CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THIS BOOK IS ONE OF A 
 COLLECTION MADE BY 
 
 BENNO LOEWY 
 1854-1919 
 
 AND BEQUEATHED TO 
 CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 6029.X5F6 1903 
 
 Flowers of the dust, 
 
 3 1924 013 660 752 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013660752 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
Flowers 
 of the Dust 
 
 By 
 
 JOHN gXENHAM 
 
 Author of 
 
 "God's Prisoner," "Rising Fortunes," 
 "A Princess of Vascovy" Etc. 
 
 " The mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small." 
 So soft and slow the great •wheels go they scarcely move at all. 
 But the souls of men fall into them and are foivdered into dust 
 And •while in the dust gro'W the passion-flotsers, — Love and 
 Hope and Trust. 
 
 New Tork 
 
 A. Wessels Company 
 1903 
 
 P51 ^ 
 
Copyrighted, jgaa 
 
 A. Wksskls Company 
 
 -^ ^ New York 
 
 >(^ 
 
 f j«^rsa Copyrighted, igoj 
 
 ». , \ A. Wessels Comfant 
 
 >^F(d 
 
 ' Published 
 
 \ llO '^ rebraay, 1903 
 
 A^?^f7^ 
 
 PRESS OP 
 
 BRAUNWORTH & CO 
 
 BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 
 
 BROOKtYN, N. Y. 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 *'Klop — klop— klop — klop"; and the swirl and 
 plunk of swift brown water tinder a dripping wheel ; 
 and the humming diapason of the whirling stones; 
 and the floating mist of flour dust round the door- 
 way, gray in the shade and silver in the sun; and 
 nearer at hand the sharper tinkle of green-white 
 water-sickles over a slippery brown weir; — I can see 
 and hear it all to-day as clearly as I saw and heard 
 it all that day, so very many years ago, when my 
 eyes lighted on the old mill of Beauche for the very 
 first time. 
 
 After my father's death, — he was killed in a skir- 
 mish with the rebels on the Bhotanese frontier in the 
 year 1866, — my mother returned to the little half- 
 English, wholly French, town of Dinan in Brittany, 
 where she had lived before she was married and 
 which held many sweet old-time memories for her. 
 
 To me also, when I passed my first vacation there, 
 the quaint, other-day flavor of the little walled 
 town appealed very pleasantly. I spent many de- 
 lightful days wandering over the surrounding coun- 
 try, among the apple orchards and the sleepy farms 
 and crumbling chateaux, down the widening Ranee 
 towards the sea, and up the winding stream to the 
 woods of Querhoal and the mill of Beaujolrais, which 
 
 [7] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 the country folk long since shortened into Beauch^, 
 and to Kerhuel, and once I had found Kerhuel, it 
 became the Mecca of all my pilgrimages. I had fin- 
 ished my course at Winchester, and was now pur- 
 suing my medical studies in London, with a view to 
 taking my degree and in due course making a start 
 in what appealed to me as the noblest of all pro- 
 fessions. Meanwhile Dinan was home, since my 
 mother's health, weakened somewhat by a long resi- 
 dence in India, could not stand the London climate. 
 So I spent all my holidays in Brittany, and came to 
 love both the country and the people, some of them 
 very dearly. 
 
 That first time I ever set eyes on the old mill of 
 Beauche is wrought deep into my memory, for it was 
 the beginning of all things, and the chapter headed 
 " Beauchd" is the brightest chapter in my life, and of 
 necessity therefore not without its darker lines. For 
 light and shade follow one another in life as the sun- 
 shine and the shadows over the country side, and he 
 who would escape dark days must e'en bury himself 
 in a hole of one kind or another before his time, and 
 live a life all neutral tints, a life not worth the living. 
 For it is the lights and the darks that go to form 
 the pattern in the web which without them would be 
 naught but hodden-gray. 
 
