The Forest of Swords 3

The Forest of Swords 3

"You are right, mother. In the air I can work best for our people. Ah,

John, here is my sister, who is quite curious about the stranger from

across the sea."

 

A young girl came into the room. She was tall and slender, not more than

seventeen, very fair, with blue eyes and hair of pure gold. John was

continually observing that while many of the French were dark and small,

in accordance with foreign opinion that made them all so, many more were

blonde and tall. Lannes' sister was scarcely more than a lovely child,

but his heart beat more quickly.

 

Lannes kissed her on the forehead, just as he kissed his mother.

 

"Julie," he said lightly and yet proudly, "this is the young American

hero of whom I was telling you, my comrade in arms, or rather in the

air, and adopted brother. Mr. John Scott, my sister, Mademoiselle Julie

Lannes."

 

She made a shy curtsey and John bowed. It was the first time that he was

ever in the heart of an old French home, and he did not know the rules,

but he felt that he ought not to offer his hand. Young girls, he had

always heard, were kept in strict seclusion in France, but the great war

and the approach of the German army might make a difference. In any

event, he felt bold enough to talk to her a little, and she responded, a

beautiful color coming into her face.

 

"Dinner is ready for our guest and you," said Madame Lannes, and she led

the way into another apartment, also with long, low windows, where the

table was set. The curtains were drawn from the windows, and John caught

through one of them a glimpse of the Seine, of marching troops in long

blue coats and red trousers, and of the great city, massing up beyond

like a wall.

 

He felt that he had never before sat down to so strange a table. The

world without was shaking beneath the tread of the mightiest of all

wars, but within this room was peace and quiet. Madame was like a Roman

matron, and the young Julie, though shy, had ample dignity. John liked

Lannes' manner toward them both, his fine subordination to his mother

and his protective air toward his sister. He was glad to be there with

them, a welcome guest in the family.

 

The dinner was served by a tall young woman. Picard's daughter Suzanne,

to whom Lannes had referred, and she served in silence and with

extraordinary dexterity one of the best dinners that he ever ate.

 

As the dinner proceeded John admired the extraordinary composure of the

Lannes family. Surely a woman and a girl of only seventeen would feel

consternation at the knowledge that an overwhelming enemy was almost

within sight of the city they must love so much. Yet they did not refer

to it, until nearly the close of the dinner, and it was Madame who

introduced the subject.

 

"I hear, Philip," she said, "that a bomb was thrown today from a German

aeroplane into the Place de l'Opéra, killing a woman and injuring

several other people."

 

"It is true, mother."

 

John glanced covertly at Julie, and saw her face pale. But she did not

tremble.

 

"Is it true also that the German army is near?" asked Madame Lannes,

with just the faintest quiver in her voice.

 

"Yes, mother. John, standing in the lantern of the Basilique du

Sacré-Coeur, saw through his glasses the flash of sunlight on the lances

of their Uhlans. A shell from one of their great guns could fall in the

suburbs of Paris."

 

John's covert glance was now for Madame Lannes. How would the matron who

was cast in the antique mold of Rome take such news? But she veiled her

eyes a little with her long lashes, and he could not catch the

__EXPRESSION__ there.

 

"I believe it is not generally known in Paris that the enemy is so very

near," said Philip, "and while I have not hesitated to tell you the full

truth, mother, I ask you and Julie not to speak of it to others."

 

"Of course, Philip, we would add nothing to the general alarm, which is

great enough already, and with cause. But what do you wish us to do?

Shall we remain here, or go while it is yet time to our cousins, the

Menards, at Lyons?"

 

Now it was the mother who, in this question of physical peril, was

showing deference to her son, the masculine head of the family. John

liked it. He remembered an old saying, and he felt it to be true, that

they did many things well in France.

 

Lannes glanced at young Scott before replying.

 

"Mother," he said, "the danger is great. I do not try to conceal it from

you. It was my intention this morning to see you and Julie safe on the

Lyons train, but John and I have beheld signs, not military, perhaps,

but of the soul, and we are firm in the belief that at the eleventh hour

we shall be saved. The German host will not enter Paris."

