-
 
 THE MAID" 279 
 
 haps if thou shouldst go to the old chateau, Made- 
 moiselle . . . ' 
 
 " What should I find ? " demanded Joan, breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 " What wouldst thou find ? Who has said that 
 thou wouldst find anything? Not old Barbette. 
 But at least there is calm, peace and beauty, there 
 thou wouldst find that, and strength is bred of these. 
 Old Barbette knows, she knows." 
 
 " I will go there," answered the girl, with sudden 
 decision. The first part of the old woman's utter- 
 ances was clearly but the foolishness of a poor, 
 cracked brain, but there was wisdom in the last sug- 
 gestion. Her secret place seemed to call out an in- 
 vitation, to come and seek peace and strength in the 
 silent woods ; and, with a hurried word of farewell, 
 she made her way through the village street where 
 many glances, not so friendly as of yore, were 
 turned upon her over the stone bridge, and to- 
 ward the open field. 
 
 The dividing line between Mirabelle and its 
 neighboring town, was marked by an ancient way- 
 side cross of stone, its monumental pedestal cracked, 
 and its steps well-worn by the contact of many a 
 bended knee. A tree shadowed the spot, but, 
 through an opening in its branches, the morning 
 sunlight streamed full upon the symbol of her faith,
 
 280 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 and made it appear as though it were actually rising 
 out of the shadows, surrounded with golden glory. 
 The new grass was still wet, but, heedless of this 
 fact, Joan turned from the roadway, dropped on her 
 knees before the cross and gazed up at it, raptly. 
 
 Religion had become a mere form with many of 
 the men of France, until the war fanned the dying 
 ember into a flame, here and there; but to the real 
 French woman her faith is an integral part of her 
 being, and Joan's look of devotion was tinged with 
 awe. To her mind, already stirred to its depths by 
 the emotions of the past two days, the purely natural 
 phenomenon assumed a special meaning an un- 
 spoken message addressed to her alone. Was the 
 age of miracles really ended, as people said ? France 
 was flooded with strange stories from the battle- 
 fields, stories of happenings which seemed truly 
 miraculous. And had not One said, that to them 
 who have faith, all things are possible? 
 
 She arose, already comforted, and, with a deeper 
 trust, walked across the flowering field, where the 
 song of birds and the colorful blossoms still further 
 calmed her turbulent heart. 
 
 But her weariness of body, which the climb up 
 the steep hillside augmented, and the shadows under 
 the trees, caused her painful thoughts to return 
 to settle and prey upon her mind like black
 
 THE MAID" 281 
 
 birds. Memory revived every incident of the recent 
 days which had been so full, and almost every one 
 of them was laden with bitterness. Her mind dwelt 
 upon each actor in the tragic drama, even down to 
 the minor characters, one after the other; her heart 
 ached for Marie, Georgette and little Pierre, and it 
 found room for deep concern over her younger 
 sister's patent grief. 
 
 " How strange it is," she mused, " that Suzette 
 should be so terribly affected." Then she started, 
 inwardly, and her eyes grew big. " Is it possible 
 that she is really in love with Daniel? Impossible. 
 Why, she is only a child yet she is nearly seven- 
 teen, and perhaps the heart of a woman beats in her 
 young breast. If this is true, the dear God help her, 
 for her suffering is as great as mine, and he is not 
 for her ; she will lose him, even as I may lose . . . * 
 Joan turned, and threw herself face downward upon 
 the moss-covered bank, and cried aloud, " O, immor- 
 tal Maid of Domremy Joan, my patron saint 
 hear, and help me." 
 
 For the first time, her overcharged soul found the 
 relief which lies in tears, and, with her face buried 
 in the soft moss, she sobbed without restraint. 
 
 At length her shaking form became more quiet, 
 and her breathing more even. 
 
 The shadows seemed to grow deeper, and to en-
 
 282 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 fold her in a soothing, soft embrace. She could 
 still see the sunlit valley below, and a glimpse of 
 Mirabelle through a vista in the woods, but, some- 
 how, it looked unfamiliar through her tears. Surely 
 it was altered. The river wound more peacefully, 
 and it had overflowed its banks and formed gleam- 
 ing paths, and placid pools in the field ; the hillside 
 beyond was steeper, and the village much smaller, 
 and more scattering. There seemed to be an unreal, 
 mellow light, richer than sunshine, over everything. 
 A little flock of snowy sheep was grazing on the 
 green hillside, and there was a young girl, in quaint 
 and old-fashioned attire, tending them. " How 
 odd," thought Joan. " I felt sure that I knew every 
 one in Mirabelle if that is Mirabelle. Yet there 
 is a damsel of about my own age, or a little younger, 
 whom I have surely never seen before. Or have 
 I? " She was greatly puzzled, and wished that she 
 were closer to the young stranger so that she might 
 speak to her. " For she is very lovely, especially her 
 hair," she found herself adding. " The light shines 
 on it just as it did on the wayside cross, at which 
 I knelt on my way hither. It is almost like a halo. 
 Why, it is a halo ! " Then, suddenly, she understood 
 who it was upon whom she was gazing. The reali- 
 zation did not surprise her, nor was she startled to 
 find herself close to the girl, although just how it
 
 THE MAID" 283 
 
 had occurred she did not know. " Joan Joan of 
 Arc," she whispered, softly, yet with a strange thrill 
 in her voice. 
 