 I had started out one August morning immediately 
 after our early breakfast of caf e-au-lait and rolls and 
 butter, and had wandered on and on along the river 
 bank, till I saw that it would be impossible to return 
 in time for second breakfast at midday. So I de- 
 cided to bestow my slender patronage on the first 
 road-side inn I came to and make the best of their 
 faring, which experience told me would probably run 
 to bread-soup, cold bacon, black bread, an excellent 
 
 [8] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 omelette, and as much thin acrid cider as thoughts 
 of the future would permit me to indulge in. 
 
 Then among the woods on my left I caught sight 
 of the gray walls and turrets of a chateau, and I 
 turned in among the trees for a nearer view. 
 
 And then a very strange thing happened, the ex- 
 ceeding strangeness of which, indeed, I did not fully 
 understand till long afterwards. 
 
 I was approaching the still distant chi,teau 
 through a wide silent expanse, half park, half mead- 
 ow-land. It was handsomely wooded and seemed 
 wholly deserted. In places the trees clustered so close 
 as to form fair-sized forests. Through one such belt 
 I was quietly strolling when a strange sound brought 
 me to a sudden stop, and set me peering among 
 the tree trunks to see what had made it. 
 
 "Na — na!" That was what it sounded hke, in a 
 kind of tremulous whimper not unlike that of a 
 chidden child. It might be only a stray sheep, but 
 the first impression it made on me was that it came 
 from human lips. 
 
 I stood like a post, moving nothing but my eyes, 
 and listening intently. The wind rustled the wide- 
 spread limbs of the oaks around me. A continuous 
 murmurous plash came softly from the direction of 
 the river and a droning hum like that of a great 
 bumble-bee. Nothing else — and I resumed my walk. 
 A stick snapped sharply on my left and I stopped 
 instantly. 
 
 "Hello!" I cried, but there was no reply, and I 
 went on again. 
 
 " It is a stray sheep caught in the thicket," I said 
 to myself, but nevertheless I felt an odd sense of 
 discomfort which all the sheep in the world could 
 not have occasioned. It seemed to me that I was 
 
 [9] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 being stalked by some person or thing. I was un- 
 doubtedly trespassing on private property. 
 
 "Na— na!" came the plaintive bleat from behind 
 the thicket on my left, and I turned quickly and 
 walked round it, and came upon the strangest figure 
 I had ever set eyes on. A man, undoubtedly a man 
 — at all events, the remains of one. Bent almost 
 double, with his front paws on the ground like a 
 baboon, a pathetically vacant face covered with a 
 tangle of gray hairs which lay also in a mat on his 
 shoulders and bristled through the rags about his 
 chest, dark eyes which snapped angrily at sight of 
 me, loose moist lips which shook out another trem- 
 ulous "Na — na!" as I stood quite as much star- 
 tled at sight of him as he at me. That was what I 
 saw. 
 
 Before I had recovered from my surprise, however, 
 he had seen something else and I had dropped out 
 of his ken. 
 
 His quick-glancing eyes settled on something be- 
 yond me. He rose absorbedly from his crouching 
 and glared at that something as the caged hyena 
 peers past the crowd at sight of his approaching 
 chunk of grisly meat. 
 
 While I was still in doubt as to the safety of 
 turning to see what he was looking at, he leaped 
 past me with a swift stealthy bound and I turned 
 to watch what he was after. Away among the tree 
 boles a dark figure, in a flat broad-brimmed hat and 
 a long straight coat that reached to the ground, 
 was walking rapidly towards the chateau with his 
 back turned to me, turned also towards the un- 
 couth yellow-gray figure that was bounding noise- 
 lessly towards him. 
 
 Before I could shout a warning the priest turned 
 [10] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 into a cross alley among the trees. I ran after the 
 pair of them, but before I got half-way both pursuer 
 and pursued had disappeared. When I reached the 
 corner no one was in sight. From another cross 
 path there came a sudden outbreak, a shout, a shot, 
 and through the tree trunks I saw what had hap- 
 pened. My maniac had evidently sprung upon the 
 priest from behind and borne him to the ground. 
 The assault had been witnessed by a third party in 
 the person of a young man in shooting costume, who 
 had run up and discharged his gun, whether at the 
 madman or only for the purpose of frightening him 
 I could not say. At the present moment he was 
 hammering him on the head with his gun barrel, 
 while the priest, swearing volubly, was gathering 
 himself up from the ground and smoothing and dust- 
 ing his ruffled plumes. Then they both grabbed the 
 third party by the neck and arms and hauled him 
 along towards the chS,teau. It seemed to me that 
 I was not needed, that indeed a stranger might be 
 regarded as somewhat of an intruder at the mo- 
 ment, so I turned and struck back towards the 
 river, wondering not a little what it all meant. 
 
