II IS LOVE STOR MARIE VAN VORST f/ HIS LOVE STORY HIS LOVE STORY MARIE VAN VORST Author of First Lore, The Girl From HlaJTown The Broken Bell, etc. ILLUSTRATIONS BY HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT 1913 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY ft Monsieur le Capitaine Dadvisard de la Cavalerie Fran^aise Parii, 1912 2138548 CONTENTS Chapter I A SERIOUS EVENT . II JULIA REDMOND . . III A SECOND INVITATIO* . IV THE DOG PAYS V THE GOLDEN AUTUMN . VI ORDERED AWAY . VII A SOLDIER'S Doc VIII HOMESICK IX THE FORTWNEI OP WAR X TOGETHER AGAIN XI A SACRED TRUST . XII THE NEWS FROM AFRICA XIII ONE Doc's DAY . XIV AN AMERICAN GIRL XV JULIA'S ROMANCE . XVI THE DUKE IN DOUBT . XVII Our OF THE DESIRT XVIII Two LOVELY WOMEH . XIX THE MAN IN RAGS XX JULIA DECIDES XXI MASTER AND FRIEND XXII INTO THE DESERT . XXIII Two LOVE STORIES XXIV THE MEETING XXV As HANDSOME DOES XXVI CONGRATULATIONS XXVII VALOR IN RETROSPECT . XXVIII HAPPINESS Put 1 8 12 20 24 29 40 50 56 60 64 74 87 102 111 122 135 153 163 16S 184 206 216 229 241 260 264 271 HIS LOVE STORY HIS LOVE STORY CHAPTER I A SERIOUS EVENT E COMTE DE SABRON, in the undress uniform of captain in the Cavalry, sat smoking and think- ing. . . . What is the use of being thirty years old with the brevet of captain and much distinction of family if you are a poor man in short, what is the good of anything if you are alone in the world and no one cares what becomes of you? He rang his bell, and when his ordon- nance appeared, said sharply: "Que diable is the noise in the stable, Brunet? Don't you know that when I - (RaP* 1 ogQ HIS LOVE STORY ra feur got up on his seat and she asked suavely : "Won't you let us take you home, Mon- sieur Sabron?" He thanked them. He was walking and had not finished his exercise. "At all events," she pursued, "now that your excuse is no longer a good one, you will come this week to dinner, will you not?" He would, of course, and watched the yellow motor drive away in the autumn sunlight, wishing rather less for the order from the minister of war to change his quarters than he had before. 28 CHAPTER VI ORDERED AWAY HE HAD received his letter from the minister of war. Like many things we wish for, set our hopes upon, when they come we find that we do not want them at any price. The order was unwelcome. Sabron was to go to Algiers. Winter is never very ugly around Tarascon. Like a lovely bunch pf fruit in the brightest corner of a happy vine- yard, the Midi is sheltered from the rude experiences that the seasons know farther north. Nevertheless, rains and winds, sea-born and vigorous, had swept in and upon the little town. The mistral came whistling and Sabron, from his window, looked down on his little garden from 29 HIS LOVE STORY which summer had entirely flown. Pit- choune, by his side, looked down as well, but his expression, different from his mas- ter's, was ecstatic, for he saw, sliding along the brick wall, a cat with which he was on the most excited terms. His body tense, his ears forward, he gave a sharp series of barks and little soft growls, while his master tapped the window-pane to the tune of Miss Redmond's song. Although Sabron had heard it several times, he did not know the words or that they were of a semi-religious, extremely sentimental character which would have been difficult to translate into French. He did not know that they ran something like this: "God keep you safe, my love, All through the night; Rest close in His encircling arms Until the light." And there was more of it. He only knew that there was a pathos in the tune which spoke to his warm heart; which caressed and captivated him and which made him long deeply for a happiness he thought it most unlikely he would ever know. There had been many pictures added to his collection : Miss Redmond at dinner, Miss Julia Redmond he knew her first name now before the piano; Miss Red- mond in a smart coat, walking with him down the alley, while Pitchoune chased flying leaves and apparitions of rabbits hither and thither. The Count de Sabron had always dreaded just what happened to him. He had fallen in love with a woman beyond his reach, for he had no fortune what- soever, nothing but his captain's pay and his hard soldier's life, a wanderer's life 3* HIS LOVE STORY and one which he hesitated to ask a woman to share. In spite of the fact that Madame d'Esclignac was agreeable to him, she was not cordial, and he under- stood that she did not consider him a parti for her niece. Other guests, as well as he, had shared her hospitality. He had been jealous of them, though he could not help seeing Miss Redmond's preference for himself. Not that he wanted to help it. He recalled that she had really sung to him, decidedly walked by his side when there had been more than the quartette, and he felt, in short, her sympathy. "Pitchoune," he said to his companion, "we are better off in Algiers, mon vieux. The desert is the place for us. We shall get rid of fancies there and do some hard fighting one way or another." Pitchoune, whose eyes had followed the cat out of sight, sprang upon his mas- ter and seemed quite ready for the new departure. "I shall at least have you," Sabron said. "It will be your first campaign. We shall have some famous runs and I shall intro- duce you to a camel and make you ac- quainted with several donkeys, not to speak of the historic Arab steeds. You will see, my friend, that there are other animals besides yourself in creation." "A telegram for mon capitaine." Bru- net came in with the blue envelope which Sabron tore open. "You will take with you neither horses nor dogs" It wa an order from the minister of war, just such a one as was sent to some half-dozen other young officers, all of whom, no doubt, felt more or less dis- comfited. Sabron twisted the telegram, put it in HIS LOVE STORY the fireplace and lighted his cigarette with it, watching Pitchoune who, finding him- self a comfortable corner in the armchair, had settled down for a nap. "So," nodded the young man aloud, "I shall not even have Pitchoune." He smoked, musing. In the rigid dis- cipline of his soldier's life he was used to obedience. His softened eyes, however, and his nervous fingers as they pulled at his mustache, showed that the command had touched him. "What shall I do with you, old fellow ?" Although Sabron's voice was low, the dog, whose head was down upon his paws, turned his bright brown eyes on his mas- ter with so much confidence and affection that it completed the work. Sabron walked across the floor, smoking, the spurs on his heels clanking, the light shin- ing on his brilliant boots and on his uni- ORDERED AWAY form. He was a splendid-looking man with race and breeding, and he combined with his masculine force the gentleness of a woman. "They want me to be lonely," he thought. "All that the chiefs consider is the soldier not the man even the com- panionship of my dog is denied me. What do they think I am going to do out there in the long eastern evenings?" He re- flected. "What does the world expect an uncompanioned wanderer to do ?" There are many things and the less thought about them, the better. "A letter for Monsieur le Capitaine." Brunet returned with a note which he pre- sented stiffly, and Pitchoune, who chose in his little brain to imagine Brunet an in- truder, sprang from the chair like light- ning, rushed at the servant, seized the leg of his pantaloons and began to worry 35 HIS LOVE STORY them, growling, Brunet regarding him with adoration. Sabron had not thought aloud the last words of the telegram, which he had used to light his cigarette. "... Nor will it be necessary to take a personal servant. The indigenes are capable ordonnances." As he took the letter from Brunet's salver he said curtly : "I am ordered to Algiers and I shall not take horses nor Pitchoune." The dog, at the mention of his name, set Brunet's leg free and stood quiet, his head lifted. "Nor you either, mon brave Brunet." Sabron put his hand on his servant's shoulder, the first familiarity he had ever shown a man who served him with devo- tion, and who would have given his life to save his master's. "Those," said the 36 ORDERED AWAY pfficer curtly, "are the orders from head- quarters, and the least said about them the better." The ruddy cheek of the servant turned pale. He mechanically touched his fore- head. "Bien, mon Capitaine" he murmured, with a little catch in his voice. He stood at attention, then wheeled and without being dismissed, stalked out of the room. Pitchoune did not follow. He remained immovable like a little dog cut from bronze; he understood who shall say how much of the conversation? Sabron threw away his cigarette, then read his letter by the mantelpiece, leaning his arm upon it. He read slowly. He had broken the seal slowly. It was the first letter he had ever seen in this handwriting. It was written in French and ran thus : HIS LOVE STORY "Monsieur : My aunt wishes me to ask you if you will come to us for a little mu- sicale to-morrow afternoon. We hope you will be free, and / hope," she added, "that you will bring Pitchoune. Not that I think he will care for the music, but aft- erward perhaps he will run with us as we walk to the gate. My aunt wishes me to say that she has learned from the colonel that you have been ordered to Algiers. In this way she says that we shall have an opportunity of wishing you bon voyage, and I say I hope Pitchoune will be a com- fort to you." The letter ended in the usual formal French fashion. Sabron, turning the let- ter and rereading it, found that it com- pleted the work that had been going on in his lonely heart. He stood long, musing. Pitchoune laid himself down on the rug, his bright little head between his paws, his affectionate eyes on his master. The firelight shone on them both, the mus- ing young officer and the almost human- 38 ORDERED AWAY hearted little beast. So Brunet found them when he came in with the lamp shortly, and as he set it down on the table and its light shone on him, Sabron, glancing at the ordonnance, saw that his eyes were red, and liked him none the less for it CHAPTER VII A SOLDIER'S DOG T IS just as I thought," he told Pit- choune. "I took you into my life, you little rascal, against my will, and now, although it's not your fault, you are mak- ing me regret it. I shall end, Pitchoune, by being a cynic and misogynist, and learn to make idols of my career and my troops alone. After all, they may be tiresome, but they don't hurt as you do, and some other things as well." Pitchoune*, being invited to the musicale at the Chateau d'Esclignac, went along with his master, running behind the cap- tain's horse. It was a heavenly January day, soft and mild, full of sunlight and delicious odors, and over the towers of 40 A SOLDIER'S DOG SgSfl * JL. *f^ Vt/ * ^ King Rene's castle the sky banners were made of celestial blue. The officer found the house full of peo- ple. He thought it hard that he might not have had one more intimate picture to add to his collection. When he entered the room a young man was playing a vio- loncello. There was a group at the piano, and among the people the only ones he clearly saw were the hostess, Madame d'Esclignac in a gorgeous velvet frock, then Miss Redmond, who stood by the window, listening to the music. She saw him come in and smiled to him, and from that moment his eyes hardly left her. What the music was that afternoon the Count de Sabron could not have told very intelligently. Much of it was sweet, all of it was touching, but when Miss Redmond stood to sing and chose the little song of which he had made a lullaby, and sang it _- ^/> HIS LOVE STORY divinely, Sabron, his hands clasped be- hind his back and his head a little bent, still looking at her, thought that his heart would break. It was horrible to go away and not tell her. It was cowardly to feel so much and not be able to speak of it. And he felt that he might be equal to some wild deed, such as crossing the room violently, putting his hand over her slen- der one and saying : "I am a soldier; I have nothing but a soldier's life. I am going to Africa to- morrow. Come with me; I want you. Come!" All of which, slightly impossible and quite out of the question, nevertheless charmed and soothed him. The words of her English song, almost barbaric to him because incomprehensible, fell on his ears. Its melody was already part of him. "Monsieur de Sabron," said Madame &%w LfogoV/ C&"v3jR! A SOLDIER'S DOG d'Esclignac, "you are going away to- morrow ?" "Yes, Madame." "I expect you will be engaged in some awful native skirmishes. Perhaps you will even be able to send back a tiger skin." "There are no tigers in that part of Africa, Madame." The young soldier's dark eyes rested almost hostilely on the gorgeous marquise in her red gown. He felt that she was glad to have him go. He wanted to say : "I shall come back, however ; I shall come back and when I return" . . . but he knew that such a boast, or even such a hope was fruitless. His colonel had told him only the day before that Miss Redmond was one of the richest American heiresses, and there was a question of a duke or a prince and 43 HIS LOVE STORY heaven only knew what in the way pf titles. As the marquise moved away her progress was something like the rolling of an elegant velvet chair, and while his feelings were still disturbed Miss Red- mond crossed the room to him. Before Sabron quite knew how they had been able to escape the others or leave the room, he was standing with her in the winter garden where the sunlight came in through trellises and the perfume of the warmed plants was heavy and sweet. Be- low them flowed the Rhone, golden in the winter's light. The blue river swept its waves around old Tarascon and the bat- tlements of King Rene's towers. "You are going to Algiers to-morrow, Monsieur de Sabron?" Miss Redmond smiled, and how was Sabron to realize that she could not very well have wept there and then, had she wished to do so? A SOLDIER'S DOG "Yes," he said. "I adore my regiment. I love my work. I have always wanted to see colonial service." "Have you? It is delightful to find one's ambitions and desires satisfied," said Miss Redmond. "I have always longed to see the desert. It must be beau- tiful. Of course you are going to take Pitchoune ?" "Ah!" exclaimed Sabron, "that is just what I am not going to do." "What !" she cried. "You are never go- ing to leave that darling dog behind you?" "I must, unfortunately. My superior officers do not allow me to take horses or dogs, or even my servant." "Heavens!" she exclaimed. "What brutes they are ! Why, Pitchoune will die of a broken heart." Then she said : "You are leaving him with your man servant?" Sabron shook his head. g HIS LOVE STORY "Brunet would not be able to keep fiim." "Ah!" she breathed. "He is looking for a home? Is he? If so, would you . . . might / take care of Pitchoune?" The Frenchman impulsively put out his hand, and she laid her own in it. "You are too good," he murmured. "Thank you. Pitchoune will thank you." He kissed her hand. That was all. From within the salon came the noise of voices, and the bow of the viojoncellist was beginning a new concerto. They stood looking at each other. No condi- tion could have prevented it although the Marquise d'Esclignac was rolling toward them across the polished floor of the mu- sic-room. As though Sabron realized that he might never see this lovely young woman again, probably never would see A SOLDIER'S DOG her, and wanted before he left to have something made clear, he asked quickly : "Could you, Mademoiselle, in a word or two tell me the meaning of the English song you sang?" She flushed and laughed slightly. "Well, it is not very easy to put it in prose," she hesitated. "Things sound so differently in music and poetry; but it means," she said in French, bravely, "why, it is a sort of prayer that some one you love very much should be kept safe night and day. That's about all. There is a little sadness in it, as though," and her cheeks glowed, "as if there was a sort of separation. It means ..." "Ah!" breathed the officer deeply, "I understand. Thank you." And just then Madame d'Esclignac rolled up between them and with an un- >gg< HIS LOVE STORY mistakable satisfaction presented to her niece the gentleman she had secured. "My dear Julia, my godson, the Due de Tremont." And Sabron bowed to both the ladies, to the duke, and went away. This was the picture he might add to his collection: the older woman in her yivid dress, Julia in her simpler gown, and the titled Frenchman bowing over her hand. When he went out to the front terrace Brunet was there with his horse, and Pitchoune was there as well, stiffly wait- ing at attention. "Brunet," said the officer to his man, "will you take Pitchoune around to the servants' quarters and give him to Miss Redmond's maid? I am going to leave him here." "Good, mon Capitaine" said the ordon- nance, and whistled to the dog. 48 A SOLDIER'S DOG Pitchoune sprang toward his master with a short sharp bark. What he under- stood would be hard to say, but all that he wanted to do was to remain with Sa- bron. Sabron bent down and stroked him. "Go, my friend, with Brunet. Go, mon vieux, go," he commanded sternly, and the little dog, trained to obedience as a soldier's dog should be, trotted reluctantly at the heels of the ordonnance, and the soldier threw his leg over the saddle and rode away. He rode regardless of any- thing but the fact that he was going. CHAPTER VIII HOMESICK PITCHOUNE was a soldier's dog, born in a stable, of a mother who had been dear to the canteen. Michette had been une vrai vivandiere, a real daughter of the regiment. Pitchoune was a worthy son. He adored the drums and trumpets. He adored the fife. He adored the drills which he was accustomed to watch from a respectable distance. He liked Brunet, and the word had not yet been discov- ered which would express how he felt to- ward Monsieur le Capitaine, his master. His muscular little form expressed it in every fiber. His brown eyes looked it un- 50. HOMESICK W 8-^ til their pathos might have melted a heart of iron. There was nothing picturesque to Pitchoune in the Chateau d'Esclignac or in the charming room to which he was brought. The little dog took a flying tour around it, over sofas and chairs, land- ing on the window-seat, where he crouched. He was not wicked, but he was perfectly miserable, and the lovely wiles of Julia Redmond and her endear- ments left him unmoved. He refused meat and drink, was indifferent to the views from the window, to the beautiful view of King Rene's castle, to the tan- talizing cat sunning herself against the wall. He flew about like mad, leaving de- struction in his wake, tugged at the leash when they took him out for exercise. In short, Pitchoune was a homesick, lovesick little dog, and thereby endeared himself ~ f HIS LOVE STORY more than ever to his new mistress. She tied a ribbon around his neck, which he promptly chewed and scratched off. She tried to feed him with her own fair hands ; he held his head high, looked bored and grew thin in the flanks. "I thing Captain de Sabron's little dog is going to die, ma tante," she told her aunt. "Fiddlesticks, my dear Julia ! Keep him tied up until he is accustomed to the place. It won't hurt him to fast ; he will eat when he is hungry. I have a note from Robert. He has not gone to Monte Carlo." "Ah!" breathed Miss Redmond indif- ferently. She slowly went over to her piano and played a few measures of music that were a torture to Pitchoune, who found these ladylike performances in strong con- trast to drums and trumpets. He felt 52 HOMESICK himself as a soldier degraded and could not understand why he should be rele- gated to a salon and to the mild society pf two ladies who did not even know how to pull his ears or roll him over on the rug with their riding boots and spurs. He sat against the window as was his habit, looking, watching, yearning. "Fous avez tort, ma chere" said her aunt, who was working something less than a thousand flowers on her tapestry. "The chance to be a princess and a Tre- mont does not come twice in a young girl's life, and you know you have only to be reasonable, Julia." Miss Redmond's fingers wandered, magnetically drawn by her thoughts, into a song which she played softly through. Pitchoune heard and turned his beautiful head and his soft eyes to her. He knew that tune. Neither drums nor trumpets 53 HIS LOVE STORY had played it but there was no doubt about its being fit for soldiers. He had heard his master sing it, hum it, many times. It had soothed his nerves when he was a sick puppy and it went with many things of the intimate life with his master. He remembered it when he had dozed by the fire and dreamed of chasing cats and barking at Brunet and being a faithful dog all around; he heard again a beloved voice hum it to him. Pitchoune whined and softly jumped down from his seat. He put his forepaws on Miss Red- mond's lap. She stopped and caressed him, and he licked her hand. "That is the first time I have seen that dog show a spark of human gratitude, Julia, He is probably begging you to open the door and let him take a run." Indeed Pitchoune did go to the door and waited appealingly. 54 HOMESICK "I think you might trust him out. I think he is tamed," said the Marquise d'Esclignac. "He is a real little savage." Miss Redmond opened the door and Pitchoune shot out. She watched him tear like mad across the terrace, and scuttle into the woods, as she thought, after a rabbit. He was the color of the fallen leaves and she lost sight of him in the brown and golden brush. 