 But The Maid did not turn at the words. She 
 seemed to be speaking to someone else on the other 
 side of her. Yes, there was another there a 
 maiden who seemed to be kneeling at her feet in an 
 attitude of profoundest sorrow. 
 
 " Thou must confess the truth, poor child. It is 
 the only way to right the wrong, and banish the 
 ache from thine own heart," came in a voice like 
 the sound of silver bells, far away. 
 
 The other girl slowly lifted her tear-stained face, 
 and Joan caught herself starting, and wanting to 
 cry aloud. For she was looking upon the face of 
 . . . Suzette. 
 
 The picture faded and changed. The stream grew 
 straighter, and began to dance in the sunlight, the 
 hill was less high. The town covered it closely and 
 left no room for sheep, or shepherdess. It was 
 Mirabelle again. 
 
 The girl sprang to her feet, with ecstasy and ter- 
 ror in her countenance. 
 
 " Joan, Maid of Domremy ! " she cried. " I have 
 seen thee! Heaven has granted me a vision, as in
 
 284 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 the olden days! But oh, what does it mean, what 
 does it mean ? I am so frightened ! " 
 
 Trembling, often stumbling, she ran blindly 
 down the twisting path, and across the fields. Only 
 at intervals did she pause, to quiet the wild beating 
 of her heart. Through the village she hastened, 
 at scarcely diminished speed, and so came to her 
 own home, flushed, panting, wide-eyed. 
 
 At the door Suzette met her. The younger girl's 
 face was alight with gladness. 
 
 " Oh, Joan ? He is better ! He is himself again. 
 He has just spoken a few words of understanding, 
 and now he will get well. Oh, thank God, he will 
 get well ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 SUZETTE'S CONFESSION 
 
 " SUZETTE, come to my chamber. I wish to talk 
 with thee alone." 
 
 An unusual note of repression in Joan's voice 
 caused her younger sister to look at her curiously, 
 and something that she saw in the tense face before 
 her, brought a sudden pallor to her own counte- 
 nance, and an expression of fear to her dilating eyes. 
 Suzette felt her knees grow weak and faltering, as 
 she climbed the narrow stairs behind the other. 
 
 The door into Daniel's room was open, but Joan 
 did not pause so much as to glance through it, as 
 she passed, whereupon Suzette quavered, " Art thou 
 not going to speak to Monsieur ? He has been ask- 
 ing for thee." 
 
 " Not yet. There is another thing to be done, 
 first." 
 
 "What other thing, my sister? Why dost thou 
 look at me like that?" 
 
 " Come." Joan stood aside, and motioned for 
 285
 
 286 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 Suzette to enter her own room. She quietly closed 
 and locked the door behind them, and then, seating 
 herself on the edge of the bed, took both of her 
 sister's oddly cold hands in hers. She realized that 
 they were trembling. 
 
 " Now, my dear one, I want thee to tell me the 
 truth." By an effort, she kept her voice calm and 
 clear. 
 
 "The truth? What dost thou mean, Joan?" 
 whispered Suzette. 
 
 " She said, l Thou must confess the truth. It is 
 the only way to right the grievous wrong, and ban- 
 ish the ache from thine own heart.' ' 
 
 "She said it? But who? What hast thou heard ? 
 Oh, I am frightened, Joan." The girl dropped to 
 her knees before her sister, and clung desperately 
 to her. 
 
 "Joan of Arc." 
 
 " What art thou saying ? Has the trouble turned 
 thy brain, or hast thou been dreaming? " 
 
 " Perhaps men would say that I have dreamed, 
 but I know that Heaven has granted me a vision." 
 She recounted her experience in the ruined chateau, 
 and Suzette's eyes grew larger and more terrified 
 the while. When the story was finished there was 
 perfect silence in the room for a moment, like the 
 lull in nature before the breaking of a storm. Then
 
 SUZETTE'S CONFESSION 287 
 
 Suzette uttered a sigh, that was half sob, and her 
 head dropped against Joan's knees. The trembling 
 of her body, which she had succeeded in controlling 
 up to that instant, broke the barrier of her will, and 
 her slender form was shaken with every breath. 
 The other did not speak, but gently and steadily 
 caressed the silken hair under her hand. 
 
 " Yes, it is true, Joan." The words came like a 
 sigh, at length, and the muffled voice wailed on, "Oh, 
 Joan, it is true, and I have been living in purgatory. 
 I have tried to tell, but I was afraid, so afraid. And 
 I prayed constantly that the American might re- 
 cover, for it would have been too awful if he had 
 died; and besides, if he lived he might then speak 
 the words that would set Jean free, and perhaps I 
 could always have kept my secret. But if he had 
 died I should have told oh, thou must believe that, 
 my sister. Tell me that thou dost," she cried, in 
 agony. 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear one. Joan does believe it. 
 But now thou must tell me all, for thy soul's sake." 
 
 " I am going to ; I want to. Oh, I have wanted 
 to all along, but I did not dare. It was not thy Jean 
 who shot Monsieur Steele, but . . , " there fol- 
 lowed a pause, which seemed interminable to the 
 listening girl, "... but Lieutenant Villier." 
 
 " Lieutenant Villier ? Suzette, how could it have
 
 288 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 been? He left Mirabelle on the mid-afternoon 
 train." 
 
 " No, he did not go or rather he left the train 
 at the next station, and came back." 
 