 I came out on the river bank just opposite the old 
 mill of Beauche, and as soon as my eyes fell on it, 
 and I felt the hum of the whirling stones, and heard 
 the plashing of the great wheel, and the tinkle of 
 the long curving weir, I knew that I had gone far 
 enough, and so I lay down flat on my stomach in 
 the long grass to enjoy it all. Then I saw just be- 
 yond me a clump of blackberry bushes laden with 
 fruit as big as my thumb, and I rolled lazily over 
 to them and took tribute of their abundance. 
 
 Above the mill on a flat ledge of the opposite 
 hillside stood a chS,teau; a long, gray, two-storied 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 front, with a candle snuffer turret at each end, and 
 a big arched entrance door in the middle. 
 
 I had disposed of all the blackberries within easy 
 reach and was sleepily wondering whether the pleas- 
 ure of eating more would compensate for the trou- 
 ble of rising and picking, when the door of the 
 chateau opened suddenly and two boys of about my 
 own age and a girl who might be somewhat younger 
 came out laughing merrily, and joining hands came 
 down the road with a rush which ended in shrieks 
 of laughter as the young lady was carried almost 
 off her feet in the j5nal gallop. Behind them toiled 
 a dog with a very long brown body and very short 
 legs, who ran with his nose to the ground and emit- 
 ted an occasional discontented yelp at the way he 
 was being outpaced. 
 
 "Now, Marie, go into the mill till we're in the 
 water," cried the bigger of the two boys peremp- 
 torily. 
 
 "Shout when you're in," cried the girl, and dis- 
 appeared through the floating cloud of dust into the 
 doorway of the mill. 
 
 Then the others laughing and joking tore off their 
 things, two white bodies gleamed in the sunshine 
 for a moment as they cautiously paced the narrow 
 brown ledge where the water fell over in curving 
 sickles of green and white, and two simultaneous 
 plunges told that the bathers were in. They broke 
 into a simultaneous bellow as their heads came up, 
 and the girl came out of the dusty doorway and 
 sat down in the grass by the river side, and the 
 panting brown dog scrambled clumsily into her 
 lap. 
 
 The bathers frolicked and dived and raced like a 
 pair of white seals. They were evidently very much 
 
 [12] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 at home in the water. The broad one with the pow- 
 erful arms was called Jean, I perceived. He won 
 every race and could stop under water ten seconds 
 longer than the other, whose name I learned was 
 George, and the girl, as I already knew, was 
 Marie. 
 
 After watching them for a time and looking as if 
 she would very much like to join them, she got up, 
 saying, 
 
 "Say then, my children, I'm going across to get 
 some blackberries." 
 
 "One does not eat blackberries," said Jean dog- 
 matically. 
 
 "Pouff! I do. They're good. That's the advan- 
 tage of being Protestant, see you." 
 
 "You can't get across, anyhow," said George. 
 
 "Can't I then? I'll show you," and she whipped 
 off shoes and stockings in a trice, held up her skirts 
 daintily and tripped on to the weir. She made a 
 delightful picture standing there with her little white 
 feet in the solid white-laced green where the water 
 curved to its fall. 
 
 "Have care, Marie!" cried Jean, and they both 
 stood to watch her progress. 
 
 She set off bravely. The weir head seemed about 
 a foot wide but it was smooth and slippery, and 
 the running water added an element of treachery. 
 A slip on one side would xnean a ducking, and on 
 the other possibly a broken ankle and some bruises. 
 The bathers swam alongside and alternately en- 
 couraged and reprimanded her. Then the younger 
 one, George, cried teasingly, 
 
 " Oh, what pretty little pink toes ! " and she kicked 
 the water into his face and shrieked as she almost 
 lost her balance. 
 