 

Madame Lannes looked fixedly at John and he felt her gaze resting like a

weight upon his face. But he responded. His faith had merely grown

stronger with the hours.

 

"I cannot tell why, Madame," he said, "but I believe as surely as I am

sitting here that the enemy will not enter the capital."

 

Then she said decisively, "Julie and I remain in our own home in Paris."

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER II

 

THE MESSENGER

 

 

There was little more talk. The dignified quiet of the Lannes family

remained unchanged, and John imitated it. If they could be so calm in

the face of overwhelming disaster it should be no effort for him to

remain unmoved. Yet he glanced often, though covertly, at Julie Lannes,

admiring her lovely color.

 

When dinner was over they returned to the room in which Madame Lannes

had received them. The dark had come already, and Suzanne had lighted

four tall candles. There was neither gas nor electricity.

 

"Mr. Scott will be our guest tonight, mother," said Lannes, "and

tomorrow he and I go together to the army."

 

John raised his hand in protest. It had not been his intention when he

came to remain until morning, but Lannes would listen to no objection;

nor would his mother.

 

"Since you fight for our country," she said, "you must let us give you

shelter for at least one night."

 

He acquiesced, and they sat a little while, talking of the things

furthest from their hearts. Julie Lannes withdrew presently, and before

long her mother followed. Lannes went to the window, and looked out over

Paris, where the diminished lights twinkled. John stood at the other

window and saw the great blur of the capital. All sounds were fused into

one steady murmur, rather soothing, like the flowing of a river.

 

He seemed to hear presently the distant thunder of German guns, but

reason told him it was only a trick of the imagination. Nerves keyed

high often created the illusion of reality.

 

"What are you thinking about, Lannes?" he asked.

 

"Of my mother and sister. Only the French know the French. The family

tie is powerful with us."

 

"I know that, Phil."

 

"So you do. You're an adopted child of France. Madame Lannes is a woman

of great heart, John. I am proud to be her son. I have read of your

civil war. I have read how the mothers of your young soldiers suffered

and yet were brave. None can know how much Madame, my mother, has

suffered tonight, with the Germans at the gates of Paris, and yet she

has shown no sign of it."

 

John was silent. He did not know what to say, but Lannes did not pursue

the subject, remaining a full five minutes at the window, and not

speaking again, until he turned away.

 

"John," he said then, "let's go outside and take a look about the

quarter. It's important now to watch for everything."

 

John was full willing. He recognized the truth of Lannes' words and he

wanted air and exercise also. A fortress was a fortress, whether one

called it a home or not, Lannes led the way and they descended to the

lower hall, where the gigantic porter was on watch.

 

"My friend and I are going to take a look in the streets, Antoine," said

Lannes. "Guard the house well while we are gone."

 

"I will," replied the man, "but will you tell me one thing, Monsieur

Philip? Do Madame Lannes and Mademoiselle Julie remain in Paris?"

 

"They do, Antoine, and since I leave tomorrow it will be the duty of you

and Suzanne to protect them."

 

"I am gratified, sir, that they do not leave the capital. I have never

known a Lannes to flee at the mere rumor of the enemy's coming."

 

"And I hope you never will, Antoine. I think we'll be back in an hour."

 

"I shall be here, sir."

 

He unbolted the door and Lannes and John stepped out, the cool night air

pouring in a grateful flood upon their faces. Antoine fastened the door

behind them, and John again heard the massive bolt sink into its place.

 

"The quarter is uncommonly quiet," said Lannes. "I suppose it has a

right to be after such a day."

 

Then be looked up, scanning the heavens, after the manner that had

become natural to him, a flying man.

 

"What do you see, Philip?" asked John.

 

"A sky of dark blue, plenty of stars, but no aeroplanes, Taubes or other

machines of man's making."

 

"I fancy that some of them are on the horizon, but too far away to be

seen by us."

 

"Likely as not. The Germans are daring enough and we can expect more

bombs to be dropped on Paris. Our flying corps must organize to meet

theirs. I feel the call of the air, John."