55 CHAPTER IX THE FORTUNES OF WAR SABRON'S departure had been de- layed on account of a strike at the dockyards of Marseilles. He left Taras- con one lovely day toward the end of Jan- uary and the old town with its sweetness and its sorrow, fell behind, as he rolled away to brighter suns. A friend from Paris took him to the port in his motor and there Sabron waited some forty-eight hours before he set sail. His boat lay out on the azure water, the brown rocks of the coast behind it. There was not a ripple on the sea. There was not a breeze to stir as he took the tug which was to convey him. He was inclined to dip his ringers in the indigo ocean, sure that he would 56 FORTUNES OF WAR find them blue. He climbed up the lad- der alongside of the vessel, was welcomed by the captain, who knew him, and turned to go below, for he had been suffering from an attack of fever which now and then laid hold of him, ever since his cam- paign in Morocco. Therefore, as he went into his cabin, which he did not leave until the steamer touched Algiers, he failed to see the bag- gage tender pull up and failed to see a sailor climb to the deck with a wet be- draggled thing in his hand that looked like an old fur cap except that it wriggled and was alive. "This, mow commandant/' said the sailor to the captain, "is the pluckiest lit- tle beast I ever saw." He dropped a small terrier on the declc, who proceeded to shake himself vigorous- ly and bark with apparent delight. 57 HIS LOVE STORY "No sooner had we pushed out from the quay than this little beggar sprang from the pier and began to swim after us. He was so funny that we let him swim for a bit and then we hauled him in. It is evidently a mascot, mon commandant, evidently a sailor dog who has run away to sea." The captain looked with interest at Pit- choune, who engaged himself in making his toilet and biting after a flea or two which had not been drowned. "We sailors," said the man saluting, "would like to keep him for luck, mon commandant" "Take him down then," his superior officer ordered, "and don't let him up among the passengers." It was a rough voyage. Sabron passed his time saying good-by to France and 58 FORTUNES OE WAR trying to keep his mind away from the Chateau d'Esclignac, which persisted in haunting his uneasy slumber. In a blaze of sunlight, Algiers, the white city, shone upon them on the morning of the third day and Sabron tried to take a more cheerful view of a soldier's life and fortunes. He was a soldierly figure and a hand- some one as he walked down the gang- plank to the shore to be welcomed by fellow officers who were eager to see him, and presently was lost in the little crowd that streamed away from the docks into the white city. 59 'of CHAPTER X TOGETHER AGAIN THAT night after dinner and a cigarette, he strode into the streets to distract his mind with the sight of the oriental city and to fill his ears with the eager cries of the crowd. The lamps flick- ered. The sky overhead was as blue nearly as in daytime. He walked leisure- ly toward the native quarter, jostled, as he passed, by men in their brilliant cos- tumes and by a veiled woman or two. He stopped indifferently before a little cafe, his eyes on a Turkish bazaar where velvets and scarfs were being sold at double their worth under the light of a flaming yellow lamp. As he stood so, his back to the cafe where a number of the TOGETHER AGAIN ship's crew were drinking, he heard a short sharp sound that had a sweet fa- miliarity about it and whose individuality made him start with surprise. He could not believe his ears. He heard the bark again and then he was sprung upon by a little body that ran out from between the legs of a sailor who sat drinking his coffee and liquor. "Gracious heavens !" exclaimed Sabron, thinking that he must be the victim of a hashish dream. "Pitchoune!" The dog fawned on him and whined, crouched at his feet whining like a child. Sabron bent and fondled him. The sailor from the table called the dog imperative- ly, but Pitchoune would have died at his master's feet rather than return. If his throat could have uttered words he would have spoken, but his eyes spoke. They looked as though they were tearful. 61 HIS LOVE STORY "Pitchoune, wow vieuxl No, it can't be Pitchoune. But it w Pitchoune I" And Sabron took him up in his arms. The dog tried to lick his face. "Voyons" said the officer to the ma- rine, who came rolling over to them, "where did you get this dog?" The young man's voice was imperative and he fixed stern eyes on the sailor, who pulled his forelock and explained. "He was following me," said Sabron, not without a slight catch in his voice. The body pf Pitchoune quivered under his arm. "He is my dog. I think his manner proves it If you have grown fond of him I am sorry for you, but I think you will have to give him up." Sabron put his hand in his pocket and turned a little away to be free of the na- tive crowd that, chattering and grinning, amused and curious and eager to partici- 62 TOGETHER AGAIN pate in any distribution of coin, was gath- ering around him. He found two gold pieces which he put into the hand of the sailor. "Thank you for taking care of him. I am at the Royal Hotel." He nodded, and with Pitchoune under his arm pushed his way through the crowd and out of the bazaar. He could not interview the dog him- self, although he listened, amused, to Pitchoune's own manner of speech. He spent the latter part of the evening com- posing a letter to the minister of war, and although it was short, it must have pos- sessed certain evident and telling qualities, for before he left Algiers proper for the desert, Sabron received a telegram much to the point: "You may keep your dog. I congratu- late you on such a faithful companion." CHAPTER XI A SACRED TRUST HIS eyes had grown accustomed to the glare of the beautiful sands, but his sense of beauty was never satis- fied with looking at the desert picture and drinking in the glory and the loveliness of the melancholy waste. Standing in the door of his tent in fatigue uniform, he said to Pitchoune : "I could be perfectly happy here if I were not alone." Pitchoune barked. He had not grown accustomed to the desert. He hated it. It slipped away from under his little feet; he could not run on it with any comfort. He spent his days idly in his master's tent or royally perched on a 64 A SACRED TRUST camel, crouching close to Sabron's man servant when they went on caravan ex- plorations. "Yes," said Sabron, "if I were not alone. I don't mean you, mon vieux. You are a great deal, but you really don't count, you know." Before his eyes the sands were as pink as countless rose leaves. To Sabron they were as fragrant as flowers. The peculiar incense-like odor that hovers above the desert when the sun declines was to him the most delicious thing he had ever in- haled. All the west was as red as fire. The day had been hot and there came up the cool breeze that would give them a delicious night. Overhead, one by one, he watched the blossoming out of the great stars ; each one hung above his lone- ly tent like a bridal flower in a veil of blue. On all sides, like white petals on 65 HIS LOVE STORY the desert face, were the tents of his men and his officers, and from the encamp- ment came the hum of military life, yet the silence to him was profound. He had only to order his stallion saddled and to ride away for a little distance in order to be alone with the absolute stillness. This he often did and took his thoughts with him and came back to his tent more conscious of his solitude every night of his life. There had been much looting of cara- vans in the region by brigands, and his business was that of sentinel for the com- merce of the plains. Thieving and rapa- cious tribes were under his eye and his care. To-night, as he stood looking to- ward the west into the glow, shading his eyes with his hand, he saw coming toward them what he knew to be a caravan from Algiers. His ordonnance was a native 66 A SACRED TRUST soldier, one of the desert tribes, black as ink, and scarcely more child-like than Brunet and presumably as devoted. "Mustapha," Sabron ordered, "fetch me out a lounge chair." He spoke in French and pointed, for the man understood im- perfectly and Sabron did not yet speak Arabic. He threw himself down, lighted a fresh cigarette, dragged Pitchoune by the nape of his neck up to his lap, and the two sat watching the caravan slowly grow into individuals of camels and riders and final- ly mass itself in shadow within some four or five hundred yards of the encampment. The sentinels and the soldiers began to gather and Sabron saw a single footman making his way toward the camp. "Go," he said to Mustapha, "and see what message the fellow brings to the regiment." 67 HIS LOVE STORY Mustapha went, and after a little re- turned, followed by the man himself, a black - bearded, half - naked Bedouin, swathed in dust-colored burnoose and car- rying a bag. He bowed to Captain de Sabron and extended the leather bag. On the outside of the leather there was a ticket pasted, which read: "The Post for the Squadron of Cavalry " Sabron added mentally: " wherever it may happen to *be!" He ordered bakshish given to the man and sent him off. Then he opened the French mail. He was not more than three hundred miles from Algiers. It had taken him a long time to work down to Dirbal, however, and they had had some hard- ships. He felt a million miles away. The look of the primitive mail-bag and the 68 oO A SACRED TRUST knowledge of how far it had traveled to find the people to whom these letters were addressed made his hands reverent as he unfastened the sealed labels. He looked the letters through, returned the bag to Mustapha and sent him off to distribute the post. Then, for the light was bad, brilliant though the night might be, he went into his tent with his own mail. On his dress- ing-table was a small illumination consist- ing of a fat candle set in a glass case. The mosquitoes and flies were thick around it. Pitchoune followed him and lay down on a rush mat by the side of Sabrpn's military bed, while the soldier read his letter. "Monsieur : "I regret more than ever that I can not write your language perfectly. But even in my own I could not find any word HIS LOVE STORY to express how badly I feel over some- thing which has happened. "I took the best of care of Pitchoune. I thought I did, but I could not make him 1 happy. He mourned terribly. He re- fused to eat, and one day I was so care- less as to open the door for him and we have never seen him since. As far as I know he has not been found. Your man, Brunet, comes sometimes to see my maid, and he thinks he has been hurt and died in the woods." Sabron glanced over to the mat where Pitchoune, stretched on his side, his fore- legs wide, was breathing tranquilly in the heat. "We have heard rumors of a little dog who was seen running along the high- way, miles from Tarascon, but of course that could not have been Pitchoune." Sabron nodded. "It was, however, mon brave/' he said to the terrier. "Not but what I think his little heart was brave enough and valiant enough tc A SACRED TRUST have followed you, but no dog could go so far without a better scent" Sabron said: "It is one of the regrets of my life that you can not tell us about it. How did you get the scent ? How did you follow me ?" Pitchoune did not stir, and Sabrpn's eyes returned to the page, "I do not think you will ever forgive us. You left us a trust and we did not guard it." He put the letter down a moment, brushed some of the flies away from the candle and made the wick brighter. Mus- tapha came in, black as ebony, his woolly head bare. * He stood as stiff as a ram- rod and as black. In his child-like French he said : "Monsieur le Lieutenant asks if Mon- sieur le Capitaine will come to play a game of carte in the mess tent?" HIS LOVE STORY "No," said Sabron, without turning. "Not to-night." He went on with his let- ter: "... a sacred trust." Half aloud he murmured: "I left a very sacred trust at the Chateau d'Es- clignac, Mademoiselle ; but as no one knew anything about it there will be no question of guarding it, I dare say." " . . . So I write you this letter to tell you about darling Pitchoune. I had grown to love him though he did not like me. I miss him terribly. . . . My aunt asks me to say that she hopes you had a fine crossing and that you will send us a tiger skin ; but I am sure there are no tigers near Algiers. / say . . ." And Sabron did not know how long Miss Redmond's pen had hesitated in writing the closing lines: "... I say I hope you will be suc- cessful and that although nothing can A SACRED TRUST take the place of Pitchoune, you will find some one to make the desert less solitary. "Sincerely yours, "JULIA REDMOND." When Sabron had read the letter sev- eral times he kissed it fervently and put it in his pocket next his heart, f "That," he said to Pitchoune, making the dog an unusual confidence, "that will keep me less lonely. At the same time it makes me more so. This is a paradox, mon vieux, which you can not under- stand." CHAPTER XII THE NEWS FROM AFRICA IT TOOK the better part of three eve- nings to answer her letter, and the writing of it gave Sabron a vast amount of pleasure and some tender sorrow. It made him feel at once so near to this lovely woman and at once so far away. In truth there is a great difference be- tween a spahi on an African desert, and a young American heiress dreaming in her chintz-covered bedroom in a chateau in the Midi of France. Notwithstanding, the young American heiress felt herself as much alone in her chintz-covered bedroom and as desolate, perhaps more so, than did Sabron in his tent. Julia Redmond felt, too, that she 74 fw 5 ?) L/o^ovJ w"\Ta NEWS FROM AFRICA was surrounded by people hostile to her friend. Sabron's letter told her of Pitchoune and was written as only the hand of a charming and imaginative Frenchman can write a letter. Also, his pent-up heart and his reserve made what he did say stronger than if perhaps he could have expressed it quite frankly. Julia Redmond turned the sheets that told of Pitchoune's following his master, and colored with joy and pleasure as she read. She wiped away two tears at the end, where Sabron said: "Think of it, Mademoiselle, a little dog following his master from peace and plenty, from quiet and security, into the desert ! And think what it means to have this little friend !" Julia Redmond reflected, was greatly touched and loved Pitchoune more than HIS LOVE STORY ever. She would have changed places with him gladly. It was an honor, a dis- tinction to share a soldier's exile and to be his companion. Then Sabron wrote, in closing words which she read and re- read many, many times. "Mademoiselle, in this life many things follow us; certain of these follow us whether we will or not. Some things we are strong enough to forbid, yet we do not forbid them! My little dog fol- lowed me ; I had nothing to do with that. It was a question of fate. Something else has followed me as well. It is not a liv- ing thing, and yet it has all the qualities of vitality. It is a tune. From the mo- ment I left the chateau the first night I had the joy of seeing you, Mademoiselle, the tune you sang became a companion to me and has followed me everywhere . . . followed me to my barracks, fol- lowed me across the sea, and here in my tent it keeps me company. I find that when I wake at night the melody sings to me ; I find that when I mount my horse and ride with my men, when the desert's NEWS FROM AFRICA sands are shifted by my horse's feet, something sings in the sun and in the heat, something sings in the chase and in the pursuit, and in the nights, under the stars, the same air haunts me still. "I am glad you told me what the words mean, for I find them beautiful; the mu- sic in it would not be the same without the strength and form of the words. So it is, Mademoiselle, with life. Feelings and sentiments, passions and emotions, are like music. They are great and beautiful ; they follow us, they are part of us, but they would be nothing music would be nothing without forms by which we could make it audible appealing not to pur senses alone but to our souls ! "And yet I must close my letter send- ing you only the tune ; the words I can not send you, yet believe me, they form part of everything I do or say. "To-morrow, I understand from my men, we shall have some lively work to do. Whatever that work is you will hear of it through the papers. There is a little town near here called Dirbal, inhabited by a poor tribe whose lives have been made miserable by robbers and slave-deal- ers. It is the business of us watchers of y^ HIS LOVE STORY the plains to protect them, and I believe we shall have a lively skirmish with the marauders. There is a congregation of tribes coming down from the north. When I go out with my people to-morrow it may be into danger, for in a wandering life like this, who can tell ? I do not mean to be either morbid or sentimental. I only mean to be serious, Mademoiselle, and I find that I am becoming so serious that it will be best to close. "Adieu, Mademoiselle. When you look from your window on the Rhone Valley and see the peaceful fields of Tarascon, when you look on your peaceful gardens, perhaps your mind will travel farther and you will think of Africa. Do so if you can, and perhaps to-night you will say the words only of the song before you go to sleep. "I am, Mademoiselle, "Faithfully yours, "CHARLES DE SABRON." There was only one place for a letter such as that to rest, and it rested on that gentle pillow for many days. It proved a heavy weight against Julia Redmond's 78 NEWS FROM AFRICA heart. She could, indeed, speak the words of the song, and did, and they rose as a nightly prayer for a soldier on the plains; but she could not keep her mind and thoughts at rest. She was troubled and unhappy; she grew pale and thin; she pined more than Pitchoune had pined, and she, alas ! could not break her chains and run away. The Due de Tremont was a constant guest at the house, but he found the American heiress a very capricious and uncertain lady, and Madame d'Esclignac was severe with her niece. ' "My dear Julia," she said to the beau- tiful girl, looking at her through her lorgnon; "I don't understand you. Every one of your family has married a title. We have not thought that we could do better with our money than build up for- tunes already started ; than in preserving 79 HIS LOVE STORY noble races and noble names. There has never been a divorce in our family. I am a marquise, your cousin is a countess, your aunt is one of the peeresses of England, and as for you, my dear . . ." Miss Redmond was standing by the piano. She had lifted the cover and was about to sit down to play. She smiled slightly at her aunt, and seemed in the moment to be the older woman. "There are titles and titles, ma tante: the only question is what kind do you value the most?" "The highest!" said her aunt without hesitation, "and the Due de Tremont is I* undoubtedly one of the most famous partis in Europe." "He will then find no difficulty in mar- rying," said the young girl, "and I do not wish to marry a man I do not love." She sat down at the piano and Her 80 NEWS FROM AFRICA K hands touched the keys. Her aunt, who was doing some dainty tapestry, whose fingers were creating silken flowers and whose mind was busy with fancies and ambitions very like the work she created, shrugged her shoulders. "That seems to be," she said keenly, "the only tune you know, Julia." "It's a pretty song, ma tante." "I remember that you played and sang it the first night Sabron came to dinner." The girl continued to finger among the chords. "And since then never a day passes that sometime or other you do not play it through." "It has become a sort of oraison, ma tante." "Sabron," said the marquise, "is a fine young man, my child, but he has nothing but his officer's pay. Moreover, a soldier's life is a precarious pne." 81 HIS LOVE STORES Julia Redmond played the song softly through. The old butler came in with the eve- ning mail and the papers. The Marquise d'Esclignac, with her embroidery scis- sors, opened Le Temps from Paris and began to read with her usual interest. She approached the little lamp on the table near her, unfolded the paper and looked over at her niece, and after a few mo- ments, said with a slightly softened voice : "Julia!" Miss Redmond stopped play- ing. "Julia!" The girl rose from the piano-stpol and stood with her hand on the instrument "My dear Julia!" Madame d'Esclig- nac spread Le Temps out and put her hand on it. "As I said to you, my child, the life of a soldier is a precarious one." "Ma tante" breathed Miss Redmond from where she stood. "Tell me what 82 NEWS FROM AFRICA the news is from Africa. I think I know what you mean." She could not trust herself to walk across the floor, for Julia Redmond in that moment of suspense found the room swimming. "There has been an engagement," said the marquise gently, for in spite of her ambitions she loved her niece. "There has been an engagement, Julia, at Dirbal." She lifted the newspaper and held it be- fore her face and read : "There has been some hard fighting in the desert, around about Dirbal. The troops commanded by Captain de Sabron were routed by the natives at noon on Thursday. They did not rally and were forced to retreat. There was a great loss of life among the natives and sev- eral of the regiment were also killed. There has been no late or authentic news from Dirbal, but the last des- HIS LOVE STORY patches give the department of war to understand that Sabron himself is among the missing." The Marquise d'Esclignac slowly put down the paper, and rose quickly._ She went to the young girl's side and put her arm around her. Miss Redmond covered her face with her hands : "Ma tante, ma tante!" she murmured. "My dear Julia," said the old lady, "there is nothing more uncertain than newspaper reports, especially those that come from the African seat pf war. Sit down here, my child." The two women sat together on the long piano-stool. The marquise said: "I followed the fortunes, my dear, of my husband's cousin through the engage- ment in Tonkin. I know a little what it was." The girl was immovable. Her aunt felt her rigid by her side. "I told 84 you," she murmured, "that a soldier's life was a precarious one." Miss Redmond threw away all disguise. "Ma tante," she said in a hard voice. "I love him! You must have known it and seen it. I love him! He is becom- ing