 " But why ? How dost thou know all this ? I 
 do not understand, Suzette." 
 
 " He came back ..." the muffled voice was dull 
 with pain now. " He came back . . . for me, 
 Joan." 
 
 "For thee? What art thou saying, my little 
 sister ? " 
 
 " It is true, Joan. Oh, I will tell thee everything, 
 so that perhaps thou wilt understand." The long- 
 pent-up words burst forth in a torrent of speech. 
 " He loved me, I am sure that he loved me, for he 
 told me so often. Please do not look that way, 
 Joan. I could not help meeting him, when he began 
 to ask that I do it, for he was so brave and hand- 
 some, and I cared for him so much." 
 
 " I do not blame thee, my little one, for thou art 
 innocent and young. But why didst thou not tell 
 us or me, at least? " 
 
 " I was afraid that father and mother would for- 
 bid it, and that thou wouldst try to dissuade me, and 
 say as thou hast just done that I was too 
 young to have a lover. But I am almost seventeen, 
 Joan, and no longer a child, although thou wouldst
 
 SUZETTE'S CONFESSION 289 
 
 treat me as one, still." Her spirit flared up for an 
 instant, but she went on piteously. " He told me 
 many wonderful stories about the great city of 
 Paris, and he promised to take me there when he 
 went home . . . Oh, Joan, I do not like to see you 
 look at me that way ! We were to be married ; he 
 said that we would surely be married, but it could 
 not be here because he was afraid that my parents 
 would not consent, until I should be older. But I 
 was certain that they would forgive me when they 
 knew that I loved him so, and that we were married. 
 And so I promised to run away, and go with him 
 as he asked. We would have gone on the afternoon 
 train, but his comrades said that they were all going 
 to the station to bid him farewell, so he told me that 
 he would return at dusk, and meet me at the bridge 
 a little while before the evening train left. 
 
 " Oh, I was so happy, even though I was afraid, 
 too. But when the moment came, I found that I 
 could not leave you, and I told him that I was 
 frightened. Then he would not listen; he tried to 
 take me in his arms and make me go to the train; 
 that was all, Joan but I guess that I screamed. 
 And then . . . oh, Joan, truly I did not know that 
 it was our Monsieur who came and saved me, for 
 I ran away as fast as I could, and came home. But 
 how I have suffered since I learned the truth, and it
 
 290 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 seemed that Monsieur Steele must die. I felt as 
 though I were a murderer, Joan, for I was to blame 
 for it all." 
 
 " No, thou wert not wholly to blame, my Suzette. 
 It was as much my fault as it was thine. For, if 
 I had not aroused his jealousy, Jean might not have 
 been suspected, and, indeed, it might not have 
 happened at all, for I was also the cause of Daniel's 
 being there. But if he had not . . . Oh, Suzette, 
 it is terrible, but I am glad that he was there. Per- 
 haps the bon Dieu willed it, so that thou mightest be 
 saved, from that of which I cannot bear to think." 
 
 " Thou must not speak like that. Have I not 
 said that we were to be married ? " 
 
 " Poor little one, thou art indeed still a child. 
 Monsieur, the lieutenant, is a Parisian, wealthy, and 
 of the ' class.' Such a one does not marry a simple 
 village girl, my sister." 
 
 " But he loved me, Joan," persisted the girl, un- 
 shaken. 
 
 " Perhaps he did. I will not say that it is not so, 
 nor do I blame him. Oh, my dear, my dear, how my 
 heart aches for thee ! Tell me, dost thou still care ? " 
 
 " I do not know. My heart has been so numb at 
 times, and so filled with bitter pain at others, that I 
 scarcely know how I feel. But, after what has hap- 
 pened, I could never, never see him again." The
 
 SUZETTE'S CONFESSION 291 
 
 elder girl held her close in her arms until the trem- 
 bling form grew quieter, and the dry sobs ceased. 
 
 " Go out-of-doors, and take a long walk by thy- 
 self, Suzette. Thou hast need of it, even as I had, 
 and I want to be alone, and think." 
 
 " And thou hast forgiven me ; thou wilt save me, 
 Joan?" 
 
 " Yes, little one. Do not be afraid any more." 
 
 " But Jean ? Cannot he be taken from that awful 
 prison at once ? " 
 
 " I hope that it may be so, but, as much as I love 
 him, and suffer to have him there I would gladly 
 take his place if it were possible a little longer 
 will make no difference now, and he would under- 
 stand, if he were to know the truth. Come, do as 
 I have told thee, and stay out-of-doors until thou 
 art calmer. Everything is coming out all right at 
 last, for, thanks to the merciful God, Daniel will 
 live. Thou art sure of that, Suzette? " 
 
 " Yes, even the doctor has said so. His escape is 
 a miracle, he says." 
 
 " Kiss me, and go." The two sisters clung to 
 one another for a long time, then Joan gently pushed 
 the other from the room, and closed the door behind 
 her. She felt that she needed to be alone, and to 
 think as she had never thought before. 
 
 Although immeasurable relief filled her heart,
 
 292 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 there was a new ache in it that which had been in 
 Suzette's, and she was glad that she could bear it for 
 her. But now she must find some way to save her 
 little sister. If her story became known, even to 
 her father, the happiness of the family would be 
 forever ended, she felt. He was just, and would do 
 nothing to the child, but he was also stern and the 
 happiness of her young life would be ruined. And 
 Joan knew that she was not afraid to trust her, 
 henceforth. The girl had learned one of life's 
 hardest lessons, and she would not err again. 
 