 [13] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Don't be a fool, George," said his brother, "you'll 
 have her in, and if you do I'll lick you." 
 
 She got across safely and landed with a skip and 
 a clap of the hands and a triumphant, — "Yoilkl 
 my little ones." 
 
 The forsaken dog whined and yelped at the other 
 end of the weir and made as though to follow her, 
 then decided that the water was too deep for his 
 short legs, and threw up his head and howled in a 
 deep bell-like voice which was out of all proportion 
 to his size. 
 
 " Control yourself, my child !" cried the girl to the 
 dog, who only howled the louder. 
 
 "Shut up, infidel, pagan, heretic," cried George. 
 
 Then the girl came straight for my hiding-place, 
 talking back volubly over her shoulder at the boys. 
 
 "Ah, but they are good!" she cried rapturously, 
 before ever she had tasted one. "You miss a treat, 
 you two. They are as big as-=-Mon Dieu !" — this last 
 at sight of me. 
 
 I took off my cap and sat up, and pieced out in 
 my limping French, with a very red face, — "I beg 
 your pardon, Mademoiselle. I had no intention of 
 intruding, but—" I would have liked to say it was 
 such a charming sight that it wasn't in human na- 
 ture to forego it, but the words did not come easily. 
 
 "You are English?" she said, speaking in English 
 herself, with a considerable accent but no diffidence, 
 rather with the air of a child proud of its accom- 
 plishments. 
 
 "Yes, Mademoiselle," I said, much more at my 
 ease. 
 
 "And you saw me cross the river?" she asked, 
 looking very straight at me out of a pair of very 
 fine dark eyes, while a slight wave of color flashed 
 
 [14] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 over her face and made it even more charming than 
 before. 
 
 "I could not help it," I said humbly; and then, 
 plucking up courage from the dancing eyes, "but I 
 really couldn't say I'm sorry, Mademoiselle. It 
 was such a very pretty sight." 
 
 " Dieu-de-dieu ! " came from the water. "Are you 
 talking to yourself up there, then, Marie? Have 
 those blackberries got into your head then, little 
 heretic?" 
 
 "What is your name. Monsieur?" she asked quickly, 
 with a mischievous sparkle. 
 
 "My name is Charles Glyn, Mademoiselle." 
 
 "Be quiet, you two down there. I am talking to 
 Monsieur Charles Gleen !" she said, looking over her 
 shoulder for a moment. 
 
 "She's gone mad," said the younger brother, — 
 "sun-stroke. We ought to dip her head in the 
 water." 
 
 "Will you oblige me to stand up one moment. 
 Monsieur," she said, and I obediently stood up. 
 Even so soon as that I found a novel pleasure in 
 doing what she asked. 
 
 " Voila, Monsieur Gleen, you two down there. Now 
 you can go on with your play. For me I am oc- 
 cupied." 
 
 "Diable!" said the bathers in one breath, as they 
 stood staring. 
 
 "Who is it and how did she know he was there?" 
 said the elder brother. "Marie," — in a tone of com- 
 mand, "come here!" 
 
 "All in good time, my little Jean," she said airily. 
 "For the moment I am busy. Amuse yourselves, 
 my children," and she helped herself to some of the 
 ripe berries. 
 
 [15] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "If you don't come at once I'll come and fetch 
 you," cried Jean. 
 
 "0h, fie ! Naughty boy !" she said, with a shake 
 of her reddened finger. 
 
 I felt myself in an awkward position, and strove, 
 against my inclinations, to get out of it. 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm making trouble. Mademoiselle," I 
 said. " I really did not mean to. K you will permit 
 me I will retire." 
 
 "As you please, Monsieur," she said, with a sud- 
 den frostiness, "but there is no need to on account 
 of Jean." 
 
 "Then, if you will permit. Mademoiselle, I will 
 stop," I said, and she broke into a rippling laugh. 
 
 "I really think you had better go," she said. 
 "Jean is getting his things on." 
 