my life." As the marquise looked at the girl's face and saw her trembling lips and her wide eyes, she renounced her ambitions for Julia Redmond. She renounced them with a sigh, but she was a woman of the world, and more than that to a woman. She remained for a moment in silence, holding Julia's hands. She had followed the campaign of her husband's cousin, a young man with an insignificant title whom she had not mar- ried. In this moment she relived again the arrival of the evening papers ; the des- patches, her husband's news of his TteJP HIS LOVE STORY cousin. As she kissed Julia's cheeks a moisture passed over her own eyes, which for many years had shed no tears. "Courage, my dear," she implored, "we will telegraph at once to the minister of war for news." The girl drew a convulsive breath and turned, and leaning both elbows on the piano keys perhaps in the very notes whose music in the little song had charmed Sabron she burst into tears. The mar- quise rose and passed out of the room to send a man with a despatch to Tarascon. CHAPTER XIII ONE DOG'S DAY THERE must be a real philosophy in all proverbs. "Every dog has his day" is a significant one. It surely was for Pitchoune. He had his day. It was a glo- rious one, a terrible one, a memorable one, and he played his little part in it He awoke at the gray dawn, springing like a flash from the foot of Sabron's bed, where he lay asleep, in response to the sound of the reveille, and Sabron sprang up after him. Pitchoune in a few moments was in the center of real disorder. All he knew was that he followed his master all day long. The dog's knowledge did not com- prehend the fact that not only had the HIS LOVE STORY native village, of which his master spoke in his letter to Miss Redmond, been de- stroyed, but that Sabron's regiment itself was menaced by a concerted and concen- trated attack from an entire tribe, led by a fanatic as hotminded and as fierce as the Mahdi of Sudanese history. Pitchoune followed at the heels of his master's horse. No one paid any atten- tion to him. Heaven knows why he was not trampled to death, but he was not No one trod on him; no horse's hoof hit his little wiry form that managed in the midst of carnage and death to keep itself secure and his hide whole. He smelt the gunpowder, he smelt the smoke, sniffed at it, threw up his pretty head and barked, puffed and panted, yelped and tore about and followed. He was not conscious of anything but that Sabron was in mo- tion ; that Sabron, his beloved master, was 88 ONE DOG'S DAY kV passed over the desert's face. It seemed to lift his spirit and to cradle it. Then he breathed his prayers, they took form, and in his sleep he repeated the Ave Maria and the Paternoster, and the words rolled and rolled over the desert's face and the supplication seemed to his fever- ish mind to mingle with the stars. A sort of midnight dew fell upon him : so at least he thought, and it seemed to him a heavenly dew and to cover him like a benignant rain. He grew cooler. He prayed again, and with his words there came to the young man an ineffable sense of peace. He pillowed his fading thoughts upon it; he pillowed his aching mind upon it and his body, too, and the pain of his wound and he thought aloud, with only the night airs to hear him, in broken sentences: "If this is death it is not so bad. One should rather be afraid ONE DOG'S DAY of life. This is not difficult, if I should ever get out of here I shall not regret this night." Toward morning he grew calmer, he turned to speak to his little companion. In his troubled thoughts he had forgot- ten Pitchoune. Sabron faintly called him. There was no response. Then the soldier listened in silence. It was absolutely unbroken. Not even the call of a night-bird not even the cry of a hyena, nothing came to him but the inarticulate voice of the desert. Great and solemn awe crept up to him, crept up to him like a spirit and sat down by his side. He felt his hands grow cold, and his feet grow cold. Now, unable to speak aloud, there passed through his mind that this, indeed, was death, deser- tion absolute in the heart of the plains. CHAPTER XIV AN AMERICAN GIRL THE Marquise d'Esclignac saw that she had to reckon with an Amer- ican girl. Those who know these girls know what their temper and mettle are, and that they are capable of the finest reverberations. Julia Redmond was very young. Other- wise she would never have let Sabron go without one sign that she was not indiffer- ent to him, and that she was rather bored with the idea of titles and fortunes. But she adored her aunt and saw, moreover, something else than ribbons and velvets in the make-up of the aunt. She saw deeper than the polish that a long Parisian life- time had overlaid, and she loved what she AN AMERICAN GIRL saw. She respected her aunt, and know- ing the older lady's point of view, had been timid and hesitating until now. Now the American girl woke up, or rather asserted herself. "My dear Julia," said the Marquise d'Esclignac, "are you sure that all the tinned things, the cocoa, and so forth, are on board ? I did not see that box." "Ma tante" returned her niece from her steamer chair, "it's the only piece of luggage I am sure about." At this response her aunt suffered a slight qualm for the fate of the rest of her luggage, and from her own chair in the shady part of the deck glanced toward her niece, whose eyes were on her book. "What a practical girl she is," thought the Marquise d'Esclignac. "She seems ten years older than I. She is cut HIS LOVE STORY out to be the wife of a poor man. It is a pity she should have a fortune. Julia would have been charming as love in a cottage, whereas I ..." She remembered her hotel on the Pare Monceau, her chateau by the Rhone, her villa at Biarritz and sighed. She had not always been the Marquise d'Esclig- nac; she had been an American girl first and remembered that her maiden name had been De Puyster and that she had come from Schenectady originally. But for many years she had forgotten these things. Near to Julia Redmond these last few weeks all but courage and sim- plicity had seemed to have tarnish on its wings. Sabron had not been found. It was a curious fact, and one that transpires now and then in the history of 104 AN AMERICAN GIRL desert wars the man is lost. The cap- tain of the cavalry was missing, and the only news of him was that he had fallen in an engagement and that his body had never been recovered. Several sorties had been made to find him; the war de- partment had done all that it could; he had disappeared from the face of the desert and even his bones could not be found. From the moment that Julia Redmond had confessed her love for the French- man, a courage had been born in her which never faltered, and her aunt seemed to have been infected by it. The mar- quise grew sentimental, found out that she was more docile and impressionable than she had believed herself to be, and the veneer and etiquette (no doubt never a very real part of her) became less im- 105 HIS LOVE STORY portant than other things. During the last few weeks she had been more a De Puyster from Schenectady than the Mar- quise d'Esclignac. "Ma tante," Julia Redmond had said to her when the last telegram was brought in to the Chateau d'Esclignac, "I shall leave for Africa to-morrow." "My dear Julia!" "He is alive! God will not let him die. Besides, I have prayed. I believe in God, don't you?" "Of course, my dear Julia." "Well," said the girl, whose pale cheeks and trembling hands that held the tele- gram made a sincere impression on her aunt, "well, then, if you believe, why do you doubt that he is alive? Some one must find him. Will you tell Eugene to have the motor here in an hour? The boat sails to-morrow, ma tante" 106 AN AMERICAN GIRI The marquise rolled her embroidery and put it aside for twelve months. Her fine hands looked capable as she did so. "My dear Julia, a young and handsome woman can not follow like a daughter of the regiment, after the fortunes of a sol- dier." "But a Red Cross nurse can, ma tante, and I have my diploma." "The boat leaving to-morrow, my dear Julia, doesn't take passengers." "Oh, ma tante! There will be no other boat for Algiers," she opened the news- paper, "until ... oh, heavens!" "But Robert de Tremont's yacht is in the harbor." Miss Redmond looked at her aunt speechlessly. "I shall telegraph Madame de Hausson- velle and ask permission for you to go in that as an auxiliary of the Red Cross to 107 HIS LOVE STORY Algiers, or, rather, Robert is at Nice. I shall telegraph him." "Oh, ma tante!" "He asked me to make up my own party for a cruise on the Mediterranean," said the Marquise d'Esclignac thought- fully. Miss Redmond fetched the telegraph blank and the pad from the table. The color began to return to her cheeks. She put from her mind the idea that her aunt had plans for her. All ways were fair in the present situation. The Marquise d'Esclignac wrote her despatch, a very long one, slowly. She said to her servant : "Call up the Villa des Perroquets at Nice. I wish to speak with the Due de Tremont." She then drew her niece very gently to her side, looking up at her as a mother might have looked. "Darling 1 08 oO AN AMERICAN GIRL Julia, Monsieur de Sabron has never told you that he loved you?" Julia shook her head. "Not in words, ma tante." There was a silence, and then Julia Redmond said : "I only want to assure myself that he is safe, that he lives. I only wish to know his fate." "But if you go to him like this, ma chcre, he will think you love him. He must marry you! You are making a serious declaration." "Ah," breathed the girl from between trembling lips, "don't go on. I shall be shown the way." The Marquise d'Esclignac then said, musing: "I shall telegraph to England for pro- visions. Food is vile in Algiers. Also, Me- lanie must get out our summer clothes." 109 HIS LOVE STORY "Ma tante!" said Julia Redmond, "our summer clothes ?" "Did you think you were going alone, my dear Julia !" She had been so thoroughly the Ameri- can girl that she had thought of nothing but going. She threw her arms around her aunt's neck with an abandon that made the latter young again. The Mar- quise d'Esclignac kissed her niece ten- derly. "Madame la Marquise, Monsieur le Due de Tremont is at the telephone," the servant announced to her from the door- way. CHAPTER XV JULIA'S ROMANCE FROM her steamer chair the Mar- quise d'Esclignac asked : "Are you absorbed in your book, Julia?" Miss Redmond faintly smiled as she laid it down. She was absorbed in but one thing, morning, noon and night, wak- ing or sleeping: when and where she should find him ; how he was being treat- ed. Had he been taken captive ? He was not dead, of that she was sure. "What is the book, Julia?" "Le Conte d'un Spahi." "Put it down and let me speak to you of Robert de Tremont." Miss Redmond, being his guest and in- HIS LOVE STORY debted to him for her luxurious transpor- tation, could not in decency refuse the re- quest. "He knows nothing whatever of our errand, Julia." "Ah, then, what does he think?" Miss Redmond on the arm of her blue serge coat wore a band of white, in the center of which gleamed the Red Cross. The marquise, wrapped in a sable rug, held a small Pekinese lap-dog cuddled under her arm, and had only the appear- ance of a lady of leisure bent on a pleasure excursion. She did not suggest a rescuing party in the least. Her jaunty hat was en- veloped by a delicate veil ; her hands were incased in long white gloves. Now that she had encouraged her energetic niece and taken this decisive step, she relaxed and found what pleasure she might in the voyage. JULIA'S ROMANCE "When we came pn board last night, my dear, you remember that I sat with Robert in the salon until . . . well, latish." "After midnight?" "Possibly; but I am fifty and he is thirty. Moreover, I am his godmother. He is enchanting, Julia, spiritual and sym- pathetic. I confess, my dear, that I find myself rather at a loss as to what to tell him." Miss Redmond listened politely. She was supremely indifferent as to what had been told to her host. This was Tuesday ; they should reach Algiers on Saturday at the latest. What news would meet them there? She held in her book the last despatch from the ministry of war. Supposing the Captain de Sabron had been taken captive by some marauding tribe and was being held for a ransom! U3 HIS LOVE STORY This was the Romance of a Spahi, in which she was absorbed. Taken cap- tive! She could not let herself think what that might mean. "Robert's mother, you know, is my closest friend. His father was one of the witnesses of my marriage. I feel that I have brought up Robert ... it would have been so perfect." She sighed. "Ma tante!" warned Miss Redmond, with a note of pain in her voce. "Yes, yes," accepted the marquise, "I know, my dear, I know. But you can not escape from the yacht except in a life- boat, and if you did it would be one of Robert's lifeboats ! You must not be too formal with him." She tapped the nose of her Pekinese dog. "Be still, Mimi, that man is only a sailor! and if he were not here and at his duty you would be drowned, you little goose!" 114 JULIA'S The Pekinese dog was a new addition. Julia tried not to dislike her; for Julia, only Pitchoune existed. She could not touch Mimi without a sense of disloyalty. The boat cut the azure water with its delicate white body, the decks glistened like glass. The sailor at whom Mimi had barked passed out of sight, and far up in the bow Tremont, in white flannels, stood smoking. "I had to be very circumspect, my dear Julia, when I talked with Robert. You see you are not engaged to Monsieur de Sabron." The girl colored. "The senti- mental woman in me," her aunt went on, "has responded to all your fantasies, but the practical woman in me calls me a ro- mantic goose." "Ah," breathed Miss Redmond, open- ing her book, "ma tante, let me read." "Nonsense," said the marquise affec- "5 HIS LOVE STORY tionately. "The most important part of the whole affair is that we are here that we are en route to Algiers, is it not?" The girl extended her hand gratefully. "And thank you! Tell me, what did you say to him ?" The marquise hummed a little tune, and softly pulled Mimi's ears. "Remember, my child, that if we find Monsieur de Sabron, the circumspection will have to be even greater still." "Leave that to me, ma tante." "You don't know," said the determined lady quite sweetly, "that he has the slightest desire to marry you, Julia." Miss Redmond sat up in her chair, and flamed. "Do you want to make me miserable ?" "I intend to let my worldly wisdom equal this emergency, Julia. I want Rob- ert to have no suspicion of the facts." 116 JULIA'S ROMANCE "How can we prevent it, ma tantef" "We can do so if you will obey me." The girl started, and her aunt, looking up at the Due de Tremont where he stood in the bow, saw that he showed signs of finishing his smoke and of joining them. "Ma tante," said the girl quickly, "have you brought me here under false colors? Have you let him think . . ." "Hush, Julia, you are indebted to him for accomplishing your own desire." "But I would never, never . . ." "Petite sotte" cried the marquise, "then you would never have been on this yacht." Intensely troubled and annoyed, Julia asked in a low tone: "For heaven's sake, ma tante, tell me what the Due de Tremont thinks !" Her aunt laughed softly. The intrigue and romance of it all entertained her. She HIS LOVE STORY <^~ a-' had the sense of having made a very pretty concession to her niece, of having accomplished a very agreeable pleasure trip for herself. As for young Sabron, he would be sure to be discovered at the right moment, to be lionized, decorated and advanced. The reason that she had no wrinkles on her handsome cheek was because she went lightly through life. "He thinks, my dearest girl, that you are like all your countrywomen: a little eccentric and that you have a strong mind. He thinks you one of the most tender- hearted and benevolent of girls." "Ma tante, ma tante!" "He thinks you are making a little mis- sion into Algiers among the sick and the wounded. He thinks you are going to sing in the hospitals." "But," exclaimed the girl, "he must think me mad." 118 JULIA'S ROMANCE "Young men don't care how mildly mad a beautiful young woman is, my dear Julia." "But, he will find out . . . he will know." "No," said the marquise, "that he will not. I have attended to that. He will not leave his boat during the excursion, Julia. He remains, and we go on shore with our people." "How splendid!" sighed Julia Red- mond, relieved. "I'm glad you think so," said her aunt rather shortly. "Now I have a favor to ask of you, my child." Julia trembled. "Ma tantef" "While we are on board the yacht you will treat Robert charmingly." "I am always polite to him, am I not?" "You are like an irritated sphinx to 119 HIS LOVE STORES 02|g< him, my dear. You must be different." "I thought," said the girl in a subdued voice, "that it would be like this. Oh, I wish I had, sailed on any vessel, even a cargo vessel." Looking at her gently, her aunt said : "Don't be ridiculous. I only wish to pro- tect you, my child. I think I have proved my friendship. Remember, before the world you are nothing to Charles de Sabron. A woman's heart, my dear, has delusions as well as passions." The girl crimsoned and bowed her charming head. "You are not called upon to tell Robert de Tremont that you are in love with a man who has not asked you to marry him, but you are his guest, and all I ask of you is that you make the voyage as agreeable to him as you can, my dear." ***. rf 120 JULIA'S ROMANCE Tremont was coming toward them. Julia raised her head and murmured : "I thank you for everything. I shall do what I can." And to herself she said : "That is, as far as my honor will let me," CHAPTER XVI THE DUKE IN DOUBT THE short journey to Africa over a calm and perfect sea, whose waters were voices at her port to solace her, and where the stars alone glowed down like friends upon her and seemed to understand was a torture to Julia Redmond. To herself she called her aunt cruel, over and over again, and felt a prisoner, a caged creature. Tremont found her charming, though in this role of Florence Nightingale, she puzzled and perplexed him. She was nevertheless adorable. The young man had the good sense to make a discreet courtship and understood she would not be easily won. Until they reached Al- THE DUKE IN DOUBT giers, indeed, until the night before they disembarked, he had not said one word to her which might not have been shared by her aunt. In accordance with the French custom, they never were alone. The marquise shut her eyes and napped considerably and gave them every oppor- tunity she could, but she was always pres- ent. The Due de Tremont had been often in love during his short life. He was a Latin and thought that women are made to be loved. It was part of his education to think this and to tell them this, and he also believed it a proof of his good taste to tell them this as soon as possible. He was a thoroughly fine fellow. Some of his forefathers had fought and fallen in Agincourt. They had been dukes ever since. There was something distinctly noble in the blond young man, and Julia 123 HIS LOVE STORY discovered it. Possibly she had felt it from the first. Some women are keen to feel. Perhaps if she had not felt it she might even have hesitated to go to Al- giers as his guest. From the moment that the old duchess had said to Robert de Tremont: "Julia Redmond is a great catch, my dear boy. I should like to have you marry her," her son answered : "Bien, ma mere," with cheerful acqui- escence, and immediately considered it and went to Tarascon, to the Chateau d'Esclignac. When his mother had sug- gested the visit, he told her that he in- tended making up a party for the Med- iterranean. "Why don't you take your godmother and the American girl? Miss Redmond has an income of nearly a million francs and they say she is well-bred." 124 r&fcft L/0&&CJ vs^rnfZ, THE DUKE IN DOUBT "Very good, fno mere." When he saw Miss Redmond he found her lovely; not so lovely as the Comtesse de la Maine, whose invitation to dinner he had refused on the day his mother suggested the Chateau d'Esclignac. The comtesse was a widow. It is not very, very comme il faut to marry a widow, in the Faubourg St.-Germain. Miss Red- mond's beauty was different. She was self-absorbed and cold. He did not un- derstand her at all, but that was the American of her. One of his friends had married an American girl and found out afterward that she chewed gum before breakfast. Pauvre Raymond! Miss Redmond did not suggest such possibilities. Still she was very different to a French jeune fille. With his godmother he was entirely at ease. Ever since she had paid his trifling HIS LOVE STORY debts when he was a young man, he had adored her. Tremont, always discreet and almost in love with his godmother, kept her in a state of great good humor always, and when she had suggested to him this little party he had been delighted. In speaking over the telephone the Mar- quise d'Esclignac had said very firmly : "My dear Robert, you understand that this excursion engages you to nothing." "Oh, of course, marraine." "We both need a change, and between ourselves, Julia has a little mission on foot." Tremont would be delighted to help Miss Redmond carry it out. Whom else should he ask? "By all means, any one you like," said his godmother diplomatically. "We want to sail the day after to-morrow." She felt safe, knowing that no worldly people 126 G8g80 THE DUKE IN DOUBT *SP9** would accept an invitation on twenty-four hours' notice. "So," the Due de Tremont reflected, as he hung up the receiver, "Miss Red- mond has a scheme, a mission! Young girls do not have schemes and missions in good French society." "Mademoiselle," he said to her, as they walked up and down on the deck in the pale sunset, in front of the chair of the Marquise d'Esclignac, "I never saw an ornament more becoming to a woman than the one you wear." "The ornament, Monsieur?" "On your sleeve. It is so beautiful. A string of pearls would not be more beau- tiful, although your pearls are lovely, too. Are all American girls Red Cross mem- bers?" "But of course not, Monsieur. Are all girls anywhere one thing?" 