 At last she arose, and went silently into Daniel's 
 room. 
 
 The man slowly turned his bandaged head, and 
 regarded her with a flickering smile of pleasure, 
 which swiftly faded into an expression of humilia- 
 tion and sorrow. This vanished in turn, as she 
 seated herself by the bedside, took his hand in her 
 soothing clasp, and softly stroked his rumpled hair. 
 Daniel closed his aching eyes with a sense of utter 
 peace. 
 
 " I will sit with him for a little while, if you wish 
 to go for a walk, or visit the convent, my sister," 
 she remarked to the nurse, who gave her a look of 
 gratitude, and glided from the chamber. 
 
 " Daniel, thou art better; thou art going to get 
 well," affirmed Joan, quietly.
 
 SUZETTE'S CONFESSION 293 
 
 " Of course. I feel as strong as an ox now," he 
 smilingly agreed, but his weak voice somewhat be- 
 lied the assertion. 
 
 " Shall I sit like this, or art thou strong enough 
 to talk for a few moments? I suppose that the 
 doctor has told them to keep thee quiet, and 1 would 
 not suggest it, if it were not important to an- 
 other." 
 
 "Of course I can talk, dear girl, but I do not 
 know what to say to thee . . . how to ask thy par- 
 don for ... " 
 
 She laid her finger gently, but firmly, on his lips. 
 " It is not about that, my dear. I understand, and 
 thou art never to speak of it again; indeed, I was 
 the one to blame. But now I am happy, for I know 
 that the sweet girl, whom thou callest Faith, is 
 waiting for thee in America." 
 
 He started visibly, and closed his eyes as though 
 something were hurting him. Then he whispered 
 the inquiry, " How didst thou know that she . . . ' 
 
 Joan laughed, a little unsteadily. " Perhaps I am 
 like old Barbette, and have voices that tell me things 
 that others cannot hear. She has been deeply 
 concerned over thine . . . illness, Daniel, and 
 brought thee a strange brew, which she insists was 
 the thing that saved thy life." 
 
 " Perhaps it is true," he replied, and, realizing
 
 294 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 that for some reason she did not want to answer 
 his inquiry, he refrained from pressing it. 
 
 " Daniel, there is one question that I must ask thee 
 to answer, even though the subject is painful to us 
 both. Dost thou know who it was that wounded 
 thee?" 
 
 His expression indicated that he was startled 
 again, and that bitter memories were stirring to life 
 in his brain, but he did not reply. Nevertheless Joan 
 felt that she was answered. 
 
 " He . . . Lieutenant Villier escaped ; he has not 
 been suspected, Daniel." 
 
 " I am glad. I had hoped that it was so, but have 
 not dared to ask," he responded. " And I hope 
 that he did not know that it was I who attacked 
 him. He was my friend and I could even forgive 
 him for wounding me, for it was to save his life, if 
 it were not for the other thing that he had done. 
 And no one knows that thou wert there, Joan ? " 
 
 " I ? " Her astonishment was unmistakably evi- 
 denced in the intonation with which she spoke. 
 
 " But yes. Thou seest, I recognized thy voice. 
 Was it not thee after all? " he demanded. 
 
 Joan's thoughts were working swiftly in an en- 
 deavor to fit this new idea into the tragic tangle. 
 The truth burst upon her like a great light, for she 
 knew that her voice and Suzette's were much alike.
 
 SUZETTE'S CONFESSION 295 
 
 " Thou earnest to save me? " she whispered, with 
 a thrill in the words. 
 
 " Of course. But I do not understand. If it was 
 not thee . . . " 
 
 The girl's heart leaped with happiness. She need 
 not tell him the truth, and so Suzette would be 
 spared even his knowledge of her shame. 
 
 " Please do not ask any more about it. I want to 
 forget," she evaded, with downcast eyes, and his 
 response was a weak pressure on her hand. 
 
 " Yes, the lieutenant escaped, Daniel, but . . . 
 oh, I hate to tell thee . . . another was arrested 
 for his crime, and now awaits trial in the military 
 prison." 
 
 "Another? But how is it possible, and who is 
 it? " He attempted to struggle up, crying, " Joan, 
 it is not ... ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is thy friend and my lover, Jean." 
 
 With a gasp of pain, Daniel sank weakly back, 
 but although he seemed unable to voice the question 
 in his eyes, she understood, and very simply retold 
 the story of how he had been found, and why the 
 cloak of guilt had fallen upon the poilu. 
 
 " We must save him ... at once, Joan," he 
 panted. " But why hast thou waited ; why hast 
 thou not told the truth before? And how was Vil- 
 lier there at all I thought that he had departed
 
 296 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 for Paris. Oh, there are many things which I do 
 not understand." 
 
 Joan was now face to face with the necessity of 
 making a direct falsehood. She hesitated, but only 
 because she did not know how to answer, and the 
 sudden appearance of Suzette in the doorway, 
 saved her. 
 
 The girl's eyes were red, and her face streaked 
 with tears. " I have been listening, Joan. I could 
 not stay alone, and crept back to the door. She 
 said that I must tell the truth, and now thou must; 
 I will not have thee lie, for me. Please tell him, 
 for I cannot." She dropped by the bedside and 
 buried her head in the clothes, and, before Joan had 
 finished, Daniel was gently passing his hand over 
 the child's curls, with pitying caress. 
 