 

Young Scott laughed.

 

"I believe the earth has ceased to be your natural element," he said.

"You're happiest when you're in the _Arrow_ about a mile above our

planet."

 

Lannes laughed also, and with appreciation. The friendship between the

two young men was very strong, and it had in it all the quality of

permanence. Their very unlikeness in character and temperament made them

all the better comrades. What one could not do the other could.

 

As they walked along now they said but little. Each was striving to read

what he could in that great book, the streets of Paris. John believed

Lannes had not yet told him his whole mission. He knew that in their

short stay in Paris Philip had spent an hour in the office of the

military governor of the city, and his business must be of great

importance to require an hour from a man who carried such a fearful

weight of responsibility. But whatever Lannes' secret might be, it was

his own and he had no right to pry into it. If the time came for his

comrade to tell it he would do so.

 

When they reached the Seine the city did not seem so quiet. They heard

the continuous sound of marching troops and people were still departing

through the streets toward the country or the provincial cities. The

flight went on by night as well as day, and John again felt the

overwhelming pity of it.

 

He wondered what the French generals and their English allies would do?

Did they have any possible way of averting this terrible crisis? They

had met nothing but defeat, and the vast German army had crashed,

unchecked, through everything from the border almost to the suburbs of

Paris.

 

They stood in the Place Valhubert at the entrance to the Pont

d'Austerlitz, and watched a regiment crossing the river, the long blue

coats and red trousers of the men outlined against the white body of the

bridge. The soldiers were short, they looked little to John, but they

were broad of chest and they marched splendidly with a powerful swinging

stride.

 

"From the Midi," said Lannes. "Look how dark they are! France is called

a Latin nation, but I doubt whether the term is correct. These men of

the Midi though are the real Latins. We of northern France, I suspect,

are more Teutonic than anything else, but we are all knitted together in

one race, heart and soul, which are stronger ties than blood."

 

"We are to go early in the morning, are we not, Philip?"

 

"Yes, early. The _Arrow_ is at the hangar, all primed and eager for a

flight, fearful of growing rusty from a long rest."

 

"I believe you actually look upon your plane as a human being."

 

"A human being, yes, and more. No human being could carry me above the

clouds. No human being could obey absolutely and without question the

simplest touch of my hand. The _Arrow_ is not human, John, it is

superhuman. You have seen its exploits."

 

The dark emitted a figure that advanced toward them, and took the shape

of a man with black hair, a short close beard and an intelligent face.

He approached John and Lannes and looked at them closely.

 

"Mr. Scott!" he exclaimed, with eagerness, "I did not know what had

become of you. I was afraid you were lost in one of the battles!"

 

"Why, it's Weber!" said John, "our comrade of the flight in the

automobile! And I was afraid that you too, were dead!"

 

The two shook hands with great heartiness and Lannes joined in the

reunion. He too at once liked Weber, who always made the impression of

courage and quickness. He wore a new uniform, olive in color with dark

blue threads through it, and it became him, setting off his trim,

compact figure.

 

"How did you get here, Mr. Weber?" asked John.

 

"I scarcely know," he replied. "My duties are to a certain extent those

of a messenger, but I was caught in the last battle, wounded slightly,

and separated from the main French force. The little company which I had

formed tried to break through the German columns, but they were all

killed or captured except myself, and maybe two or three others. I hid

in a wood, slept a night there, and then reached Paris to see what is

going to happen. Ah, it is terrible! terrible! my comrades! The Germans

are advancing in five great armies, a million and a half strong, and no

troops were ever before equipped so magnificently."

 

"Do you know positively that they have a million and a half?" asked

Lannes.

 

"I did not count them," replied Weber, smiling a little, "but I have

heard from many certain sources that such are their numbers. I fear,

gentlemen, that Paris is doomed."

 

"Scott and I don't think so," said Lannes firmly. "We've gained new

courage today."