127 HIS LOVE STORY "Yes," said the Due de Tremont, "they are all charming, but there are grada- tions." "Do you think that we shall reach Al- giers to-morrow, Monsieur?" "I hope not, Mademoiselle." Miss Redmond turned her fine eyes on him. "You hope notr "I should like this voyage to last for- ever, Mademoiselle." "How ridiculous!" Her look was so f rank that he laughed in spite of himself, and instead of follow- ing up the politeness, he asked : "Why do you think of Algiers as a field for nursing the sick, Mademoiselle?" "There has been quite a deputation of the Red Cross women lately going from Paris to the East." "But," said the young man, "there are 128 9&9rf' THE DUKE IN DOUBT OSfe' ^-.''rt** >Q* B^V poor in Tarascon, and sick, too. There is a great deal of poverty in Nice, and Paris is the nearest of all." "The American girls are very imag- inative," said Julia Redmond. "We must have some romance in all we do." "I find the American girls very charm- ing," said Tremont. "Do you know many, Monsieur?" "Only one," he said serenely. Miss Redmond changed the subject quickly and cleverly, and before he knew it, Tremont was telling her stories about his own military service, which had been made in Africa. He talked well and en- tertained them both, and Julia Redmond listened when he told her of the desert, of its charm and its desolation, and of its dangers. An hour passed. The Marquise d'Esclignac took an ante-prandial stroll, Mimi mincing at her heels. 129 HIS LOVE STORY "Ce pauvre Sabron!" said Tremont. "He has disappeared off the face of the earth. What a horrible thing it was, Mademoiselle! I knew him in Paris; I remember meeting him again the night before he left the Midi. He was a fine fellow with a career before him, his friends say." "What do you think has become of Monsieur de Sabron?" Miss Redmond, so far, had only been able to ask this question of her aunt and of the stars. None of them had been able to tell her. Tremont shrugged his shoul- ders thoughtfully. "He may have dragged himself away to die in some ambush that they have not discovered, or likely he has been taken captive, le pauvre didble!" "France will do all it can, Mon- sieur , THE DUKE IN DOUBT "They will do all they can, which is to wait. An extraordinary measure, if taken just now, would probably result in Sabron being put to death by his captors. He may be found to-morrow he may never be found." A slight murmur from the young girl beside him made Tremont look at her. He saw that her hands were clasped and that her face was quite white, her eyes staring fixedly before her, out toward Africa. Tremont said : "You are compassion itself, Mademoi- selle; you have a tender heart. No won- der you wear the Red Cross. I am a sol- dier, Mademoiselle. I thank you for all soldiers. I thank you for Sabron . . . but, we must not talk of such things." He thought her very charming, both romantic and idealistic. She would make a delightful friend. Would she not be HIS LOVE STORY 0$o3 *&S$$p too intense for a wife? However, many women of fashion joined the Red Cross. Tremont was a commonplace man, con- ventional in his heart and in his tastes. "My children," said the marquise, com- ing up to them with Mimi in her arms, "you are as serious as though we were on a boat bound for the North Pole and ex- pected to live on tinned things and salt fish. Aren't you hungry, Julia ? Robert, take Mimi to my maid, will you ? Julia," said her aunt as Tremont went away with the little dog, "you look dramatic, my dear, you're pale as death in spite of this divine air and this enchanting sea." She linked her arm through her niece's. "Take a brisk walk with me for five minutes and whip up your blood. I believe you were on the point of making Tremont some un- wise confession." "I assure you no, ma tante" 132 *k3fiCki^*' THE DUKE IN DOUBT "Isn't Bob a darling, Julia?" "Awfully," returned her niece absent- mindedly. "He's the most eligible young man in Paris, Julia, and the most difficult to please." "Ma tante" said the girl in a low tone, "he tells me that France at present can do practically nothing about finding Mon- sieur de Sabron. Fancy a great army and a great nation helpless for the rescue of a single soldier, and his life at stake!" "Julia," said the marquise, taking the trembling hand in her own, "you will make yourself ill, my darling, and you will be no use to any one, you know." "You're right," returned the girl, "I will be silent and I will only pray." She turned from her aunt to stand for a few moments quiet, looking out at the sea, at the blue water through which the 133 HIS LOVE STORY boat cut and flew. Along the horizon was a mist, rosy and translucent, and out of it white Algiers would shine before many hours. When Tremont, at luncheon a little later, looked at his guests, he saw a new Julia. She had left her coat with the Red Cross in her cabin with her hat. In her pretty blouse, her pearls around her neck, the soft flush on her cheeks, she was apparently only a light-hearted woman of the world. She teased her aunt gently, she laughed very deliciously and lightly flirted with the Due de Tremont, who opened a bottle of champagne. The Mar- quise d'Esclignac beamed upon her niece. Tremont found her more puzzling than ever. "She suggests the chameleon," he thought, "she has moods. Before, she was a tragic muse; at luncheon she is an adorable sybarite." 134 CHAPTER XVII OUT OF THE DESERT FROM a dreamy little villa, whose walls were streaming with bougain- villea, Miss Redmond looked over Al- giers, over the tumult and hum of it, to the sea. Tremont, by her side, looked at her. From head to foot the girl was in white. On one side the bougainvillea laid its scarlet flowers against, the stainless linen of her dress, and on her other arm was the Red Cross. The American girl and the Frenchman had become the best of friends. She con- sidered him a sincere companion and an unconscious confederate. He had not yet decided what he thought of her, or how. 135 HI S LOVE STORY His promise to remain on the yacht had been broken and he paid his godmother and Miss Redmond constant visits at their villa, which the marquise rented for the season. There were times when Tremont thought Miss Redmond's exile a fanatical one, but he always found her fascinating and a lovely woman, and he wondered what it was that kept him from laying his title and his fortune at her feet. It had been understood 1 between the godmother and himself that he was to court Miss Redmond a I'americaine. "She has been brought up in such a shocking fashion, Robert, that nothing but American love-making will appeal to her. You will have to make love to her, Robert. Can you do it?" "But, marraine, I might as well make love to a sister of charity." 136 <3 OUT OF THE DESERT "There was 'la Belle Heloise, and no woman is immune." "I think she is engaged to some Ameri- can cowboy who will come and claim her, marraine." His godmother was offended. "Rubbish!" she said. "She is engaged to no one, Bob. She is an idealist, a Rosalind; but that will not prevent her from making an excellent wife." "She is certainly very beautiful," said the Due de Tremont, and he told Julia so. "You are very beautiful," said the Due de Tremont to Miss Redmond, as she leaned on the balcony of the villa. The bougainvillea leaned against her breast. "When you stood in the hospital under the window and sang to the poor devils, you looked like an angel." "Poor things!" said Julia Redmond. "Do you think that they liked it?" HIS LOVE STORY ''Liked it!" exclaimed the young man enthusiastically, "couldn't you see by their faces ? One poor devil said to me : 'One can die better now, Monsieur.' There was no hope for him, it seems." Tremont and the Marquise d'Esclignac had docilely gone with Julia Redmond every day at a certain hour to the dif- ferent hospitals, where Julia, after ren- dering some slight services to the nurses for she was not needed sang for the sick, standing in the outer hallway of the building open on every side. She knew that Sabrpn was not among these sick. Where he was or what sounds his ears might hear, she could not know; but she sang for him, and the fact put a sweetness in her voice that touched the ears of the suffering and uplifted those who were not too far down to be uplifted, and as for 138 *%&a>$ QsfoG OUT OF THE DESERT 'Ogjgj %4P^fc* WJ^^ . the dying, it helped them, as the soldier said, to die. She had done this for several days, but now she was restless. Sabron was not in Algiers. No news had been brought of him. His regiment had been ordered out farther into the desert that seemed to stretch away into infinity, and the vast cruel sands knew, and the stars knew where Sabron had fallen and what was his history, and they kept the secret. The marquise made herself as much at home as possible in Algiers, put up with the inefficiency of native servants, and her duty was done. Her first romantic elan was over. Sabron had recalled to her the idyl of a love-affair of a quarter of a century before, but she had been for too long the Marquise d'Esclignac to go back to an ideal. She pined to have her T&* HIS LOVE STORY niece a duchess, and never spoke the un- fortunate Sabron's name. They were surrounded by fashionable life. As soon as their arrival had been made known there had been a flutter of cards and a passing of carriages and auto- mobiles, and this worldly life added to the unhappiness and restlessness of Julia, Among the guests had been one woman whom she found sympathetic; the woman's eyes had drawn Julia to her. It was the Comtesse de la Maine, a widow, young as herself and, as Julia said, vastly better-looking. Turning to Tremont on the balcony, when he told her she was beautiful, she said : "Madame de la Maine is my ideal of loveliness." The young man wrinkled his fair brow. "Do you think so, Mademoiselle? Why?" (>. / 140 OUT OF THE DESERT "She has character as well as perfect lines. Her eyes look as though they could weep and laugh. Her mouth looks as though it could say adorable things." Tremont laughed softly and said: "Go on, you amuse me." "And her hands look as though they could caress and comfort. I like her awfully. I wish she were my friend." Tremont said nothing, and she glanced at him suddenly. "She says such lovely things about you, Monsieur." "Really! She is too indulgent" "Don't be worldly," said Miss Red- mond gravely, "be human. I lik$ you best so. Don't you agree with me?" "Madame de la Maine is a very charm- ing woman," said the young man, and the girl saw a change come over his features. At this moment, as they stood so to- HIS LOVE STORY gether, Tremont pulling his mustache and looking out through the bougainvillea vines, a dark figure made its way through the garden to the villa, came and took its position under the balcony where the duke and Miss Redmond leaned. It was a na- tive, a man in filthy rags. He turned his face to Tremont and bowed low to the lady. "Excellency," he said in broken French, "my name is Hammet Abou. I was the ordonnance of Monsieur le Capitaine de Sabron." "What!" exclaimed Tremont, "what did you say ?" "Ask him to come up here," said Julia Redmond, "or, no let us go down to the garden." "It is damp," said Tremont, "let me get you a shawl." "No, no, I need nothing." 142 OUT OF THE DESERT She had hurried before him down the little stairs leading into the garden from the balcony, and she had begun to speak to the native before Tremont appeared. In this recital he addressed his words to Julia alone. "I am a very poor man, Excellency," he said in a mellifluous tone, "and very sick." "Have you any money, Monsieur?" "Pray do not suggest it," said the duke sharply. "Let him tell what he will; we will pay him later." "I have been very sick," said the man. "I have left the army. I do not like the French army," said the native simply. "You are very frank," said Tremont brutally. "Why do you come here at any rate?" i "Hush," said Julia Redmond implor- ingly. "Do not anger him, Monsieur, he may have news." She asked : "Have you 143 $!<}. HIS LOVE STORY EC news ?" and there was a note in her voice that made Tremont glance at her. "I have seen the excellency and her grandmother," said the native, "many times going into the garrison." "What news have you of Captain de Sabron?" asked the girl directly. With- out replying, the man said in a melancholy voice : "I was his ordonnance, I saw him fall in the battle of Dirbal. I saw him shot in the side. I was shot, too. See?" He started to pull away his rags. Tre- mont clutched him. "You beast," he muttered, and pushed him back. "If you have anything to say, say it" Looking at Julia Redmond's colorless face, the native asked meaningly : "Does the excellency wish any news?" 144 OUT OF THE DESERT "Yes," said Tremont, shaking him. "And if you do not give it, it will be the worse for you." "Monsieur le Capitaine fell, and I fell, too; I saw no more." Tremont said: "You see the fellow is half lunatic and probably knows nothing about Sabron. I shall put him out of the garden." But Miss Redmond paid no attention to her companion. She controlled her voice and asked the man : "Was the Capitaine de Sabron alone?" "Except," said the native steadily, with a glance of disgust at the duke, "except for his little dog." "Ah!" exclaimed Julia Redmond, with a catch in her voice, "do you hear that? He must have been his servant What was the dog's name?" 145 o6 OUT OF THE DESERT |IQ o^sv- -d&Sc? Capitaine. He was so kind and such a brave soldier. I want to go to find Mon- sieur le Capitaine, but I am ill and too weak to walk. I believe I know where he is hid I want to go." The girl breathed : "Oh, can it be possible that what you say is true, Hammet Abou? Would you really go if you could?" The man made, with a graceful gesture of his hand, a map in the air. "It was like this," he said; "I think he fell into the bed of an old river. I think he drew himself up the bank. I fol- lowed the track of his blood. I was too weak to go any farther, Excellency." "And how could you go now?" she asked. "By caravan, like a merchant, secretly. I would find him." ^fc- HIS LOVE STORY Og8g) Julia Redmond put out a slim hand, white as a gardenia. The native lifted it and touched his forehead with it. "Hammet Abou," she said, "go away for to-night and come to-morrow we will see you." And without waiting to speak again to Monsieur de Tremont, the native slid away out of the garden like a shadow, as though his limbs were not weak with disease and his breast shat- tered by shot. When Monsieur de Tremont had walked once around the garden, keeping his eyes nevertheless on the group, he came back toward Julia Redmond, but not quickly enough, for she ran up the stairs and into the house with Sabron's packet in her hand. CHAPTER XVIII TWO LOVELY WOMEN THERE was music at the Villa des Bougainvilleas. Miss Redmond sang; not Good-night, God Keep You Safe, but other things. Ever since her talk with Hammet Abou she had been, if not gay, in good spirits, more like her old self, and the Marquise d'Esclignac began to think that the image of Charles de Sabron had not been cut too deeply upon her mind. The marquise, from the lounge in the shadow of the room, en- joyed the picture (Sabron would not have added it to his collection) of her niece at the piano and the Due de Tremont by her side. The Comtesse de la Maine sat in a little shadow of her own, musing and en- joying the picture of the Due de Tremont 153 HIS LOVE STORY and Miss Redmond very indifferently. She did not sing; she had no parlor ac- complishments. She was poor, a widow, and had a child. She was not a brilliant match. From where he stood, Tremont could see the Comtesse de la Maine in her little shadow, the oriental decorations a back- ground to her slight Parisian figure, and a little out of the shadow, the bright ai- gret in her hair danced, shaking its sparkles of fire. She looked infinitely sad and infinitely appealing. One bare arm was along the back of her lounge. She leaned her head upon her hand. After a few moments the Due de Tre- mont quietly left the piano and Miss Red- mond, and went and sat down beside the Comtesse de la Maine, who, in order to make a place for him, moved out of the shadow. Julia, one after another, played songs she loved, keeping her fingers resolutely from the notes that wanted to run into a single song, the music, the song that linked her to the man whose life had be- come a mystery. She glanced at the Due de Tremont and the Comtesse de la Maine. She glanced at her aunt, patting Mimi, who, freshly washed, adorned by pale blue ribbon, looked disdainful and princely, and with passion and feeling she began to sing the song that seemed to reach beyond the tawdry room of the villa in Algiers, and to go into the desert, trying in sweet intensity to speak and to comfort, and as she sat so singing to one man, Sabron would have adored adding that picture to his collection. The servant came up to the marquise and gave her a message. The lady rose, beckoned Tremont to follow her, and HIS LOVE STORY 9 went out on the veranda, followed by Mimi. Julia stopped playing and went over to the Comtesse de la Maine. "Where have my aunt and Monsieur de Tremont gone, Madame?" "To see some one who has come to sug- gest a camel excursion, I believe." "He chooses a curious hour." "Everything is curious in the East, Mademoiselle," returned the comtesse. "I feel as though my own life were turned upside down." "We are not far enough in the East for that," smiled Julia Redmond. She re- garded the comtesse with her frank girl- ish scrutiny. There was in it a fine truth- fulness and utter disregard of all the barriers that long epochs of etiquette put between souls. Julia Redmond knew nothing of 156 TWO LOVELY WOMEN wia] French society and of the deference due to the arts of the old world. She knew, perhaps, very little of anything. She was young and unschooled. She knew, as some women know, how to feel, and how to be, and how to love. She was as hon- est as her ancestors, among whose tradi- tions is the story that one of them could never tell a lie. Julia Redmond sat beside the Comtease de la Maine, whose elegance she admired enormously, and taking one of the lady's hands, with a frank liking she asked in her rich young voice : "Why do you tolerate me, Madame ?" "Ma chere enfant," exclaimed the com- tesse. "Why, you are adorable." "It is terribly good of you to say so," murmured Julia Redmond. "It shows how generous you are." 157 HIS LOVE STORY "But you attribute qualities to me I do not deserve, Mademoiselle." "You deserve them and much more, Madame. I loved you the first day I saw you ; no one could help loving you." Julia Redmond was irresistible. The Comtesse de la Maine had remarked her caprices, her moods, her sadness. She had seen that the good spirits were false and, as keen women do, she had attrib- uted it to a love-affair with the Due de Tremont The girl's frankness was con- tagious. The Comtesse de la Maine mur- mured : "I think the same of you, ma chtre, vous etes charmante" Julia Redmond shook her head. She did not want compliments. The eyes of the two women met and read each other. "Couldn't you be frank with me, Madame? It is so easy to be frank." 158 LOVELY WOMEN It was, indeed, impossible for Julia Redmond to be anything else. The com- tesse, who was only a trifle older than the young girl, felt like her mother just then. She laughed. "But be frankabout what?" "You see," said Julia Redmond swift- ly, "I care absolutely nothing for the Due de Tremont, nothing." "You don't love him?" returned Ma- dame de la Maine, with deep accentua- tion. "Is it possible?" The girl smiled. "Yes, quite possible. I think he is a perfect dear. He is a splendid friend and I am devoted to him, but I don't love him at all, not at all." "Ah!" breathed Madame de la Maine, and she looked at the American girl guardedly. For a moment it was like a passage of HIS LOVE STORY arms between a frank young Indian chief and a Jesuit. Julia, as it were, shook her feathers and her beads. "And I don't care in the least about be- ing a duchess! My father made his money in oil. I am not an aristocrat like my aunt," she said. "Then," said the Comtesse de la Maine, forgetting that she was a Jesuit, "you will marry Robert de Tremont simply to please your aunt?" "But nothing on earth would induce me to marry him !" cried Julia Redmond. "That's what I'm telling you, Madame. I don't love him !" The Comtesse de la Maine looked at her companion and bit her lip. She blushed more warmly than is permitted in the Faubourg St. -Germain, but she was young and the western influence is perni- cious. 