 " It is all right now, my little sister. Thou wert 
 not to blame, nor do I now blame Villier so greatly, 
 for I know his nature, and God has made me under- 
 stand something of his temptation." 
 
 " And thou wilt not demand that he be punished, 
 Monsieur?" entreated Suzette. 
 
 " Not by men, but I think that he is already being 
 punished by a higher power." His thoughts re- 
 turned, as they had so often, to Barbette's queer 
 prophecies " his soul will sweat with the tor- 
 tures of the damned, and old Barbette will laugh."
 
 SUZETTE'S CONFESSION 297 
 
 " Come, do not cry any more, little sister. We 
 have all of us sinned, but God is kind to his children, 
 and it is for us to atone by overcoming evil with 
 good, hate with love. This is my faith, and, thanks 
 to Him, I have come back to it. I forgive Lieu- 
 tenant Villier, even as thou hast, but, when I am well 
 enough to go to Paris, I must see him, for I know 
 that he needs my help. And poor Jean, how he 
 must have suffered, loving thee, Joan, and facing 
 death, for I know that such an assault by a soldier 
 brings capital punishment." 
 
 " He also sinned, Daniel." 
 
 " Through a love that was higher than mine. But 
 thou must hasten to the Commandant, and tell him 
 that I want to speak to him at once. I shall tell 
 him that I recognized my assailant, and that it was 
 not Jean." 
 
 " But if he should insist that thou tellest who it 
 was, or at least describe him, Daniel ? " There was 
 new terror in Joan's voice. 
 
 " I should refuse." 
 
 ******** 
 
 The interview, which followed a little later, was 
 brief, for Dr. du Bois early recognized the signs 
 of returning feverishness, caused by excitement, and 
 would not permit his superior long to press his in-
 
 298 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 terrogations, after Daniel had spoken the words 
 which meant freedom to Jean Harent. 
 
 " You will swear that what you say is true, Mon- 
 sieur?" the commanding officer demanded, bluntly, 
 and with no attempt to disguise his astonishment 
 and doubt. 
 
 " Those of my faith follow the Biblical injunction 
 and do not swear, my commandant. But I affirm 
 it, and with a Friend, an affirmation has all the 
 sanctity of an oath." 
 
 " And you say that you saw the face of your 
 assailant ? " 
 
 " Yes, my commandant." 
 
 "Who was he, then? Can you describe him?" 
 
 " I repeat that it was not Jean Harent. More I 
 cannot tell you, Monsieur." 
 
 " But the pistol ! You understand that it was 
 found, and admitted by the prisoner to have been 
 that of Lieutenant Villier, who had declared that it 
 was lost? " 
 
 " All that I can say is that somebody must have 
 found it, but not Jean Harent." 
 
 It was at this point that the physician interfered, 
 for Daniel had lifted his voice excitedly, and two 
 deep red spots were beginning to burn in his cheeks. 
 And the Commandant departed, shaking his head 
 and clearly unsatisfied.
 
 SUZETTE'S CONFESSION 299 
 
 But when the purple shadows slowly blotted out 
 the glowing sunset, whose colors had flooded Mira- 
 belle with a glorious light that evening, Jean Harent 
 was free. And after he had stood for a moment by 
 Daniel's bedside, and clasped his hand in a silence 
 that was more eloquent than words, he went out 
 into the night where one star was already shining, 
 clear and bright in the western sky. 
 
 Another went forth with him, and as the once 
 more kindly shadows enveloped them, the Maid of 
 Mirabelle was held close to his heart
 
 THE END AND THE BEGINNING 
 
 " AND so the story ends," I think, as Joan's 
 young voice, lifted in happy song, comes again from 
 below my window, and I turn away with one last 
 lingering glance at the peaceful scene before me. 
 
 Perhaps it were better to say that one big chapter 
 in the book of her life is closed to-day, and another 
 begins; for although romancers regard marriage 
 as the end-all of their stories, realists insist that it 
 but concludes the prologue to the greater drama. 
 
 And Daniel? Ah well, in real life all of us, from 
 time to time, hear brief strains of unfinished songs, 
 see fragments of comedy or tragedy played in some 
 small corner of the world-wide stage, and then the 
 actors pass from our ken, and we never know what 
 came of it at last. 
 
 Indeed, I did not even witness the events which 
 my mind has just reviewed, for I came to Mirabelle 
 during the American's convalescence, but as we 
 two strangers in a strange land became close 
 friends, I heard enough of the story from Daniel 
 himself, and later from Joan and Jean, so that my 
 
 300
 
 END AND BEGINNING 301 
 
 imagination could, without stretch, supply the miss- 
 ing parts and rebuild the drama. 
 
 This much, however, I do know. His wonderful 
 constitution enabled him to recover from his wounds 
 with astonishing rapidity, and before the end of 
 April he was able to travel, and left for home, hon- 
 orably discharged, to complete his convalescence. 
 
 I was not present when he bade Joan and Jean 
 farewell, but I saw the maid a moment afterwards, 
 and her wonderful eyes were luminous with tears. 
 And how Suzette and the children from over the 
 way, wept and clung to him at parting! And how 
 the simple villagers, and many of the soldiers as 
 well, flocked to the little cottage to shake his hand ! 
 Only one was missing. The very day before, poor 
 old Barbette had been found in her rude bed, in the 
 peaceful sleep from which there is no earthly awak- 
 ening. She had finally passed " just around the 
 corner where there is rest." 
 