 "Since I have your permission I am going to stop 
 if there were twenty Jeans." 
 
 By this time Jean had got on his shirt and 
 trousers, and with the latter tucked up was coming 
 across the weir with much determination in his face, 
 while the young brother was struggling into his 
 things to come after him. 
 
 "Ehbien, Monsieur?" said Jean, as he came strid- 
 ing up the slope. 
 
 "Eh bien, Monsieur?" I replied. 
 
 "What do you want here?" 
 
 "Blackberries," I said. 
 
 "And who gave you permission to speak to my 
 sister?" 
 
 "Le bon Dieu," I replied, which happened to be 
 the first thing that came into my head. 
 
 Mademoiselle clapped her hands delightedly. "It 
 is well said," she cried in French. "Jean, don't be 
 silly. Monsieur has as good right here as you have." 
 
 [16] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "He hasn't as good a right to talk to you as I 
 have, anyhow," said Jean, "and I won't allow it." 
 
 "Pouff!" said Mademoiselle. "One would think I 
 was three years old." 
 
 "So you are sometimes," said Jean, with broth- 
 erly brusqueness. 
 
 "Thanks, Mr. Brother," she said in English, with 
 a saucy mou6. 
 
 "Don't talk English to me, you little cat," he 
 growled. "French is quite good enough." 
 
 "I am very sorry — " I began, feeling that I was 
 really raising strife in the family. 
 
 "You'll be sorrier soon," said Jean, and flipped 
 me on the cheek with his hand. 
 
 "Jean!" cried the girl, with sudden heat. "You 
 are a brute." 
 
 "Run away home, little one. This gentleman and 
 I will settle matters ourselves." 
 
 "When you please," I said, forgetting all about 
 the girl for the moment. 
 
 "Now, Monsieur," he said roughly, squaring up to 
 me with his fists. The other brother had come up 
 the slope. He sat down now, expectantly hopeful of 
 entertainment. Mademoiselle Marie flung herself 
 down on the grass and hid her face in it, and across 
 the river the brown dog lifted up his voice and 
 wept. 
 
 " Suppose we take the level ground," I said, "and 
 then I'll knock spots off you." 
 
 "Certainly," said Jean in French, from which I 
 gathered that he understood EngUsh though he de- 
 clined to speak it. 
 
 He was very broad and strong and had a good- 
 natured, determined face, though it was lowering 
 just now. He was as nearly as possible my own 
 2 [17] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 height, but I judged very much stronger than my- 
 self, and if he knew how to use his fists I did not 
 look for a very happy time of it. 
 
 I saw in two minutes, however, that his knowl- 
 edge of boxing was very limited, and I had no diffi- 
 culty in warding his blows and keeping him at bay. 
 He perceived this too and it made him very angry. 
 With his great strength, if he had been able to reach 
 me, I should have been black and blue in no time. 
 As it was, my guard arm was getting sore with his 
 pounding but otherwise I had not suffered. 
 
 Now, as everyone knows, the one thing not to do 
 in boxing is to lose one's temper. But French boys 
 are not built quite the same way as English boys, 
 and Master Jean, getting very angry indeed, made 
 a furious rush with the intention of annihilating me 
 at one fell stroke, and as I stepped aside my fist 
 slipped in, very neatly as I thought, on the bottom 
 of his left jawbone. It made his teeth rattle, I'll be 
 bound, and it upset him bodily, and before I knew 
 it he had gone headlong into the water, while a 
 scream of rage burst forth from brother George. 
 
 I had not known we were so close, and, forgetting 
 what a clever swimmer he was, I instinctively jumped 
 in after him. He was already making for the bank 
 and opened his eyes wide at sight of me alongside 
 him in the water. 
 
 "Hello !" he said, "did you tumble in too?" 
 
 "I tumbled in after you." 
 
 "I'm all right," he said, as we both scrambled out. 
 "You're wet." 
 
 "I'm not any wetter than you," I said. 
 
 "Where do you live?" he asked. 
 
 "Dinan." 
 
 "You'd better come up to the house and get dry. 
 [IS] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 You can't go home like that. And besides, I want 
 to ask you some things." 
 