160 :80 TWO LOVELY WOMEN _ _ #ar "I saw at once that you loved him," said Julia Redmond frankly. "That's why I speak as I do." The Comtesse de la Maine drew back and exclaimed. "Oh," said Julia Redmond, "don't deny it. I shan't like you half so well if you do. There is no shame in being in love, is there? especially when the man you love, loves you." The Comtesse de la Maine broke down, or, rather, she rose high. She rose above all the smallness of convention and the rules of her French formal education. "You are wonderful," she said, laugh- ing softly, her eyes full of tears. "Will you tell me what makes you think that he is fond of me?" "But you know it so well," said Julia. "Hasn't he cared for you for a long time?" 161 HIS LOVE STORY Madame de la Maine wondered just how much Julia Redmond had heard, and as there was no way of rinding out, she said graciously : "He has seemed to love me very dearly for many years; but I am poor; I have a child. He is ambitious and he is the Due de Tremont." "Nonsense," said Julia. "He loves you. That's all that counts. You will be awfully happy. You will marry the Due de Tremont, won't you? There's a dear." "Happy," murmured the other woman, "happy, my dear friend, I never dreamed of such a thing!" "Dream of it now," said Julia Red- mond swiftly, "for it will come true." CHAPTER XIX THE MAN IN RAGS THE Marquise d'Esclignac, under the stars, interviewed the native sol- dier, the beggar, the man in rags, at the foot of the veranda. There was a moon as well as stars, and the man was distinct- ly visible in all his squalor. "What on earth is he talking about, Robert?" "About Sabron, marrainc," said her godson laconically. The Marquise d'Esclignac raised her lorgnon and said : "Speak, man! What do you know about Monsieur de Sabron? See, he is covered with dirt has leprosy, proba- bly." But she did not withdraw. She 163 HIS LOVE STORY was a great lady and stood her ground. She did not know what the word "squeamish" meant. Listening to the man's jargon and put- ting many things together, Tremont at last turned to the Marquise d'Esclignac who was sternly fixing the beggar with her haughty condescension: "Marraine, he says that Sabron is alive, in the hands of natives in a certain district where there is no travel, in the heart of the seditious tribes. He says that he has friends in a caravan of merchants who once a year pass the spot where this native village is." "The man's a lunatic," said the Mar- quise d'Esclignac calmly. "Get Abime- lec and put him out of the garden, Robert. You must not let Julia hear of this." "Marraine'' said Tremont quietly, "Mademoiselle Redmond has already 164 THE MAN IN RAGS seen this man. He has come to see her to-night." "How perfectly horrible!" said the Marquise d'Esclignac. Then she asked rather weakly of Tremont: "Don't you think so?" "Well, I think," said Tremont, "that the only interesting thing is the truth there may be in what this man says. If Sabron is a captive, and he knows any- thing about it, we must use his informa- tion for all it is worth." "Of course," said the Marquise d'Es- clignac, "of course. The war department must be informed at once. Why hasn't he gone there ?" "He has explained," said Tremont, "that the only way Sabron can be saved is that he shall be found by outsiders. One hint to his captors would end his life." "Oh!" said the Marquise d'Esclignac "I don't know what to do, Bob! What part can we take in this ?" Tremont pulled his mustache. Mimi had circled round the beggar, snuffing at his slippers and his robe. The man made no objection to the little creature, to the fluffy ball surrounded by a huge bow, and Mimi sat peacefully down in the moon- light, at the beggar's feet. "Mimi seems to like him," said the Marquise d'Esclignac helplessly, "she is very particular." "She finds that he has a serious and convincing manner," said Tremont. Now the man, who had been a silent listener to the conversation, said in fairly comprehensible English to the Marquise d'Esclignac : "If the beautiful grandmother could have seen the Capitaine de Sabron on the night before the battle " 166 THE MAN IN RAGS "Grandmother, indeed!" exclaimed the marquise indignantly. "Come, Mimi! Robert, finish with this creature and get what satisfaction you can from him. I believe him to be an impostor ; at any rate, he does not expect me to mount a camel or to lead a caravan to the rescue." Tremont put Mimi in her arms; she folded her lorgnon and sailed majestic- ally away, like a highly decorated pinnace with silk sails, and Tremont, in the moon- light, continued to talk with the sincere and convincing Hammet Abou. CHAPTER XX JULIA DECIDES NOW the young girl had his letters and her own to read. They were sweet and sad companions and she laid them side by side. She did not weep, be- cause she was not of the weeping type; she had hope. Her spirits remained singularly even. Madame de la Maine had given her a great deal to live on. "Julia, what have you done to Rob- ert?" "Nothing, ma tante" "He has quite changed. This excur- sion to Africa has entirely altered him. He is naturally so gay," said the Mar- quise d'Esclignac. "Have you refused him, Julia?" 168 JULIA DECIDES "Ma tante, he has not asked me to be the Duchess de Tremont." Her aunt's voice was earnest. "Julia., do you wish to spoil your life and your chances of happiness? Do you wish to mourn for a dead soldier who has never been more than an acquaintance? I won't even say a friend" What she said sounded logical. "Ma tante, I do not think of Monsieur de Sabron as dead, you know." "Well, in the event that he may be, my dear Julia." "Sometimes," said the girl, drawing near to her aunt and taking the older lady's hand quietly and looking in her eyes, "sometimes, ma tante, you are cruel." The marquise kissed her and sighed : "Robert's mother will be so unhappy !" "But she has never seen me, ma tante." HIS LOVE STORY She trusts my taste, Julia." "There should be more than 'taste' in a matter of husband and wife, ma tante." After a moment, in which the Mar- quise d'Esclignac gazed at the bougain- villea and wondered how any one could admire its crude and vulgar color, Miss Redmond asked : "Did you ever think that the Due de Tremont was in love?" Turning shortly about to her niece, her aunt stared at her. "In love, my dear !" "With Madame de la Maine." The arrival of Madame de la Maine had been a bitter blow to the Marquise d'Esclignac. The young woman was, however, much loved in Paris and quite in the eye of the world. There was no possible reason why the Marquise d'Es- clignac should avoid her. 170 JULIA DECIDES "You have been hearing gossip, Julia." "I have been watching a lovely woman," said the girl simply, "and a man. That's all. You wouldn't want me to marry a man who loves another woman, ma tante, when the woman loves him and when I love another man?" She laughed and kissed her aunt's cheek. "Let us think of the soldier," she mur- mured, "let us think just of him, ma tante, will you not?" The Marquise d'Esclignac struck her colors. In the hallway of the villa, in a snowy gibbeh, (and his clean-washed appearance was much in his favor) Hammet Abou waited to talk with the "grandmother" and the excellency. He pressed both his hands to his fore- head and his breast as the ladies entered HIS LOVE STORY the vestibule. There was a stagnant odor of myrrh and sandalwood in the air. The marble vestibule was cool and dark, the walls hung with high-colored stuffs, the windows drawn to keep out the heat. The Due de Tremont and Madame de la Maine came out of the salon together. Tremont nodded to the Arab. "I hope you are a little less " and he touched his forehead smiling, "to-day, my friend." "I am as God made me, Monsieur." "What have you got to-day?" asked Julia Redmond anxiously, fixing her eager eyes upon Hammet. It seemed terrible to her that this man should stand there with a vital secret and that they should not all be at his feet. He glanced boldly around at them. "There are no soldiers here?" JULIA DECIDES "No, no, you may speak freely." The man went forward to Tremont and put a paper in his hands, unfolding it like a chart. "This is what monsieur asked me for a plan of the battle-field. This is the bat- tle-field, and this is the desert." Tremont took the chart. On the page was simply a round circle, drawn in recj ink, with a few Arabian characters and nothing else. Hammet Abou traced the circle with his fingers tipped with henna. "That was the battle, Monsieur." "But this is no chart, Hammet Abou." The other continued, unmoved : "And all the rest is a desert, like this." Tremont, over the man's snowy turban, glanced at the others and shrugged. Ev- ery one but Julia Redmond thought he was insane. She came up to him where "M' 73 S3 ijWm^^ztnr HIS LOVE STORY ,4$9 he stood close to Tremont. She said very slowly in French, compelling the man's dark eyes to meet hers: "You don't wish to tell us, Hammet Abou, anything more. Am I not right? You don't wish us to know the truth." Now it was the American pitted against the Oriental. The Arab, with deference, touched his forehead before her. "If I made a true plan," he said coolly, "your excellency could give it to-morrow to the government." "Just what should be done, Julia," said the Marquise d'Esclignac, in English. "This man should be arrested at once." "Ma tante," pleaded Julia Redmond. She felt as though a slender thread was between her fingers, a thread which led her to the door of a labyrinth and which a rude touch might cause her to lose for- ever. JULIA DECIDES "If you had money would you start out to find Monsieur de Sabron at once?" "It would cost a great deal, Excel- lency." "You shall have all the money you need. Do you think you would be able to find your way?" "Yes, Excellency." The Due de Tremont watched the American girl. She was bartering with an Arabian for the salvation of a poor officer. What an enthusiast! He had no idea she had ever seen Sabron more than once or twice in her life. He came for- ward. "Let me talk to this man," he said with authority, and Julia Redmond did not dis- pute him. In a tone different from the light and mocking one that he had hitherto used to the Arab, Tremont began to ask a dozen 175 HIS LOVE STORY questions severely, and in his answers to the young Frenchman, Hammet Abou be- gan to make a favorable impression on every one save the Marquise d'Esclignac, who did not understand him. There was a huge bamboo chair on a dais under a Chinese pagoda, and the Marquise d'Es- clignac took the chair and sat upright as on a throne. Mimi, who had just been fed, came in tinkling her little bells and fawned at the sandals on Hammet Abou's bare feet. After talking with the native, Tremont said to his friends : "This man says that if he joins a Jew- ish caravan, which leaves here to-morrow at sundown, he will be taken with these men and leave the city without suspicion, but he must share the expenses of the whole caravan. The expedition will not be without danger ; it must be entered into with great subtlety. He is either," said 176 JULIA DECIDES Tremont, "an impostor or a remarkable man." "He is an impostor, of course," mur- mured the Marquise d'Esclignac. "Come here, Mimi." Tremont went on: "Further he will not disclose to us. He has evidently some carefully laid plan for rescuing Sabron." There was a pause. Hammet Abou, his hands folded peacefully across his breast, waited. Julia Redmond waited. The Comtesse de la Maine, in her pretty voice, asked quickly: "But, mes amis, there is a man's life at stake! Why do we stand here talking in the antechamber? Evidently the war office has done all it can for the Capitaine de Sabron. But they have not found him. Whether this fellow is crazy or not, he has a wonderful hypothesis." HIS LOVE STORY A brilliant look of gratitude crossed Julia Redmond's face. She glanced at the Comtesse de la Maine. "Ah, she's got the heart!" she said to herself. "I knew it." She crossed the hall to the Comtesse de la Maine and slipped her arm in hers. "Has Monsieur de Sabron no near fam- ily?" "No," said the Marquise d'Esclignac from her throne. "He is one of those un- familied beings who, when they are once taken into other hearts are all the dearer because of their orphaned state." Her tone was not unkind. It was af- fectionate. "Now, my good man," she said to Hammet Abou, in a language totally in- comprehensible to him, "money is no ob- ject in this question, but what will you do with Monsieur de Sabron if you find him ? IP* 520 JULIA DECIDES *SP5W. He may be an invalid, and the ransom will be fabulous." The Comtesse de la Maine felt the girl's arm in hers tremble. Hammet Abou an- swered none of these questions, for he did not understand them. He said quietly to Tremont : "The caravan starts to-morrow at sun- down and there is much to do." Tremont stood pulling his mustache. He looked boyish and charming, withal serious beyond his usual habit. His eyes wandered over to the comer where the two women stood together. "I intend to go with you, Hammet Abou," said he slowly, "if it can be ar- ranged. Otherwise this expedition does not interest me." Two women said: "Oh, heavens !" at once. Robert de Tremont heard the note of 179 HIS LOVE STORY anxiety in the younger voice alone. He glanced at the Comtesse de la Maine. "You are quite right, Madame," he said, "a man's life is at stake and we stand chaffing here. I know something of what the desert is and what the natives are. Sabron would be the first to go if it were a question of a brother officer." The Marquise / d'Esclignac got down from her throne, trembling. Her eyes were fixed upon her niece. "Julia," she began, and stopped. Madame de la Maine said nothing. "Robert, you are my godson, and I for- bid it. Your mother " "is one of the bravest women I ever knew," said her godson. "My father was a soldier." Julia withdrew her arm from the Com- tesse de la Maine as though to leave her free. 180 JULIA DECIDES "Then you two girls," said the Mar- quise d'Esclignac, thoroughly American for a moment, "must forbid him to go." She fixed her eyes sternly upon her niece, with a glance of entreaty and reproach. Miss Redmond said in a firm voice : "In Monsieur de Tremont's case I should do exactly what he proposes." "But he is risking his life," said the Marquise d'Esclignac. "He is not even an intimate friend of Monsieur de Sa- bron!" Tremont said, smiling: "You tell us that he has no brother, marraine. Eh bien, I will pass as his brother." A thrill touched Julia Redmond's heart. She almost loved him. If, as her aunt had said, Sabron had been out of the ques- tion . . . "Madame de la Maine," said the Mar- HIS LOVE STORY quise d'Esclignac, her hands shaking, "I appeal to you to divert this headstrong young man from his purpose." The Comtesse de la Maine was the pal- est of the three women. She had been quietly looking at Tremont and now a smile crossed her lips that had tears back of it one of those beautiful smiles that t mean so much on a woman's face. She was the only one of the three who had not yet spoken. Tremont was waiting for her. Hammet Abou, with whom he had been in earnest conversation, was answer- ing his further questions. The Marquise d'Esclignac shrugged, threw up her hands as though she gave up all questions of romance, rescue and disappointed love and foolish girls, and walked out thor- oughly wretched, Mimi tinkling at her heels. The Comtesse de la Maine said to Julia: ,182 JULIA DECIDES "Ma chhe, what were the words of the English song you sang last night the song you told me was a sort of prayer. Tell me the words slowly, will you?" They walked out of the vestibule to- gether, leaving Hammet Abou and Tre- mont alone. CHAPTER XXI MASTER AND FRIEND PITCHOUNE, who might have been considered as one of the infinitesimal atoms in the economy of the universe, ran over the sands away from his master. He was an infinitesimal dot on the desert's face. He was only a small Irish terrier in the heart of the Sahara. His little wiry body and his color seemed to blend with the dust. His eyes were dimmed by hun- ger and thirst and exhaustion, but there was the blood of a fighter in him and he was a thoroughbred. Nevertheless, he was running away. It looked very much like it. There was no one to comment on his treachery; had there been, Pitchoune would not have run far. MASTER AND FRIEND It was not an ordinary sight to see on the Sahara a small Irish terrier going as fast as he could. Pitchoune ran with his nose to the ground. There were several trails for a dog to follow on that apparently untrod- den page of desert history. Which one would he choose ? Without a scent a dog does nothing. His nostrils are his in- stinct. His devotion, his faithfulness, his intelligence, his heart all come through his nose. A man's heart, they say, is in his stomach or in his pocket. A dog's is in his nostrils. If Pitchoune had chosen the wrong direction, this story would nev- er have been written. Michette did not give birth to the sixth puppy, in the sta- bles of the garrison, for nothing. Nor had Sabron saved him on the night of the memorable dinner for nothing. With his nose flat to the sands Pit- 185 "% HIS LOVE STORY choune smelt to east and to west, to north and south, took a scent to the east, decided on it for what rea- son will never be told and followed it. Fatigue and hunger were forgotten as hour after hour Pitchoune ran across the Sahara. Mercifully, the sun had been clouded by the precursor of a wind-storm. The air was almost cool. Mercifully, the wind did not arise until the little terrier had pursued his course to the end. There are occasions when an animal's intelligence surpasses the human. When, toward evening of the twelve hours that it had taken him to reach a certain point, he came to a settlement of mud huts on the borders of an oasis, he was pretty nearly at the end of his strength. The oasis was the only sign of life in five hundred miles. There was very little left in his small body. He lay down, panting, but his 186 MASTER AND FRIEND bright spirit was unwilling just then to leave his form and hovered near him. In the religion of Tatman dogs alone have souls. Pitchoune panted and dragged himself to a pool of water around which the green palms grew, and he drank and drank. Then the little desert wayfarer hid him- self in the bushes and slept till morning. All night he was racked with convulsive twitches, but he slept and in his dreams, he killed a young chicken and ate it. In the morning he took a bath in the pool, and the sun rose while he swam in the water. If Sabron or Miss Redmond could have seen him he would have seemed the epitome of heartless egoism. He was the epitome of wisdom. Instinct and wis- dom sometimes go closely together. Solo- mon was only instinctive when he asked 187 STORY for wisdom. The epicurean Lucullus, when dying, asked for a certain Nile fish cooked in wine. Pitchoune shook out his short hairy body and came out of the oasis pool into the sunlight and trotted into the Arabian village. Fatou Anni parched corn in a brazier before her house. Her house was a mud hut with yellow walls. It had no roof and was open to the sky. Fatou Anni was ninety years old, straight as a lance straight as one of the lances the men of the village carried when they went to dis- pute with white people. These lances with which the young men had fought, had won them the last battle. They had been victorious on the field. Fatou Anni was the grandmother of many men. She had been the mother of 188 MASTER AND FRIEND many men. Now she parched corn tran- quilly, prayerfully. "Allah ! that the corn should not burn ; Allah 1 that it should be sweet ; Allah ! that her men should be always successful." She was the fetish of the settlement. In a single blue garment, her black scrawny breast uncovered, the thin veil that the Fellaheen wear pushed back from her face, her fine eyes were revealed and she might have been a priestess as she bent over her corn ! "Allah! Allah Akbar!" Rather than anything should Happen to Fatou Anni, the settlement would have roasted its enemies alive, torn them in shreds. Some of them said that she was two hundred years old. There was a charmed ring drawn around her house. People supposed that if any creature crossed it uninvited, it would fall dead. 189 HIS LOVE STORY The sun had risen for an hour and the air was still cool. Overhead, the sky, un- stained by a single cloud, was blue as a turquoise floor, and against it, black and portentous, flew the vultures. Here and there the sun-touched pools gave life and reason to the oasis. Fatou Anni parched her corn. Her bar- baric chant was interrupted by a sharp bark and a low pleading whine. She had never heard sounds just like that. The dogs of the village were great wolf-like creatures. Pitchoune's bark was angelic compared with theirs. He crossed the charmed circle drawn around her house, and did not fall dead, and stood before her, whining. Fatou Anni left her corn, stood upright and looked at Pit- choune. To her the Irish terrier was an apparition. The fact that he had not fal- len dead proved that he was beloved of MASTER AND FRIEND ^ > Allah. He was, perhaps, a genie, an afrit. Pitchoune fawned at her feet. She murmured a line of the Koran. It did not seem to affect his demonstrative affection. The woman bent down to him after mak- ing a pass against the Evil Eye, and touched him, and Pitchoune licked her hand. Fatou Anni screamed, dropped him, went into the house and made her ablu- tions. When she came out Pitchoune sat patiently before the parched corn, and he again came crawling to her. The Arabian woman lived in the last hut of the village. She could satisfy her curiosity without shocking her neighbors. She bent down to scrutinize Pitchoune's collar. There was a sacred medal on it with sacred inscriptions which she could not read. But as soon as she had freed him 191 HIS LOVE STORY this time, Pitchoune tore himself away from her, flew out of the sacred ring and disappeared. Then he ran back, barking appealingly ; he took the hem of her dress in his mouth and pulled her. He repeat- edly did this and the superstitious Ara- bian believed herself to be called divinely. She cautiously left the door-step, her veil falling before her face, came out of the sacred ring, followed to the edge of the berry field. From there Pitchoune sped over the desert; then he stopped and looked back at her. Fatou Anni did not follow, and he returned to renew his en- treaties. When she tried to touch him he escaped, keeping at a safe distance. The village began to stir. Blue and yellow garments fluttered in the streets. "Allah Akbar," Fatou Anni murmured, "these are days of victory, of recom- pense." 