 I was able to accompany him as far as Paris, 
 and at his request went with him in a madly 
 driven taxicab to the address which Lieutenant 
 Villier had given him during their last dejeuner 
 together. We were shown into the reception room 
 of his bachelor apartment, and his valet knocked on 
 the door to an inner chamber. The door opened, 
 and I saw a tall, dark young man, dressed in civilian
 
 302 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 clothes, step out, and then check himself with a 
 violent start. His pale, handsome face blanched, 
 and if ever human eyes spoke of remorseful suf- 
 fering, or human countenance bore the lines of 
 mental anguish, his did. I doubt if he regarded me 
 at all, for his whole gaze was bent on Daniel, with 
 terror and relief struggling in it for the ascendancy. 
 
 The Frenchman stepped back, haltingly. The 
 American followed. The door of the chamber 
 closed behind them both. 
 
 What occurred within the closed room only they, 
 and God, know. But I could guess, for when they 
 re-appeared, after a quarter of an hour, perhaps, an 
 amazing change had taken place in both. It was 
 Daniel whose look was one of deep weariness, as 
 though the interview had taken all of his meager 
 strength, but the other's face was almost transfig- 
 ured. His brief farewell was significant. 
 
 " I live again, my friend." 
 
 And so Daniel departed for home, and whatever 
 Fate held in store for him there; while I returned 
 to Mirabelle, to take his room in the house of the 
 good Monsieur le Jeune. But, although I count all 
 of the household sincerely my friends, and the be- 
 witching Suzette more child than woman again 
 has become my little adopted sister, I know that
 
 END AND BEGINNING 303 
 
 I can never quite fill the place in their hearts which 
 
 was held by Daniel Steele, Friend. 
 
 ******** 
 
 My musing review of the days that are gone is 
 brought to an end by the voice of the Maid of 
 Mirabelle, as she calls from beneath my window, 
 " Hasten, my Pierre, or thou wilt not be ready to 
 go to the church, and see thy brother Jean and thy 
 Joan married. And, Pierre, tell Marie to wash thy 
 face well, especially behind the ears." 
 
 " Oh, Joan! And I thought that it was going to 
 be so nice, living with thee ! " The note of protest 
 in the treble voice bespeaks the shattering of an- 
 other childish dream, and the girl's merry laughter 
 joins with my own, as I step back to my post at the 
 window, and look down at the little soldier of 
 France, who is dragging his sabots with rebellious 
 slowness towards home, upon his glowing face a 
 shadow which seems like the visible reflection of the 
 doleful thought, " Even my idolized one, rfty Joan, 
 is not perfect." 
 
 She glances up, and cries, " And thou, too, must 
 hasten, Monsieur. What would thy friend, Daniel, 
 say, if thou wert late at my wedding, for did he not 
 charge thee to represent him there?" 
 
 " Yes, and behold, I am quite dressed although
 
 304 THE MAID OF MIRABELLE 
 
 my many thoughts have made me slow this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 " I, too, have been thinking of many things," she 
 answers, her laugh dying away as a faint sigh. 
 " And I have prayed the good God that Monsieur 
 Steele is as happy as I am, to-day." 
 
 " We should not doubt it, Mademoiselle." 
 
 " No, and on such a morning all shadows, big and 
 little, flee away. See, even Pierre is smiling again. 
 Hasten, then, my little one," she calls to the boy, 
 and as her head disappears from my sight, another 
 lark starts up from behind the ruined cottage op- 
 posite, and wings heavenward, throbbing with joy- 
 ful song. 
 
 For it is May, and Morning in Mirabelle. 
 
 THE END.
 
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 City of Masks, The. By George Barr McCutcheon. 
 
 Cleek of Scotland Yard. By T. W. Hanshew.
 
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 Cleek, The Man of Forty Faces. By Thomas W. Hanshew. 
 
 deck's Government Cases. By Thomas W. Hanshew. 
 
 Clipped Wings. By Rupert Hughes. 
 
 Clutch of Circumstance, The. By Marjorie Benton Cooke. 
 
 Coast of Adventure, The. By Harold Bindloss. 
 
 Come-Back, The. By Carolyn Wells. 
 
 Coming of Cassidy, The. By Clarence E. Mulford. 
 
 Coming of the Law, The. By Charles A. Seltzer. 
 
 Comrades of Peril. By Randall Parrish. 
 
 Conquest of Canaan, The. By Booth Tarkington. 
 
 Conspirators, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 
 
 Contraband. By Randall Parrish. 
 
 Cottage of Delight, The. By Will N. Harben. 
 
 Court of Inquiry, A. By Grace S. Richmond. 
 
 Cricket, The. By Marjorie Benton Cooke. 
 
 Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure. By 
 
 Rex Beach. 
 
 Crimson Tide, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 
 Cross Currents. By Author of "Pollyanna." 
 Cross Pull, The. By Hal. G. Evarts. 
 Cry in the Wilderness, A. By Mary E. Waller. 
 Cry of Youth, A. By Cynthia Lombardi. 
 Cup of Fury, The. By Rupert Hughes. 
 Curious Quest, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 
 Danger and Other Stories. By A. Conan Doyle. 
 Dark Hollow, The. By Anna Katharine Green. 
 Dark Star, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 
 Daughter Pays, The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 
 Day of Days, The. By Louis Joseph Vance. 
 Depot Master, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 Destroying Angel, The. By Louis Joseph Vance. 
 Devil's Own, The. By Randall Parrish. 
 Devil's Paw, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 Disturbing Charm, The, By Berta Ruck. 
 Door of Dread, The. By Arthur Stringer. 
 Dope. By Sax Rohmer. 
 