 

Weber was silent for a few moments. Then he said, giving Lannes his

title as an officer:

 

"I've heard of you, Lieutenant Lannes. Who does not know the name of

France's most daring aviator? And doubtless you have information which

is unknown to me. It is altogether likely that one who pierces the air

like an eagle should bear messages between generals of the first rank."

 

Lannes did not answer, but looked at Weber, who smiled.

 

"Perhaps our trades are not so very different," said the Alsatian, "but

you shoot through clouds while I crawl on the ground. You have a great

advantage of me in method."

 

Lannes smiled back. The little tribute was pleasing to the dramatic

instinct so strong in him.

 

"You and I, Mr. Weber," he said, "know enough never to speak of what

we're going to do. Now, we'll bid you good night and wish you good luck.

I'd like to be a prophet, even for a day only, and tell what the morrow

would bring."

 

"So do I," said Weber, "and I must hurry on my own errand. It may not

be of great importance, but is vital to me that I do it."

 

He slid away in the darkness and both John and Lannes spoke well of him

as they returned to the house. Picard admitted them.

 

"May I ask, sir, if there is any news that favors France?" he said to

Philip.

 

"Not yet, my good Antoine, but it is surely coming."

 

John heard the giant Frenchman smother a sigh, but he made no comment,

and walked softly with Lannes to the little room high up that had been

assigned to him. Here when he was alone with his candle he looked around

curiously.

 

The room was quite simple, not containing much furniture, in truth,

nothing of any note save on the wall a fine picture of the great Marshal

Lannes, Napoleon's dauntless fighter, and stern republican, despite the

ducal title that he took. It was a good portrait, painted perhaps by

some great artist, and John holding up the candle, looked at it a long

time.

 

He thought he could trace some likeness to Philip. Lannes' face was

always stern, in repose, far beyond his years, although when he became

animated it had all the sunniness of youth. But he noticed now that he

had the same tight lips of the Marshal, and the same unfaltering eyes.

 

"Duke of Montebello!" said John to himself. "Well, you won that title

grandly, and while the younger Lannes may do as well, if the chance

comes to him, the new heroes of France will be neither dukes nor

princes."

 

Then, after removing all the stiff pillows, inclines, foot pieces and

head pieces that make European beds so uncomfortable, he slipped between

the covers, and slid quickly into a long and soothing sleep, from which

he was awakened apparently about a minute later by Lannes himself, who

stood over him, dressed fully, tall and serious.

 

"Why, I just got into bed!" exclaimed John.

 

"You came in here a full seven hours ago. Open your window and you'll

see the dawn creeping over Paris."

 

"Thank you, but you can open it yourself. I never fool with a European

window. I haven't time to master all the mechanism, inside, outside and

between, to say nothing of the various layers of curtains, full length,

half length and otherwise. Nothing that I can conceive of is better

fitted than the European window to keep out light and air."

 

Lannes smiled.

 

"I see that you're in fine feather this morning," he said, "I'll open it

for you."

 

John jumped up and dressed quickly, while Lannes, with accustomed hand,

laid back shutters and curtains.

 

"Now, shove up the window," exclaimed John as he wielded towel and

brush. "A little fresh air in a house won't hurt you; it won't hurt

anybody. We're a young people, we Americans, but we can teach you that.

Why, in the German hotels they'd seal up the smoking-rooms and lounges

in the evenings, and then boys would go around shooting clouds of

perfume against the ceilings. Ugh! I can taste now that awful mixture of

smoke, perfume and thrice-breathed air! Ah! that feels better! It's like

a breath from heaven!"

 

"Ready now? We're going down to breakfast with my mother and sister."

 

"Yes. How do I look in this uniform, Lannes?"

 

"Very well. But, Oh, you Americans! we French are charged with vanity,

but you have it."

 

John had thought little of his raiment until he came to the house of

Lannes, but now there was a difference. He gave the last touch to his

coat, and he and Philip went down together. Madame Lannes and Julie

received them. They were dressed very simply, Julie in white and Madame

Lannes in plain gray. Their good-morning to John was quiet, but he saw

that it came from the heart. They recognized in him the faithful comrade

in danger, of the son and brother, and he saw once more that French family affection was very powerful.