192 MASTER AND FRIEND She gathered her robe around her and, stately and impressively, started toward the huts of her grandsons. When she re- turned, eight young warriors, fully armed, accompanied her. Pitchoune sat beside the parched corn, watching the brazier and her meal. Fatou Anni pointed to the des- ert. She said to the young men, "Go with this genie. There is something he wishes to show us. Allah is great. Go." When the Capitaine de Sabron opened his eyes in consciousness, they encoun- tered a square of blazing blue heaven. He weakly put up his hand to shade his sight, and a cotton awning, supported by four bamboo poles, was swiftly raised over his head. He saw objects and took cogni- zance of them. On the floor in the low doorway of a mud hut sat three little HIS LOVE STORY naked children covered with flies and dirt. He was the guest of Fatou Anni. These were three of her hundred great-great-grandchildren. The babies were playing with a lit- tle dog. Sabron knew the dog but could not articulate his name. By his side sat the woman to whom he owed his life. Her veil fell over her face. She was braiding straw. He looked at her intelligently. She brought him a drink of cool water in an earthen vessel, with the drops oozing from its porous sides. The hut reeked with odors which met his nostrils at every breath he drew. He asked in Arabic : "Where ami?" "In the hut of victory," said Fatou Anni. Pitchoune overheard the voice and came to Sabron's side. His master mur- mured : ^^*Bk S* 194 kffifl^* >2c<) MASTER AND FRIEND *OP2^ ^Q^ "Where are we, my friend?" The dog leaped on his bed and licked his face. Fatou Anni, with a whisk of straw, swept the flies from him. A great weakness spread its wings above him and he fell asleep. Days are all alike to those who lie in mortal sickness. The hours are intensely colorless and they slip and slip and slip into painful wakefulness, into fever, into drowsiness finally, and then into weak- ness. The Capitaine de Sabron, although he had no family to speak of, did possess, unknown to the Marquise d'Esclignac, an old aunt in the provinces, and a hand- ful of heartless cousins who were indif- ferent to him. Nevertheless he clung to life and in the hut of Fatou Anni fought for existence. Every time that he was con- scious he struggled anew to hold to the 195 HIS LOVE STORY thread of life. Whenever he grasped the thread he vanquished, and whenever he lost it, he went down, down. Fatou Anni cherished him. He was a soldier who had fallen in the battle against her sons and grandsons. He was a man and a strong one, and she despised women. He was her prey and he was her reward and she cared for him ; as she did so, she became maternal. His eyes which, when he was conscious, thanked her ; his thin hands that moved on the rough blue robe thrown over him, the devotion of the dog found a responsive chord in the great-grandmother's heart. Once he smiled at one of the naked, big- bellied great-great-grandchildren. Beni Hassan, three years old, came up to Sa- bron with his finger in his mouth and chat- tered like a bird. This proved to Fatou Anni that Sabron had not the Evil Eye. 196 MASTER AND FRIEND No one but the children were admitted to the hut, but the sun and the flies and the cries of the village came in without per- mission, and now and then, when the winds arose, he could hear the stirring of the palm trees. Sabron was reduced to skin and bone. His nourishment was insufficient, and the absence of all decent care was slowly taking him to death. It will never be known why he did not die. Pitchoune took to making long excur- sions. He would be absent for days, and in his clouded mind Sabron thought the dog was reconnoitering for him over the vast pink sea without there which, if one could sail across as in a ship, one would sail to France, through the walls of mellow old Tarascon, to the chateau of good King Rene; one would sail as the moon sails, and through an open win- HIS LOVE STORY dow one might hear the sound of a woman's voice singing. The song, ever illusive and irritating in its persistency, tantalized his sick ears. Sabron did not know that he would have found the chateau shut had he sailed there in the moon. It was as well that he did not know, for his wandering thought would not have known where to follow, and there was repose in thinking pf the Chateau d'Esclignac. It grew terribly hot. Fatou Anni, by his side, fanned him with a fan she had woven. The great-great-grandchildren on the floor in the mud fought together. They quarreled over bits of colored glass. Sa- bron's breath came panting. Without, he heard the cries of the warriors, the lance- bearers he heard the cries of Fatou Anni's sons who were going out to bat- tle. The French soldiers were in a dis- MASTER AND FRIEND tant part of the Sahara and Fatou Anni'a grandchildren were going out to pillage and destroy. The old woman by his side cried out and beat her breast. Now and then she looked at him curiously, as if she saw death on his pale face. Now that all her sons and grandsons had gone, he was the only man left in the village, as even boys of sixteen had joined the raid. She wiped his forehead and gave him a potion that had healed her hus- band after his body had been pierced with arrows. It was all she could do for a captive. Toward sundown, for the first time Sabron felt a little better, and after twen- ty-four hours' absence, Pitchoune whined at the hut door, but would not come in. Fatou Anni called on Allah, left her pa- tient and went out to see what was the matter with the dog. At the door, in 199 HIS LOVE STORY 0^o(_ *&$& the shade of a palm, stood two Bedouins. It was rare for the caravan to pass by Beni Medinet. The old woman's super- stition foresaw danger in this visit. Her veil before her face, her gnarled old fin- gers held the fan with which she had been fanning Sabron. She went out to the strangers. Down by the well a group of girls in garments of blue and yellow, with earthen bottles on their heads, stood staring at Beni Medinet's unusual visit- ors. "Peace be with you, Fatou Anni," said the older of the Bedouins. "Are you a cousin or a brother that you know my name?" asked the ancient woman. "Every one knows the name of the old- est woman in the Sahara," said Hammet Abou, "and the victorious are always brothers." f"C^ If 2OO y 7 MASTER AXD FRIEND "What do you want with me?" she asked, thinking of the helplessness of the village. Hammet Abou pointed to the hut "You have a white captive in there. Is he alive?" "What is that to you, son of a dog?" "The mother of many sons is wise," said Hammet Abou portentously, "but she does not know that this man carries the Evil Eye. His dog carries the Evil Eye for his enemies. Your people have gone to battle. Unless this man is cast out from your village, your young men, your grandsons and your sons will be destroyed." The old woman regarded him calmly. "I do not fear it," she said tranquilly. "We have had corn and oil in plenty. He is sacred." For the first time she looked at his com- HIS LOVE STORY fo% panion, tall and slender and evidently younger. "You favor the coward Franks," she said in a high voice. "You have come to fall upon us in our desolation." She was about to raise the peculiar wail which would have summoned to her all the women of the village. The dogs of the place had already begun to show their noses, and the villagers were drawing near the people under the palms. Now the young man began to speak swiftly in a language that she did not understand, addressing his comrade. The language was so curious that the woman, with the cry arrested on her lips, stared at him. Pointing to his companion, Hammet Abou said: "Fatou Anni, this great lord kisses your hand. He says that he wishes he could speak your beautiful language. He does MASTER AND FRIEND f>g not come from the enemy; he does not come from the French. He comes from two women of his people by whom the captive is beloved. He says that you are the nother of sons and grandsons, and that you will deliver this man up into our hands in peace." The narrow fetid streets were begin- ning to fill with the figures of women, their beautifully colored robes fluttering in the light, and there were curious eager children who came running, naked save for the bangles upon their arms and ankles. Pointing to them, Hammet Abou said to the old sage: "See, you are only women here, Fatou Anni. Your men are twenty miles farther south. We have a caravan of fifty men all armed, Fatou Anni. They camp just there, at the edge of the oasis. They are 203 HIS LOVE STORY waiting. We come in peace, old woman ; we come to take away the Evil Eye from your door; but if you anger us and rave against us, the dogs and women of your town will fall upon you and destroy every breast among you." She began to beat her palms together, murmuring : "Allah! Allah!" "Hush," said the Bedouin fiercely, "take us to the captive, Fatou Anni." Fatou Anni did not stir. She pulled aside the veil from her withered face, so that her great eyes looked out at the two men. She saw her predicament, but she was a subtle Oriental. Victory had been in her camp and in her village; her sons and grandsons had never been vanquished. Perhaps the dying man in the hut would bring the Evil Eye ! He was dying, any- way he would not live twenty- four 204 MASTER AND FRIEND hours. She knew this, for her ninety years of life had seen many eyes close on the oasis under the hard blue skies. To the taller of the two Bedouins she said in Arabic: "Fatou Anni is nearly one hundred years old. She has borne twenty children, she has had fifty grandchildren; she has seen many wives, many brides and many mothers. She does not believe the sick man has the Evil Eye. She is not afraid of your fifty armed men. Fatou Anni is not afraid. Allah is great. She will not give up the Frenchman because of fear, nor will she give him up to any man. She gives him to the women of his people." With dignity and majesty and with great beauty of carriage, the old woman turned and walked toward her hut and the Bedouins followed her. CHAPTER XXII INTO THE DESERT A WEEK after the caravan of the Due de Tremont left Algiers, Julia Redmond came unexpectedly to the villa of Madame de la Maine at an early morn- ing hour. Madame de la Maine saw her standing on the threshold of her bedroom door. "Chere Madame," Julia said, "I am leaving to-day with a dragoman and twen- ty servants to go into the desert." Madame de la Maine was still in bed. At nine o'clock she read her papers and her correspondence. "Into the desert alone!" Julia, with her cravache in her gloved hands, smiled sweetly though she was very 206 INTO THE DESERT pale. "I had not thought of going alone, Madame," she replied with charming as- surance, "I knew you would go with me." On a chair by her bed was a wrapper of blue silk and lace. The comtesse sprang up and then thrust her feet into her slip- pers and stared at Julia. "What are you going to do in the desert ?" "Watch!" "Yes, yes!" nodded Madame de la Maine. "And your aunt ?" "Deep in a bazaar for the hospital," smiled Miss Redmond. Madame de la Maine regarded her slen- der friend with admiration and envy. "Why hadn't I thought of it?" She rang for her maid. "Because your great-grandfather was not a pioneer!" Miss Redmond answered. 207 HIS LOVE STORY The sun which, all day long, held the desert in its burning embrace, went west- ward in his own brilliant caravan. 'The desert blossoms like a rose, Therese." "Like a rose?" questioned Madame de la Maine. She was sitting in the door of her tent; her white dress and her white hat gleamed like a touch of snow upon the desert's face. Julia Redmond, on a rug at her feet, and in her khaki riding-habit the color of the sand, blended with the desert as though part of it She sat up as she spoke. "How divine! See!" She pointed to the stretches of the Sahara before her. On every side they spread away as far as the eye could reach, suave, mellow, black, un- dulating finally to small hillocks with cor- rugated sides, as a group of little sand- 208 INTO THE DESERT hills rose softly out of the sea-like plain. 'Took, Therese!" Slowly, from ocher and gold the color changed; a faint wave-like blush crept over the sands, which reddened, paled, faded, warmed again, took depth and grew intense like flame. "The heart of a rose! N'est-ce pas, Therese?" "I understand now what you mean," said madame. The comtesse was not a dreamer. Parisian to the tips of her fin- gers, elegant, fine, she had lived a conven- tional life. Therese had been taught to conceal her emotions. She had been taught that our feelings matter very little to any one but ourselves. She had been taught to go lightly, to avoid serious things. Her great-grandmother had gone lightly to the scaffold, exquisitely courte- ous till the last. HIS LOVE STORY "I ask your pardon if I jostled you in the tumbrel," the old comtesse had said to her companion on the way to the guil- lotine. "The springs of the cart are poor" and she went up smiling In the companionship of the American girl, Therese de la Maine had thrown off restraint. If the Marquise d'Esclignac had felt Julia's influence, Therese de la Maine, being near her own age, echoed Julia's very feeling. Except for their dragoman and their servants, the two women were alone in the desert. Smiling at Julia, Madame de la Maine said: "I haven't been so far from the Rue de la Paix in my life." "How can you speak of the Rue de la Paix, Therese?" "Only to show you how completely I have left it behind." INTO THE DESERT Julia's eyes were fixed upon the limit- less sands, a sea where a faint line lost itself in the red west and the horizon shut from her sight everything that she be- lieved to be her life. "This is the seventh day, Therese!" "Already you are as brown as an Arab, Julia!" "You as well, ma chtre amie!" "Robert does not like dark women," said the Comtesse de la Maine, and rubbed her cheek. "I must wear two veils." "Look, Therese!" Across the face of the desert the glow began to withdraw its curtain. The sands suffused an ineffable hue, a shell-like pink took possession, and the desert melted and then grew colder it waned before their eyes, withered like a tea-rose. "Like a rose !" Julia murmured, "smell in HIS LOVE STORY its perfume!" She lifted her head, drink- ing in with delight the fragrance of the sands. "Ma chtre Julia," gently protested the comtesse, lifting her head, "perfume, Ju- lia!" But she breathed with her friend, while a sweetly subtle, intoxicating odor, as of millions and millions of roses, gath- ered, warmed, kept, then scattered on the airs of heaven, intoxicating her. To the left were the huddled tents of their attendants. No sooner had the sun gone down than the Arabs commenced to sing a song that Julia had especially liked. "Love is like a sweet perfume, It comes, it escapes. When it's present, it intoxicates ; When it's a memory, it brings tears. Love is like a sweet breath, It comes and it escapes." The weird music filled the silence of Qol0 l INTO THE DESERT the silent place. It had the evanescent quality of the wind that brought the breath of the sand-flowers. The voices of the Arabs, not unmusical, though hoarse and appealing, cried out their love- song, and then the music turned to invoca- tion and to prayer. The two women listened silently as the night fell, their figures sharply outlined in the beautiful clarity of the eastern night. Julia stood upright. In her severe rid- ing-dress, she was as slender as a boy. She remained looking toward the horizon, immovable, patient, a silent watcher over the uncommunicative waste. "Perhaps," she thought, "there is noth- ing really beyond that line, so fast blot- ting itself into night ! and yet I seem to see them come !" Madame de la Maine, in the door of her HIS LOVE STORY tent, immovable, her hands clasped around her knees, looked affectionately at the young girl before her. Julia was. a de- light to her. She was carried away by her, by her frank simplicity, and drawn to her warm and generous heart. Ma- dame de la Maine had her own story. She wondered whether ever, for any period of her conventional life, she could have thrown everything aside and stood out with the man she loved. Julia, standing before her, a dark slim figure in the night isolated and alone recalled the figurehead of a ship, its face toward heaven, pioneering the open seas. Julia watched, indeed. On the desert there is the brilliant day, a passionate glow, and the nightfall. They passed the nights sometimes listening for a cry that should hail an approaching caravan, some- 214 INTO THE DESERT times hearing the wild cry of the hyenas, or of a passing vulture on his horrid flight Otherwise, until the camp stirred with the dawn and the early prayer-call sounded "Allah ! Allah ! Akbar!" into the stillness, they were wrapped in complete silence. CHAPTER XXIII TWO LOVE STORIES IF IT had not been for her absorbing thought of Sabron, Julia would have reveled in the desert and the new experi- ences. As it was, its charm and magic and the fact that he traveled over it helped her to endure the interval. In the deep impenetrable silence she seemed to hear her future speak to her. She believed that it would either be a wonderfully happy one, or a hopelessly withered life. "Julia, I can not ride any farther !" ex- claimed the comtesse. She was an excellent horsewoman and had ridden all her life, but her riding of late had consisted of a canter in the Bois de Boulogne at noon, and it was some- 216 TWO LOVE STORIES times hard to follow Julia's tireless gal- lops toward an ever-disappearing goal. "Forgive me," said Miss Redmond, and brought her horse up to her friend's side. It was the cool of the day, of the four- teenth day since Tremont had left Algiers and the seventh day of Julia's excursion. A fresh wind blew from the west, lifting their veils from their helmets and bring- ing the fragrance of the mimosa into whose scanty forest they had ridden. The sky paled toward sunset, and the evening star, second in glory only to the moon, hung over the west. Although both women knew perfectly well the reason for this excursion and its importance, not one word had been spoken between them of Sabron and Tremont other than a natural interest and anxiety. They might have been two hospital nurses awaiting their patients. 217 HIS LOVE STOR^i They halted their horses, looking over toward the western horizon and its mys- tery. "The star shines over their cara- van/' mused Madame de la Maine (Julia had not thought Therese poetical), "as though to lead them home." Madame de la Maine turned her face and Julia saw tears in her eyes. The Frenchwoman's control was usually per- fect, she treated most things with mock- ing gaiety. The bright softness of her eyes touched Julia. "Therese!" exclaimed the American girl. "It is only fourteen days !" Madame de la Maine laughed. There was a break in her voice. "Only four- teen days," she repeated, "and any one of those days may mean death !" She threw back her head, touched her stallion, and flew away like light, and it was Julia who first drew rein. 218 TWO LOVE STORIES rfP3P "Therese! Therese! We can not go any farther!" "Lady!" said Azrael. He drew his big black horse up beside them. "We must go back to the tents." Madame de la Maine pointed with her whip toward the horizon. "It is cruel! It ever recedes!" "Tell me, Julia, of Monsieur de Sa- bron," asked Madame de la Maine ab- ruptly. "There is nothing to tell, Therese." "You don't trust me?" "Do you think that, really?" In the tent where Azrael served them their meal, under the ceiling of Turkish red with its Arabic characters in clear white, Julia and Madame de la Maine sat while their coffee was served them by a Syrian servant. /* 219 HIS LOVE STORY "A girl does not come into the Sahara and watch like a sentinel, does not suffer as you have suffered, ma chtre, without there being something to tell." "It is true," said Miss Redmond, "and would you be with me, Therese, if I did not trust you? And what do you want me to tell?" she added naively. The comtesse laughed. "Vous etes charmante, Julia !" "I met Monsieur de Sabron," said Julia slowly, "not many months ago in Pales- tine. I saw him several times, and then he went away." "And then?" urged Madame de la Maine eagerly. "He left his little dog, Pitchoune, with me, and Pitchoune ran after his master, to Marseilles, flinging himself into the water, and was rescued by the sailors. I wrote about it to Monsieur de Sabron, TWO LOVE STORIES and he answered me from the desert, the night before he went into battle." "And that's all?" urged Madame de la Maine. "That's all," said Miss Redmond. She drank her coffee. "You tell a love story very badly, ma chhe." "Is it a love story?" "Have you come to Africa for charity ? Voyons!" Julia was silent. A great reserve seemed to seize her heart, to stifle her as the poverty of her love story struck her. She sat turning her coffee-spoon between her fingers, her eyes downcast. She had very little to tell. She might never have any more to tell. Yet this was her love story. But the presence of Sabron was so real, and she saw his eyes clearly looking upon her as she had seen them often; TITC T r~lVC" Jtllo LUVc. heard the sound of his voice that meant but one thing and the words of his letter came back to her. She remembered her letter to him, rescued from the field where he had fallen. She raised her eyes to the Comtesse de la Maine, and there was an appeal in them. The Frenchwoman leaned over and kissed Julia. She asked nothing more. She had not learned her lessons in discre- tion to no purpose. At night they sat out in the moonlight, white as day, and the radiance over the sands was like the snow-flowers. Wrapped in their warm coverings, Julia and Therese de la Maine lay on the rugs before the door of their tent, and above their heads shone the stars so low that it seemed as though their hands could snatch them from the sky. At a little dis- tance their servants sat around the dying mm w-vnra TWO LOVE STORIES fire, and there came to them the plaintive song of Azrael, as he led their singing : "And who can give again the love of yes- terday ? Can a whirlwind replace the sand after it is scattered? What can heal the heart that Allah has smited ? Can the mirage form again when there are no eyes to see ?" "I was married," said Madame de la Maine, "when I was sixteen." Julia drew a little nearer and smiled to herself in the shadow. This would be a real love story. "I had just come out of the convent. We lived in an old chateau, older than the history of your country, ma chere, and I had no dot. Robert de Tremont and I used to play together in the allees of the park, on the terrace. When his mother brought him over, when she called on my 223 HIS LOVE STORY grandmother, he teased me horribly be- cause the weeds grew between the stones of our terrace. He was very rude. "Throughout our childhood, until I was sixteen, we teased each other and fought and quarreled." "This is not a love-affair, Therese," said Miss Redmond. "There are all kinds, ma chtre, as there are all temperaments," said Ma- dame de la Maine. "At Assumption that is our great feast, Julia the Feast of Mary it comes in August at As- sumption, Monsieur de la Maine came to talk with my grandmother. He was forty years old, and bald Bob and I made fun of his few hairs, like the children in the Holy Bible." Julia put out her hand and took the hand of Madame de la Maine gently. She was getting so far from a love-affair. 