 Double Traitor, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 Duds. By Henry C. Rowland.
 
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 Empty Pockets, By Rupert Hughes. 
 Erskine Dale Pioneer. By John Fox, Jr. 
 Everyman's Land. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson. 
 Extricating Obadiah. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 Eyes of the Blind, The. By Arthur Somers Roche. 
 Eyes of the World, Tha. By Harold Bell Wright. 
 
 Fairfax and His Pride. By Marie Van Vorat. 
 
 Felix O'Day. By F. Hopkinson Smith. 
 
 54-40 or Fight. By Emerson Hough. 
 
 Fighting Chance, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 
 
 Fighting Fool, The. By Dane Coolidge. 
 
 Fighting Shepherdess, The. By Caroline Lockbmrt. 
 
 Financier, The, By Theodore Dreiser. 
 
 Find the Woman* By Arthur Somers Roche. 
 
 First Sir Percy, The. By The Baroness Orczy, 
 
 Flame, The. By Olive Wadsley. 
 
 For Better, for Worse. By W. B. Maxwell. 
 
 Forbidden Trail, The. By Honore Willsie. 
 
 Forfeit, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. 
 
 Fortieth Door, The. By Mary Hastings Bradley. 
 
 Four Million, The. By O. Henry. 
 
 From Now On. By Frank I*. Packard. 
 
 Fur Bringers, The. By Hulbert Footner. 
 
 Further Adventures of Jimmie Dale. By Frank L. Packard. 
 
 Gef Your Man. By Ethel and James Dorrance. 
 
 Girl in the Mirror, The. By Elizabeth Jordan. 
 
 Girl of O. K. Valley, The. By Robert Watson. 
 
 Girl of the Blue Ridge, A. By Payne Erskine. 
 
 Girl from Keller's", The. By Harold Bindloss. 
 
 Girl Philippa, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 
 
 Girls at His Billet, The. By Berta Ruck. 
 
 Glory Rides the Range. By Ethel and James Borrance. 
 
 Gloved Hand, The. By Burton E. Stevenson. 
 
 God's Country and the Woman. By James Oliver Curwood. 
 
 God's Good Man. By Marie Corelli. 
 
 Going Some. By Rex Beach. 
 
 Gold Girl, The. By James B. Hen'dryx. 
 
 Golden Scorpion, .The. By Sax Rohmer,
 
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 'Golden Slipper, The. By Anna Katharine Green. 
 Golden Woman, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. 
 Good References. By E. J. Rath. 
 Gorgeous Girl, The. By Nalbro Bartley. 
 Gray Angels, The. By Nalbro Bartley. 
 Great Impersonation, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 Greater Love Hath No Man. By Frank L. Packard. 
 Green Eyes of Bast, The. By Sax Rohmer. 
 Greyfriars Bobby. By Eleanor Atkinson. 
 Gun Brand, The. By James B. Hendryx. 
 
 Hand of Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer. 
 Happy House. By Baroness Von Hutten. 
 Harbor Road, The. By Sara Ware Bassett. 
 Havoc. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 Heart of the Desert, The. By Honore Willsie. 
 Heart of the Hills, The. By John Fox, Jr. 
 Heart of the Sunset By Rex Beach. 
 Heart of Thunder Mountain, The. By Edfrid A. Bingham. 
 Heart of Unaga, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. 
 Hidden Children, The. By Robert W. Chambers. 
 Hidden Trails. By William Patterson White. 
 Highflyers, The. By Clarence B. Kelland. 
 Hillman, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim, 
 Hills of Refuge, The. By Will N. Harben. 
 His Last Bow. By A. Conan Doyle. 
 His Official Fiancee. By Berta Ruck. 
 'Honor of the Big Snows. By James Oliver Curwood. 
 Hopalong Cassidy. By Clarence E. Mulford. 
 Hound from the North, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. 
 House of the Whispering Pines, The. By Anna Katharine 
 
 Green. 
 
 Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker. By S. Weir Mitchell, M.D. 
 Humoresque. By Fannie Hurst. 
 
 I Conquered. By Harold Titus. 
 Illustrious Prince, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 In Another Girl's Shoes. By Berta Ruck. 
 Indifference of Juliet, The. By Grace S. Richmond. 
 Inez. (I1L Ed.) By Augusta J. Evans.
 
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 Infelice. By Augusta Evans Wilson. 
 
 Initials Only. By Anna Katharine Green. 
 
 Inner Law, The. By Will N. Harben. 
 
 Innocent. By Marie Corelli. 
 
 In Red and Gold. By Samuel Merwin. 
 
 Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer, 
 
 In the Brooding Wild. By Ridgwell Cullum, 
 
 Intriguers, The. By William Le Queux. 
 
 Iron Furrow, The. By George C. Shedd. 
 
 Iron Trail, The. By Rex Beach. 
 
 Iron Woman, The. By Margaret Defland. 
 
 Ishmael, (111.) By Mrs. Southworth. 
 