 So we set off across the weir, Jean leading, I next, 
 then Mademoiselle, who had not spoken since the 
 fight began, and George brought up the rear to 
 keep his sister from tumbling in. The brown dog 
 received us on the other side with cumbrous gam- 
 bols and yelps of delight. 
 
 " Poor old man ! Did he think he was forgotten?" 
 said Marie, fondling him. 
 
 "What is his name?" I asked politely, by way of 
 saying something. 
 
 "His name is Bar," she said. 
 
 "Bar! That is surely an odd name. What does 
 it mean?" 
 
 "It means that!" she said, pointing to the long 
 brown body with the twisted legs and massive head 
 and flopping ears and overhanging dewlaps. "Just 
 that, nothing else." 
 
 We climbed the road to the ch&teau and were met 
 at the front door by a dark-haired bright-faced lady 
 with a manner at once pleasant and commanding. 
 Her face struck me as unusually beautiful. It was 
 very like Mile. Marie's, only older, and I now know 
 that what made my eyes rest so contentedly on it 
 was a great tenderness which seemed to underlie its 
 more outward aspect and in some indefinable way 
 conveyed an impression of peace attained through 
 storm and strife. There were lines in the unruffled 
 brow, but they were not of recent date, and I saw that 
 the dark hair was not without its silvery threads. 
 
 "Well, children, what has happened now?" she 
 asked briskly. 
 
 "We fell into the water," grunted Jean, "this 
 gentleman and I, and we've come to get dried." 
 
 [19] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Come in then," and she led the way into the 
 large front room. "And you, Marie, ma petite, 
 have you been in too?" 
 
 "No, maman," said the girl meekly. 
 
 "Run then, little one, and get dry things for these 
 two wet ones. Some of Jean's things. Lay them on 
 his bed. You are both about a size," she said, look- 
 ing at us. "And what were you doing to fall into 
 the water?" 
 
 "Just fighting," said Jean, as if that was his usual 
 avocation. 
 
 " Ta, ta,— fighting ! That is not gentil. Can't you 
 live in peace till you have to fight properly? And 
 that will come soon enough, maybe. I am quite 
 sure it was you began it, Jean. This gentleman 
 does not look bloodthirsty." 
 
 "We had a difference of opinion and I struck him," 
 said Jean; "but he boxes better than I do and I 
 want him to give me some points. He's EngHsh, 
 you see, and the EngHsh can box." 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur is English?" said Madame, with a 
 quick smile. "I have many good friends in Dinan 
 among the English there. You are from Dinan, 
 Monsieur?" 
 
 "Yes, Madame. I live there with my mother." 
 
 "I wonder if I know her. What is your name. 
 Monsieur?" 
 
 "Charles Glyn, Madame." 
 
 "Gleen, Gleen," she said thoughtfully, "no, I think 
 not. You are not long there, perhaps?" 
 
 "My mother used to live there before she was 
 married. When my father died — he was a soldier in 
 India — she came back to live there again." 
 
 "And what was her name before she married?" 
 
 "MacLeod. Her father was Colonel MacLeod." 
 [20] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Kittie MacLeod ! But certainly, I knew her well. 
 We were good friends. We were at school at Ker 
 Nevan together. That is delightful. Will you tell 
 her from me that Anna Destournelles will rejoice to 
 meet her again. She will know me by that name, 
 though I am now Madame de Kerhuel, and, like her- 
 self, a widow. Have you brothers and sisters. Mon- 
 sieur Charles?" 
 
 "No, Madame, I am the only one." 
 
 "Ah, I have three wild ones and one sober one, 
 though he was my husband's, not mine. But he is 
 bon gargon. Here you are, Marie. Now, you two, 
 run up and change at once, and I will have your 
 things dried at the kitchen fire. Monsieur Charles." 
 
 "I thank you, Madame," and the two boys gal- 
 loped up the dark oak staircase to show me the 
 way. 
 