224. TWO LOVE STORIES "I married Monsieur de la Maine in six weeks," said Therese. "Oh," breathed Miss Redmond, "horri- ble!" Madame de la Maine pressed Julia's hand. "When it was decided between my grandmother and the comte, I escaped at night, after they thought I had gone to bed, and I went down to the lower terrace where the weeds grew in plenty, and told Robert. Somehow, I did not expect him to make fun, although we always joked about everything until this night. It was after nine o'clock." The comtesse swept one hand toward the desert. "A moon like this only not like this ma chtre. There was never but that moon to me for many years. "I thought at first that Bob would kill me, he grew so white and terrible. He HIS LOVE STORY seemed suddenly to have aged ten years. I will never forget his cry as it rang out in the night. 'You will marry that old man when we love each other?' I had never known it until then. "We were only children, but he grew suddenly old. I knew it then," said Ma- dame de la Maine intensely, "I knew it then." She waited for a long time. Over the face of the desert there seemed to be noth- ing but one veil of light. The silence grew so intense, so deep; the Arabs had stopped singing, but the heart fairly echoed, and Julia grew meditative be- fore her eyes the caravan she waited for seemed to come out of the moonlit mist, rocking, rocking the camels and the huddled figures of the riders, their shad- ows cast upon the sand. And now Tremont would be forever 226 TWO LOVE STORIES changed in her mind. A man who had suffered from his youth, a warm-hearted boy, defrauded of his early love. It seemed to her that he was a charming fig- ure to lead Sabron. "Therese," she murmured, "won't you tell me?" "They thought I had gone to bed," said the Comtesse de la Maine, "and I went back to my room by a little staircase, sel- dom used, and I found myself alone, and I knew what life was and what it meant to be poor." 9 "But," interrupted Julia, horrified, "girls are not sold in the twentieth cen- tury." "They are sometimes in France, my dear. Robert was only seventeen. His father laughed at him, threatened to send him to South America. We were vic- tims." "It was the harvest moon," continued Madame de la Maine gently, "and it shone on us every night until my wedding-day. Then the duke kept his threat and sent Robert out of France. He continued his studies in England and went into the army of Africa." There was a silence again. "I did not see him until last year," said Madame de la Maine, "after my husband CHAPTER XXIV THE MEETING UNDER the sun, under the starry nights Tremont, with his burden, journeyed toward the north. The halts were distasteful to him, and although he was forced to rest he would rather have been cursed with sleeplessness and have journeyed on and on. He rode his camel like a Bedouin; he grew brown like the Bedouins and under the hot breezes, swaying on his desert ship, he sank into dreamy, moody and melancholy reveries, like the wandering men of the Sahara, and felt himself part of the desolation, as they were. "What will be, will be!" Hammet Abou said to him a hundred times, and Tremont wondered: "Will Charles live to see Algiers?" Sabron journeyed in a litter carried be- tween six mules, and they traveled slowly, slowly. Tremont rode by the sick man's side day after day. Not once did the soldier for any length of time regain his reason. He would pass from coma to de- lirium, and many times Tremont thought he had ceased to breathe. Slender, ema- ciated under his covers, Sabron lay like the image of a soldier in wax a wounded man carried as a votive offering to the altars of desert warfare. At night as he lay in his bed in his tent, Tremont and Hammet Abou cooled his temples with water from the earthen bottles, where the sweet ooze stood out humid and refreshing on the damp clay. They gave him acid and cooling drinks, and now and then Sabron would smile on THE MEETING Tremont, calling him "petit frere", and Tremont heard the words with moisture in his eyes, remembering what he had said to the Marquise d'Esclignac about being Sabron's brother. Once or twice the soldier murmured a woman's name, but Tremont could not catch it, and once he said to the duke: "Sing! Sing!" The Frenchman obeyed docilely, hum- ming in an agreeable barytone the snatches of song he could remember, La Fille de Madame Angot, II Trovatore; running then into more modern opera, La :-c Joyeuse. But the lines creased in Sabron's forehead indicated that the singer had not yet found the music which haunted the memory of the sick man. "Sing!" he would repeat, fixing his hol- low eyes on his companion, and Tremont complied faithfully. Finally, his own 231 880 HIS LOVE STORY thoughts going back to early days, he hummed tunes that he and a certain lit- tle girl had sung at their games in the allees of an old chateau in the valley of the Indre. "Sonnez les matines Ding din don" and other children's melodies. In those nights, on that desolate way, alone, in a traveling tent, at the side of a man he scarcely knew, Robert de Tre- mont learned serious lessons. He had been a soldier himself, but his life had been an inconsequent one. He had lived as he liked, behind him always the bitter- ness of an early deception. But he had been too young to break his heart at sev- enteen. He had lived through much since the day his father exiled him to Africa. The"rese had become a dream, a mem- 232 THE MEETING ory around which he did not always let his thoughts linger. When he had seen her again after her husband's death and found her free, he was already absorbed in the worldly life of an ambitious young man. He had not known how much he loved her until in the Villa des Bougain- villeas he had seen and contrasted her with Julia Redmond. All the charm for him of the past re- turned, and he realized that, as money goes, he was poor she was poorer. The difficulties of the marriage made him all the more secure in his determina- tion that nothing should separate him again from this woman. By Sabron's bed he hummed his little insignificant tunes, and his heart longed for the woman. When once or twice on the return journey they had been threat- ened by the engulfing sand-storm, he had 233 HIS LOVE STOIttS prayed not to die before he could again clasp her in his arms. Sweet, tantalizing, exquisite with the sadness and the passion of young love, there came to him the memories of the moonlight nights on the terrace of the old chateau. He saw her in the pretty girlish dresses of long ago, the melancholy droop of her quivering mouth, her bare young arms, and smelled the fragrance of her hair as he kissed her. So humming his soothing melodies to the sick man, with his voice softened by his memories, he soothed Sabron. Sabron closed his eyes, the creases in his forehead disappeared as though brushed away by a tender hand. Perhaps the sleep was due to the fact that, uncon- sciously, Tremont slipped into humming a tune which Miss Redmond had sung in the Villa des Bougainvilleas, and of 234 THE MEETING whose English words De Tremont was quite ignorant. "Will he last until Algiers, Hammet Abou?" "What will be, will be, Monsieur!" Abou replied. "He must," De Tremont answered fiercely. "He shall." He became serious and meditative on those silent days, and his blue eyes, where the very whites were burned, began to wear the far-away mysterious look of the traveler across long distances. During the last sand-storm he stood, with the camels, round Sabron's litter, a human shade and shield, and when the storm ceased, he fell like one dead, and the Arabs pulled off his boots and put him to bed like a child. One sundown, as they traveled into the after-glow with the East behind them, HIS LOVE STORY when Tremont thought he could not en- dure another day of the voyage, when the pallor and waxness of Sabron's face were like death itself, Hammet Abou, who rode ahead, cried out and pulled up his camel short. He waved his arm. "A caravan, Monsieur !" In the distance they saw the tents, like lotus leaves, scattered on the pink sands, and the dark shadows of the Arabs and the couchant beasts, and the glow of the encampment fire. "An encampment, Monsieur!" Tremont sighed. He drew the curtain of the litter and looked in upon Sabron, who was sleeping. His set features, the growth of his uncut beard, the long fringe of his eyes, his dark hair upon his fore- head, his wan transparency with the peace upon his face, he might have been a figure of Christ waiting for sepulture. 236 THE MEETING Tremont cried to him: "Sabron, mon -weiix Charles, reveille-toil We are in sight of human beings !" But Sabron gave no sign that he heard or cared. Throughout the journey across the des- ert, Pitchoune had ridden at his will and according to his taste, sometimes journey- ing for the entire day perched upon Tre- mont's camel. He sat like a little figure- head or a mascot, with ears pointed north- ward and his keen nose sniffing the desert air. Sometimes he would take the same position on one of the mules that carried Sabron's litter, but his favorite post was within the litter, at his master's feet There he would lie hour after hour, with his soft eyes fixed with understanding sympathy upon Sabron's face. He was, as he had been to Fatou Anni, a kind of fetish : the caravan adored him. 23? HIS LOVE STORY Now from his position at Sabron's feet, he crawled up and licked his master's hand. "Charles!" Tremont cried, and lifted the soldier's hand. Sabron opened his eyes. He was sane. The glimmer of a smile touched his lips. He said Tremont's name, recognized him. "Are we home ?" he asked weakly. "Is it France?" Tremont turned and dashed away a tear. He drew the curtains of the litter and now walked beside it, his legs feeling like cotton and his heart beating. As they came up toward the encamp- ment, two people rode out to meet them, two women in white riding-habits, on stal- lions, and as the evening breeze fluttered the veils from their helmets, they seemed to be flags of welcome. 238 THE MEETING Under his helmet Tremont was red and burned. He had a short rough growth of beard. Therese de la Maine and Julia Red- mond rode up. Tremont recognized them, and came forward, half staggering. He looked at Julia and smiled, and pointed with his left hand toward the litter; but he went directly up to Madame de la Maine, who sat immovable on her little stallion. Tremont seemed to gather her in his arms. He lifted her down to him. Julia Redmond's eyes were on the litter, whose curtains were stirring in the breeze. Hammet Abou, with a profound salaam, came forward to her. "Mademoiselle," he said respectfully, "he lives. I have kept my word." Pitchoune sprang from the litter and ran over the sands to Julia Redmond. She dismounted from her horse alone and HIS LOVE STORY called him: "Pitchoune! Pitchoune!" Kneeling down on the desert, she stooped to caress him, and he crouched at her feet, licking her hands. 240 y ? "CHAPTER XXV AS HANDSOME DOES WHEN Sabron next opened his eyes he fancied that he was at home in his old room in Rouen, in the house where he was born, in the little room in which, as a child, dressed in his dimity night-gown, he had sat up in his bed by candle-light to learn his letters from the cookery book. The room was snowy white. Outside the window he heard a bird sing, and near by, he heard a dog's smothered bark. Then he knew that he was not at home or a child, for with the languor and weak- ness came his memory. A quiet nurse in a hospital dress was sitting by his bed, and HIS LOVE STORY. Pitchoune rose from the foot of the bed and looked at him adoringly. He was in a hospital in Algiers. "Pitchoune," he murmured, not know- ing the name of his other companion, "where are we, old fellow?" The nurse replied in an agreeable An- glo-Saxon French : "You are in a French hospital in Al- giers, sir, and doing well." Tremont came up to him. "I remember you," Sabron said. "You have been near me a dozen times lately." "You must not talk, mon ineux." "But I feel as though I must talk a great deal. Didn't you come for me into the desert ?" Tremont, healthy, vigorous, tanned, gay and cheerful, seemed good-looking to poor Sabron, who gazed up at him with touching gratitude. i* AS HANDSOME DOES "I think I remember everything. I think I shall never forget it," he said, and lifted his hand feebly. Robert de Tre- mont took it. "Haven't we traveled far together, Tremont?" "Yes," nodded the other, affected, "but you must sleep now. We will talk about it over our cigars and liquors soon." Sabron smiled faintly. His clear mind was regaining its balance, and thoughts began to sweep over it cruelly fast. He looked at his rescuer, and to him the oth- er's radiance meant simply that he was engaged to Miss Redmond. Of course that was natural. Sabron tried to accept it and to be glad for the happiness of the man who had rescued him. But as he thought this, he wondered why he had been rescued and shut his eyes so that Tre- mont might not see his weakness. He said hesitatingly : HIS LOVE STORY "I am haunted by a melody, a tune. Could you help me ? It won't come." "It's not the Marseillaise?" asked the other, sitting down by his side and pulling Pitchoune's ears. "Oh, no!" "There will be singing in the ward shortly. A Red Cross nurse comes to sing to the patients. She may help you to remember." Sabron renounced in despair. Haunt- ing, tantalizing in his brain and illusive, the notes began and stopped, began and stopped. He wanted to ask his friend a thousand questions. How he had come to him, why he had come to him, how he knew ... He gave it all up and dozed, and while he slept the sweet sleep of those who are to recover, he heard the sound of a woman's voice in the distance, singing, one after another, familiar melodies, and AS HANDSOME DOES finally he heard the Kyrie Eleison, and to its music Sabron again fell asleep. The next day he received a visitor. It was not an easy matter to introduce visit- ors to his bedside, for Pitchoune object- ed. Pitchoune received the Marquise d'Esclignac with great displeasure. "Is he a thoroughbred?" asked the Marquise d'Esclignac. "He has behaved like one," replied the officer. There was a silence. The Marquise d'Esclignac was wondering what her niece saw in the pale man so near still to the borders of the other world. "You will be leaving the army, of course," she murmured, looking at him in- terestedly. "Madame!" said trie Capitaine de Sa- bron, with his blood all that was in him rising to his cheeks. HIS LOVE "I mean that France has 'done nothing for you. France did not rescue you and you may feel like seeking a more an- other career." Sabron could not reply. Her ribbons and flowers and jewels shook in his eyes like a kaleidoscope. His flush had made him more natural. In his invalid state, with his hair brushed back from his fine brow, there was something spiritual and beautiful about him. The Marquise d'Es- clignac looked on a man who had been far and who had determined of his own accord to come back. She said more gently, putting her hand affectionately over his : "Get strong, Monsieur get well. Eat all the good things we are making for you. I dare say that the army can not spare you. It needs brave hearts." SabroQ was so agitated after Her depar- 246 AS HANDSOME DOES ture that the nurse said he must receive no more visits for several days, and he med- itated and longed and thought and won- dered, and nearly cursed the life that had brought him back to a world which must be lonely for him henceforth. When he sat up in bed he was a shadow. He had a book to read and read a few lines of it, but he put it down as the letters blurred. He was sitting so, dreaming and wondering how true or how false it was that he had seen Julia Redmond come sev- eral times to his bedside during the early days of his illness here in the hospital. Then across his troubled mind suddenly came the words that he had heard her sing, and he tried to recall them. The Red Cross nurse who so charitably sang in the hospital came to the wards and began her mission. One after another she sang familiar songs. ^ Wa*f23ES~ HIS LOVE STORY *3i> "How the poor devils must love it!" Sabron thought, and he blessed her for her charity. How familiar was her voice ! But that was only because he was so ill. But he began to wonder and to doubt, and across the distance came the notes of the tune, the melody of the song that had haunted him for many months : "God keep you safe, my love, All through the night ; Rest close in His encircling arms Until the light. My heart is with you as I kneel to pray, Good night! God keep you in His care alway. "Thick shadows creep like silent ghosts About my head ; I lose myself in tender dreams While overhead The moon comes stealing through the window-bars, A silver sickle gleaming 'mid the stars. *\&bff ^>ooO AS HANDSOME DOES "For I, though I am far away, Feel safe and strong, To trust you thus, dear love and yet, The night is long. I say with sobbing breath the old fond prayer, Good night! Sweet dreams! God keep you every where 1" When she ha*d finished singing there were tears on the soldier's cheeks and he was not ashamed. Pitchoune, who re- membered the tune as well, crept up to him and laid his head on his master's hand. Sabron had just time to wipe away the tears when the Due de Tremont came in. "Old fellow, do you feel up to seeing Miss Redmond for a few moments?" When she came in he did not know whether he most clearly saw her simple summer dress with the single jewel at her 24 " HIS LOVE STORY throat, her large hat that framed her face, or the gentle lovely face all sweetness and sympathy. He believed her to be the fu- ture Duchesse de Tremont. "Monsieur de Sabron, we are all so glad you are getting well." "Thank you, Mademoiselle." He seemed to look at her from a great distance, from the distance to the end of which he had so wearily been traveling. She was lovelier than he had dreamed, more rarely sweet and adorable. "Did you recognize the little song, Mon- sieur ?" "It was good of you to sing it." "This is not the first time I have seen you, Monsieur de Sabron. I came when you were too ill to know of it." "Then I did not dream," said the officer simply. He was as proud as he was poor. He 250 AS HANDSOME DOES could only suppose her engaged to the Due de Tremont. It explained her pres- ence here. In his wildest dreams he could not suppose that she had followed him to Africa. Julia, on her part, having done an extraordinary and wonderful thing, like every brave woman, was seized with terror and a sudden cowardice. Sabron, after all, was a stranger. How could she know his feelings for her? She spent a miserable day. He was out of all danger; in a fortnight he might leave the hospital. She did not feel that she could see him again as things were. The Comtesse de la Maine had returned to Paris as soon as Tremont came in from the desert. "Ma tante," said Julia Redmond to the Marquise d'Esclignac, "can we go back to France immediately ?" "My dear Julia!" exclaimed h'er aunt, in surprise and delight. "Robert will be 251 HIS LOVE STORYi enchanted, but he would not be able to leave his friend so soon." "He need not," said the girl, "nor need you leave unless you wish." The Marquise d'Esclignac entertained a thousand thoughts. She had not studied young girls' minds for a long time. She had heard that the modern American girl was very extreme and she held her in rather light esteem. Julia Redmond she had considered to be out of the general rule. "Was it possible," she wondered, "that Julia, in comparing Tremont with the invalid, found Robert more attrac- tive?" "Julia," she said severely, as though her niece were a child, pointing to a chair, "sit down." Slightly smiling, the young girl obeyed her aunt. "My dear, I have followed your ca- 252 AS HANDSOME DOES prices from France to Africa. Only by pleading heart-failure and mortal illness could I dissuade you from going into the desert with the caravan. Now, without any apparent reason, you wish to return to France." "The reason for coming here has been accomplished, ma tante. Monsieur de Sa- bron has been found." "And now that you have found him," said the marquise reproachfully, "and you discover that he is not all your romantic fancy imagined, you are going to run away from him. In short, you mean to throw him over." "Throw him over, ma tante!" mur- mured the girl. "I have never had the chance. Between Monsieur de Sabron and myself there is only friendship." "Fiddlesticks!" said the Marquise d'Esclignac impatiently. "I have no un- 253 &2oO" HIS LOVE STORY derstanding of the modern young girl. She makes her own marriages and her subsequent divorces. I am your aunt, my dear, your mother's sister, and a woman of at least twenty-five years' more expe- rience than you have." Julia was not following her aunt's train of thought, but her own. She felt the hint of authority and bondage in her aunt's tone and repeated : "I wish to leave Algiers to-morrow." "You shall do so," said her aunt. "I am rejoiced to get out of the Orient. It is late to order my dresses for Trouville, but I can manage. Before we go, how- ever, my dear, I want you to make me a promise." "A promise, ma tante?" The girl's tone implied that she did not think she would give it. "You have played the part of fate in the 254 AS HANDSOME DOES life of this young ma'n, who, I find, is a charming and brave man. Now you must stand by your guns, my dear Julia." "Why, how do you mean, ma tante?" "You will go to Paris and the Capitaine de Sabron will get well rapidly. He will follow you, and if it were not for Tre- mont, myself, your Red Cross Society and the presence here of Madame de la Maine, you would have been very much compromised. But never mind," said the Marquise d'Esclignac magnificently, "my name is sufficient protection for my niece. I am thinking solely of the poor young man." "Of Monsieur de Sabron?" "Of course," said the Marquise d'Es- clignac tartly, "did you think I meant Robert? You have so well arranged his life for him, my dear." "Ma tante" pleaded the girl. 255 ^i HIS LOVE STORY ^S^ The marquise was merciless. "I want you to promise me, Julia, be- fore you sail for home, that if Sabron fol- lows us and makes you to understand that he loves you, as he will, that you will ac- cept him." Julia Redmond looked at the Marquise d'Esclignac in astonishment. She half laughed and she half cried. "You want me to promise ?" "I do," said her aunt firmly, regarding her niece through her lorgnon. "In the first place the affair is entirely unconven- tional and has been since we left France. It is I who should speak to the Capitaine de Sabron. You are so extremely rich that it will be a difficult matter for a poor and honorable young man. . . . In- deed, my dear, I may as well tell you that I shall do so when we reach home." "Oh," said the girl, turning perfectly 256 AS HANDSOME DOES O^o C^O pale and stepping forward toward her aunt, ''if you consider such a thing I shall leave for America at once." The Marquise d'Esclignac gave a pet- ulant sigh. "How impossible you are, Julia. Un- derstand me, my dear, I do not want a woman of my family to be a coquette. I do not want it said that you are an Amer- ican flirt it is in bad taste and entirely misunderstood in the Faubourg St.