 Island of Surprise. By Cyrus Townsend Brady. 
 
 I Spy. By Natalie Sumner Linclon. 
 
 It Pays to Smile. By Nina Wilcox Putnam. 
 
 I've Married Marjorie. By Margaret Widdemer. 
 
 can of the Lezy A. By B. M. Bower. 
 eanne of the Marshes. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 ennie Gerhardt. By Theodore Dreiser, 
 ohnny Nelson. By Clarence E. Mulford. 
 Judgment House, The. By Gilbert Parker. 
 
 Keeper of the Door, The. By Ethel M. DelL 
 
 Keith of the Border. By Randall Parrish. 
 
 Kent Knowles: Quahaug. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Kingdom of the Blind, The. By E. Phillips Oppenneira. 
 
 King Spruce. By Holman Day. 
 
 Knave of Diamonds, The. By Ethel M. Dell. 
 
 La Chance Mine Mystery, The. By S. Carleton. 
 Lady Doc, The. By Caroline tockhart. 
 Land-Girl's Love Story, A. By Berta Ruck. 
 Land of Strong Men, The. By A, M. Chisholm* 
 Las! Straw, The. By Harold Titus. 
 Last Trail, The. By Zane Grey. 
 Laughing Bin Hyde. By Rex Beach. 
 Laughing Girl, The. By Robert W. Chambers". 
 Law Breakers, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. 
 Law of the Gun, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
 
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 League of the Scarlet Pimpernel By Baroness Orczy. 
 , Lifted Veil, The. By Basil King. 
 Lighted Way, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 Lin McLean. By Owen Wister. 
 Little Moment of Happiness, The. By Clarence Budington 
 
 Kelland. 
 
 Lion's Mouse, The. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson. 
 Lonesome Land. By B. M. Bower. 
 Lone Wolf, The. By Louis Joseph yance. 
 Lonely Stronghold, The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 
 Long Live the King. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. 
 Lost Ambassador. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 Lost Prince, The. By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 
 Lydia of the Pines. By Honore Willsie. 
 Lynch Lawyers. By William Patterson White. 
 
 Macaria. (111. Ed.) By Augusta J. Evans. 
 
 Maid of the Forest, The. By Randall Parrish. 
 
 Maid of Mirabelle, The. By Eliot H. Robinson. 
 
 Maid of the Whispering Hills, The. By Vingie E. Roe. 
 
 Major, The. By Ralph Connor. 
 
 Maker of History, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 
 Malefactor, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 
 Man from Bar 20, The. By Clarence E. Mulford. 
 
 Man from Bitter Roots, The. By Caroline Lockhart. 
 
 Man from Tall Timber, The. By Thomas K. Holmes. 
 
 Man in the Jury Box, The. By Robert Orr Chipperfield. 
 
 Man-Killers, The. By Dane Coolidge. 
 
 Man Proposes. By Eliot H. Robinson, author of "Smiles." 
 
 Man Trail, The. By Henry Oyen. 
 
 Man Who Couldn't Sleep, The. By Arthur Stringer. 
 
 Marqueray's Duel. By Anthony Pryde. 
 
 Mary 'Gusta. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Mary Wollaston. By Henry Kitchell Webster. 
 
 Mason of Bar X Ranch, By E. Bennett. 
 
 Master Christian, The. By Marie Corelli. 
 
 Master Mummer, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 
 Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle. 
 
 Men Who Wrought, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. 
 
 Midnight of the Ranges. By George Gilbert.
 
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 Mischief Maker, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 
 Missioner, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 
 Miss Million's Maid. By Berta Ruck. 
 
 Money Master, The. By Gilbert Parker. 
 
 Money Moon, The. By Jeffery Farnol. 
 
 Moonlit Way, The. By Robert W. Chambers, 
 
 More Tish. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. 
 
 Mountain Girl, The. By Payne Erskine. 
 
 Mr. Bingle. By George Barr McCutcheon. 
 
 Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. 
 
 Mr. Pratt. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Mr. Pratt's Patients. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Mr. Wu. By Louise Jordan Miln. 
 
 Mrs. Balfame. By Gertrude Atherton. 
 
 Mrs. Red Pepper. By Grace S. Richmond. 
 
 My Lady of the North. By Randall Parrish. 
 
 My Lady of the South. By Randall Parrish. 
 
 Mystery of the Hasty Arrow, The. By Anna K. Green. 
 
 Mystery of the Silver Dagger, The. By Randall Parrish, 
 
 Mystery of the 13th Floor, The. By Lee Thayer. 
 
 Nameless Man, The. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln. 
 
 Ne'er-Do-Well, The. By Rex Beach. 
 
 Net, The. By Rex Beach. 
 
 New Clarion. By Will N. Harben. 
 
 Night Horseman, The. By Max Brand. 
 
 Night Operator, The. By Frank L. Packard. 
 
 Night Riders, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. 
 
 North of the Law. By Samuel Alexander White. 
 
 One Way Trail, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. 
 
 Outlaw, The. By Jackson Gregory. 
 
 Owner of the Lazy D. By William Patterson White. 
 
 Painted Meadows. By Sophie Kerr. 
 
 Palmetto. By Stella G. S. Perry. 
 
 Paradise Bend. By William Patterson White. 
 
 Pardner*. By Rex Beach. 
 
 Parrot & Co. By Harold MacGratfi. 
 
 Partners of the Night By Leroy Scott