-Ger- main." The girl, bewildered by her aunt's atti- tude and extremely troubled by the threat of the marriage convention, said : "Don't you understand? In this case it is peculiarly delicate. He might ask me from a sense of honor." "Not in any sense," said the Marquise d'Esclignac. "It has not occurred to the poor young officer to suppose for a mo- HIS LOVE STORY ment that a young woman with millions, as you are so fortunate to be, would de- range herself like this to follow him. If I thought so I would not have brought you, Julia. What I have done, I have done solely for your peace of mind, my child. This young man loves you. He believes that you love him, no doubt. You have given him sufficient reason, heaven knows ! Now," said her aunt emphatical- ly, "I do not intend that you should break his heart." It was more than likely that the Mar- quise d'Esclignac was looking back twen- ty-five years to a time, when as a rich American, she had put aside her love for a penniless soldier with an insignificant title. She remembered how she had fol- lowed his campaign. She folded her lorgnon and looked at her niece. Julia Redmond saw a cloud pass over her 258 AS HANDSOME DOES aunt's tranquil face. She put her arms around her and kissed her tenderly. "You really think then, ma tante, that he will come to Paris?" "Without a doubt, my dear." "You think he cares, ma tante?" Her aunt kissed her and laughed. "I think you will be happy to a bour- geois extent. He is a fine man." "But do I need to promise you?" asked the girl. "Don't you know?" "I shall be perfectly ashamed of you," said the Marquise d'Esclignac, "if you are anything but a woman of heart and de- cision in this matter." Evidently she waited, and Julia Red- mond, slightly bowing her lovely head in deference to the older lady who had not married her first love, said obediently : "I promise to do as you wish, ma tante." CHAPTER XXVI CONGRATULATIONS THE Due de Tremont saw what splendid stuff the captain in the Cavalry was made of by the young man's quick convalescence. Sabron could not understand why Robert lin- gered after the departure of the Mar- quise d'Esclignac, the Comtesse de la Maine and Miss Redmond. The pres- ence of the young man would have been agreeable if it had not been for his jeal- ously and his unhappiness. They played piquet together. Sabron, in his right mind, thinner and paler, never- theless very much of a man, now smoked his cigarettes and ate his three meals a 260 CONGRATULATIONS day. He took a walk every day and was quite fit to leave the Orient. Tremont said: "I think, Sabron, that we can sail this week." Sabron looked at him questioningly. "You are going, then, too ?" "Of course," said the young nobleman heartily. "We are going together. You know I am going to take you back in my yacht." Sabron hesitated and then said : "No, mon vveux, if you will excuse me I think I shall remain faithful to the old line of travel. I have an idea that I am not in yachting trim." Tremont was not too dull to Have no- ticed his friend's change of attitude toward him. He smoked for a few mo- ments and then said : "When we get back to Paris I want to HIS LOVE STORY have the pleasure of introducing you to my fiancee." Sabron dropped his cards. "Introducing me !" he repeated. Then putting out his hand, said cordially: "I knew you were to be felicitated, old fel- low." Tremont shook his hand warmly. "Yes, and the lady is very anxious to know you. It is Madame de la Maine." A very warm color flushed the cheeks of the invalid. He remembered all he had heard and all he had known. He congrat- ulated his friend with sincere warmth, and after a few moments said : "If you really want me to go back with you on the yacht, old chap " "I really do," said Tremont serenely. "You see, when we came on the boat we scarcely hoped to be so fortunate as to bring back the distinguished captain." 262 CONGRATULATIONS Sabron smiled. "But you have not told me yet," he said, "why you came down." "No," said Tremont, "that is true. Well, it will make a story for the sea." 263 2HT J^ v VALOR IN RETROSPECT IN the month of May, when the chest- nuts bloom in the green dells, where the delicate young foliage holds the light as in golden cups, a young man walked through one of the small allees of the Bois at the fashionable noon hour, a little red- dish dog trotting at his heels. The young man walked with an imperceptible limp. He was thin as men are thin who have lived hard and who have overcome tre- mendous obstacles. He was tanned as men are browned who have come from eastern and extreme southern countries. The little dog had also an imperceptible limp occasioned by a bicycle running over him when he was a puppy. 264 VALOR IN RETROSPECT The two companions seemed immense- ly to enjoy the spring day. Sabron every now and then stood for a few moments looking into the green of the woods, look- ing at the gay passers-by, pedestrians and equestrians, enjoying to the full the re- pose of civilization, the beauty of his own land. Pitchoune looked with indifference up- on the many dogs. He did not stir from his master's side. When Sabron was quiet, the little animal stood at attention ; he was a soldier's dog. He could have told dog stories to those insignificant worldly dogs could have told of really thrilling adventures. His brown eyes were pathetic with their appeal of affec- tion as they looked up at his beloved mas- ter. He had a fund of experience such as the poodles and the terriers led by their owners, could not understand. Therefore HIS LOVE STOICS G>gagg ^^sSss* Pitchoune was indifferent to them. Not one of those petted, ridiculous house dogs could have run for miles in the dark across an African desert, could have found the regiment and fetched relief to his master. Pitchoune was proud of it. He was very well satisfied with his career. He was still young; other deeds of valor perhaps lay before him who can tell ? At any rate, he had been shown about at the ministry of war, been very much admired, and he was a proud animal. When Sabron spoke to him he leaped upon him and wagged his tail. After a few moments, as the two stood near the exit of an allee leading to one of the grand avenues, Pitchoune slowly went in front of his master and toward two ladies sitting on a bench in the gentle warmth of the May sunlight. Pitchoune, moved from his usual indifference, gave a short bark, 266 >Q VALOR IN *=r^.'ror->t Z walked up to the ladies, and began to snuff about their feet. The younger lady ex- claimed, and then Sabron, lifting his hat, came forward, the crimson color beating in his dark tanned cheeks. The Marquise d'Esclignac held out both hands to the officer : "It's nearly noon," she said, "and you don't forget that you have promised to lunch with us, do you, Monsieur le Capi- taine?" Sabron, bending over her hand, assured her that he had not forgotten. Then his eyes traveled to her companion. Miss Redmond wore a very simple dress, as was her fashion, but the young officer from Africa who had not seen her near by until now and who had only caught a glimpse of her across the opera-house, thought that he had never seen such a beautiful dress in all his life. It was made 267 HIS LOVE STORY of soft gray cloth and fitted her closely, and in the lapel of her mannish little but- tonhole she wore a few Parma violets. He recognized them. They had come from a bunch that he had sent her the night be- fore. He kissed her hand, and they stood talking together, the three of them, for a , few moments, Pitchoune stationing him- self as a sentinel by Miss Redmond's side. The Marquis d'Esclignac rose. The young girl rose as well, and they walked on together. "Mes enfants," said the Marquise d'Esclignac, "don't go with your usual rush, Julia. Remember that Monsieur de Sabron is not as strong as Hercules yet. I will follow you with Pitchoune." But she spoke without knowledge of the dog. Now feeling that some unwonted happiness had suddenly burst upon the horizon that he knew, Pitchoune seemed 268 suddenly seized with a rollicking spirit such as had been his characteristic some years ago. He tore like mad down the path in front of Sabron and Miss Red- mond. He whirled around like a dervish, he dashed across the road in front of auto- mobiles, dashed back again, springing up- on his master and whining at the girl's feet. "See," said Sabron, "how happy he is." "I should think he would be happy. He must have a knowledge of what an im- portant animal he is. Just think! If he were a man they would give him a decora- tion." And the two walked tranquilly side by side. Pitchoune ran to the side of the road, disappeared into a little forest all shot through with light. He came back, bring- ing the remains of an old rubber ball lost HIS LOVE STORY i ^ M&1 there by some other dog, and laid it trium- phantly in front of Miss Redmond. "See," said Sabron, "he brings you his trophies." 270 CHAPTER XXVIII HAPPINESS ECOMTE DE SABRON finished his dressing. Brunet surveyed his master from the tip of his shining boots to his sleek fair head. His expressive eyes said: "Monsieur le Capitaine is looking well to-night." Brunet had never before given his mas- ter a direct compliment. His eyes only had the habit of expressing admiration, and the manner in which he performed his duties, his devotion, were his forms of compliment. But Sabron's long illness and absence, the fact that he had been snatched from death and given back to the army again, leveled between servant and master the impassable wall of eti- quette. tf*^. ff 271 HIS LOVE STORY "There will be a grand dinner to-night, will there not, Monsieur le Capitaine? Doubtless Monsieur le Colonel and all the gentlemen will be there." Brunet made a comprehensive gesture as though he com- prised the entire etat major. Sabron, indeed, looked well. He was thin, deeply bronzed by the exposure on the yacht, for he and Tremont before re- turning to France had made a long cruise. Sabron wore the look of a man who has come back from a far country and is con- tent. "And never shall I forget to the end of my days how Monsieur le Capitaine looked when I met the yacht at Mar- seilles!" Brunet spoke reverently, as though he were chronicling sacred souvenirs. "I said to myself, you are about to wel- HAPPINESS come back a hero, Brunet ! Monsieur le Capitaine will be as weak as a child. But I was determined that Monsieur le Capi- taine should not read my feelings, how- ever great my emotion." Sabron smiled. At no time in his sim- ple life did Brunet ever conceal the most trifling emotion his simple face revealed all his simple thoughts. Sabron said heart- ily: "Your control was very fine, in- deed." "Instead of seeing a sick man, Monsieur le Capitaine, a splendid-looking figure, with red cheeks and bright eyes came off the boat to the shore. I said to myself: 'Brunet, he has the air of one who comes back from a victory.' No one would have ever believed that Monsieur le Capitaine had been rescued from captivity." Brunei's curiosity was very strong and 273 T$ ^ ^s HIS LOVE STORY ^ ^flgjafiP 1 as far as his master was concerned he had been obliged to crush it down. To him- self he was saying: "Monsieur le Capi- taine is on the eve of some great event. When will he announce it to me? I am sure my master is going to be .married." Pitchoune, from a chair near by, as- sisted at his master's toilet, one moment holding the razor-strop between his teeth, then taking the clothes brush in his little grip. He was saying to himself : "I hope in the name of rats and cats my master is not going out without me !" Brunet was engaged to be married to the kitchen maid of the Marquise d'Es- clignac. Ordonnances and scullions are not able to arrange their matrimonial af- fairs so easily as are the upper classes. "Monsieur le Capitaine," said the serv- ant, his simple face raised to his master's, "I am going to be married." Sabron wheeled around: "Mon brave Brunet, when ?" Brunet grinned sheepishly. "In five years, Monsieur le Capitaine," at which the superior officer laughed heartily. "Is she an infant, are you educating her?" "When one is the eldest son of a wid- ow," said Brunet with a sigh, "and the eldest of ten children " The clock struck the quarter. Sabron knew the story of the widow and ten children by heart. "Is the taxi at the door?" "Yes, Monsieur le Capitaine." Pitchoune gave a sharp bark. "You are not invited," said his master cruelly, and went gaily out, his sword hit- ting against the stairs. HIS LOVE STORY The Marquise d'Esclignac gave a bril- liant little dinner to the colonel of Sa- bron's squadron. There were present a general or two, several men of distinction, and among the guests were the Due de Tremont and Madame de la Maine. Sa- bron, when he found himself at table, looked at everything as though in a dream. Julia Redmond sat opposite him. He had sent her flowers and she wore them in her bodice. Madame de la Maine bent upon the young officer benignant eyes, the Due de Tremont glanced at him affectionately, but Sabron was only con- scious that Julia's eyes did not meet his at all. They talked of Sabron's captivity, of the engagement in Africa, of what the army was doing, would not do, or might do, and the fact that the Due de Tremont was to receive the decoration of the Le- 276 HAPPINESS gion of Honor in July. Tremont toasted Sabron and the young officer rose to re- spond with flushing face. He looked af- fectionately at his friend who had brought him from death into life. The moment was intense, and the Marquise d'Es- clignac lifted her glass: "Now, gentlemen, you must drink to the health of Pitchoune." There was a murmur of laughter. Ma- dame de la Maine turned to Sabron : "I have had a collar made for Pit- choune; it is of African leather set with real turquoise." Sabron bowed: "Pitchoune will be perfectly enchanted, Madame; he will wear it at your wedding." * Later, when the others had left them to themselves in the music-room, Sabron sat in a big chair by the open window and 277 LOVE STORY Julia Redmond played to him. The day was warm. There was a smell of spring flowers in the air and the vases were filled with girofles and sweet peas. But Sabron smelt only the violets in Julia's girdle. Her hands gently wan- dered over the keys, finding the tune that Sabron longed to hear. She played the air through, and it seemed as though she were about to sing the first verse. She could not do so, nor could she speak. Sabron rose and came over to where she sat. There was a low chair near the piano and he took it, leaning forward, his hands clasped about his knees. It had been the life-long dream of this simple-hearted officer that one day he would speak out his soul to the woman he loved. The time had come. She sat before him in her un- pretentious dress. He was not worldly 278 IT APPTMF^Q li/\i i UN Jloo enough to k'now it cost a great price, nor to appreciate that she wore no jewels nothing except the flowers he had sent. Her dark hair was clustered about her ears and her beautiful eyes lost their fire in tenderness. "When a man has been very close to death, Mademoiselle, he looks about for the reason of his resurrection. .When he returns to the world, he looks to see what there is in this life to make it worth liv- ing. I am young at the beginning of my career. I may have before me a long life in which, with health and friends, I may find much happiness. These things certainly have their worth to a normal man but I can not make them real be- fore my eyes just yet. As I look upon the world to which I have returned, I see nothing but a woman and her love. If I can not win her for my wife, if I can not HIS LOVE STORY have her love " He made an expressive gesture which more impressively than words implied how completely he laid down everything else to her love and his. He said, not without a certain dignity : "I am quite poor; I have only my sol- dier's pay. In Normandy I own a little property. It is upon a hill and looks over the sea, with apple orchards and wheat fields. There is a house. These are my landed estates. My manhood and my love are my fortune. If you can not re- turn my love I shall not thank Tremont for bringing me back from Africa." The American girl listened to him with profound emotion. She discovered every second how well she understood him, and he had much to say, because it was the first time he had ever spoken to her of his love. She had put out both her hands and, looking at him fully, said simply : 280 HAPPINESS "Why it seems to me you must know how I feel how can you help knowing how I feel?" After a little he told her of Normandy, and how he had spent his childhood and boyhood in the chateau overlooking the wide sea, told her how he had watched the ships and used to dream of the coun- tries beyond the horizon, and how the ap- ple-blossoms filled the orchards in the spring. He told her how he longed to go back, and that his wandering life had made it impossible for years. Julia whispered : "We shall go there in the spring, my friend." He was charming as he sat there hold- ing her hands closely, his fine eyes bent upon her. Sabron told her things that had been deep in his heart and mind, waiting for her here so many months. 281 HIS LOVE STORY Finally, everything merged into his pres- ent life, and the beauty of what he said dazed her like an enchanted sea. He was a soldier, a man of action, yet a dreamer. The fact that his hopes were about to be realized made him tremble, and as he talked, everything took light from this victory. Even his house in Normandy began to seem a fitting setting for the beautiful American. "It is only a Louis XIII chateau; it stands very high, surrounded by or- chards, which in the spring are white as snow." "We shall go there in the spring," she whispered. Sabron stopped speaking, his reverie was done, and he was silent as the inten- sity of his love for her surged over him. He lifted her delicate hands to his lips. HAPPINESS "It is April now," he said, and his voice shook, "it is spring now, my love." At Julia's side was a slight touch. She cried: "Pitchoune!" He put his paws on her knees and looked up into her face. "Brunet has brought him here," said Sabron, "and that means the good chap is attending to his own love-making." Julia laid her hand on Pitchoune's head. "He will love the Normandy beach, Charles." "He will love the forests," said Sabron ; "there are rabbits there." On the little dog's head the two hands met and clasped. "Pitchoune is the only one in the world who is not de trop," said Julia gently. Sabron, lifting her hand again to his lips, kissed it long, looking into her eyes. 20 HIS LOVE STORY Between that great mystery of the awak- ening to be fulfilled, they drew near to each other nearer. Pitchoune sat before them, waiting. He wagged his tail and waited. No one no- ticed him. He gave a short bark that apparently disturbed no one. Pitchoune had become de trop. He was discreet. With sympathetic eyes he gazed on his beloved master and new mistress, then turned and quietly trotted across the room to the hearth-rug, sitting there meditatively for a few min- utes blinking at the empty grate, where on the warm spring day there was no fire. Pitchoune lay down before the fireless hearth, his head forward on his paws, his beautiful eyes still discreetly turned away from the lovers. He drew a long contented breath as dogs do before settling into re- pose. His thrilling adventures had come HAPPINESS to an end. Before fires on the friendly hearth of the Louis XIII chateau, where hunting dogs were carved in the stone above the chimney, Pitchoune might con- tinue to dream in the days to come. He would hunt rabbits in the still forests above the wheat fields, and live again in the firelight his great adventures on the desert, the long runs across the sands on his journey back to France. Now he closed his eyes. As a faithful friend he rested in the atmosphere of hap- piness about him. He had been the sole companion of a lonely man, now he had become part of a family. THE END 03 UC SOUTKBN ICQONN. UBRARY FAC A 000129113 7