 [21] 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 It was a wonderful room that of Jean de Kerhuel's. 
 Every available foot of wall space bore some trophy 
 of the chase or treasure trove of the woods. Stuffed 
 birds and animals, eggs galore, bows and arrows, a 
 couple of very old guns, a pair of ancient pistols, a 
 rusty cavalry sword, and a few colored prints of 
 wilder hunting scenes than any Brittany afforded. 
 
 George squatted on the bed while Jean and I dis- 
 robed and began getting into his dry things, Jean 
 questioning me all the time on points militant. 
 
 "Do you fight much in England?" 
 
 "No, but we box a good deal in the gymnasium. 
 We had a mulatto as assistant boxing teacher, and 
 he was a tremendous slugger. He used to knock us 
 about like ninepins, but it was first-rate training. 
 If you went through his hands you knew how to 
 take care of yourself when you were through. He 
 flattened my nose all over my face one time. It's 
 never got quite right since." 
 
 "Did you kill him?" asked George from the bed. 
 
 "Kill him! No, why should I kill him? It was 
 part of the game. Anyone who stood up to Black 
 Sam knew what he had to expect." 
 
 "Let's have another set-to," suggested Jean, with 
 nothing on but his trousers. "And you shall show 
 me how to whip you. I'm stronger than you are." 
 
 "You're stronger but you're heavier, and you need 
 practice. I'll tell you what. I've got boxing gloves 
 at home. They're old ones, but they'll do. I'll bring 
 
 [22] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 them over some day and then we can fight all we 
 want without any damage." 
 
 "To-morrow?" said Jean. 
 
 "I don't mind." 
 
 Jean's impatience to learn, however, could not wait 
 till the morrow, and presently, when we had both 
 got into his dry shirts and trousers, he was dancing 
 round me on his bare feet and sparring away with 
 his open hands, and there was nothing for it but 
 to take his flicks on the cheek and his digs in the 
 stomach, or else to give him another lesson at 
 once. 
 
 We were still dancing about, feinting and warding, 
 when there came a tap on the door and Marie's 
 voice outside. 
 
 "Dites done, are you ready, you two?" 
 
 "No," roared the brothers. 
 
 "Be quick then. Mother wants you downstairs. 
 Your Father Lesieur is here." 
 
 "Boh!" said Jean, with a jerk of the under jaw, 
 and added something below his breath which, unless 
 I was very much mistaken, would have freely trans- 
 lated into, "Hang le pSre Lesieur!" 
 
 George, however, scrambled off the bed and began 
 to arrange himself, and Jean, after hanging in the 
 wind for a moment with a mutinous face, sulkily did 
 the same. Then we all went downstairs. 
 
 Madame was in the front room in company with a 
 big, stout, jovial-looking priest in a long black coat 
 which reached to his feet. It buttoned up the front 
 with innumerable little buttons, and from its length 
 and close-fitting imparted an air of sinuosity even 
 to his well-fed figure. His full round face ended in 
 a series of chins, and had a kind of pinky bloom 
 Upon it which told of plentiful living. Whenever he 
 
 [23] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 laughed, which was mostly all the time, it creased 
 up into many fat folds. His voice was smooth and 
 deep. Marie sat silently in a corner of the room. 
 The old brown dog lay curled up by the fire. Every 
 now and again a growl started somewhere in his 
 long body and rumbled slowly up through his throat 
 and came out in a low, snuffling "whuff!" and I saw 
 by the wrinkling of his brows that the red-brown 
 eyes were wide open and fixed watchfully on the 
 priest, whom he did not seem to approve of. 
 
 "Well, my little ones," rolled out the deep voice as 
 we entered, "Mamma tells me you have been waging 
 the eternal war, la belle France against perfidious 
 Albion. How goes it, Monsieur Gleen? I heard of 
 your arrival in Dinan." 
 
 I murmured my thanks for his inquiry, and stated 
 that I was very well, and he held Jean and George 
 by the hand and laughingly questioned them about 
 the fight. Jean growled out his replies and did not 
 seem to enjoy himself. George, on the other hand, 
 answered blithely, and seemed on the best of terms 
 with his spiritual father. 
 
 Suddenly Madame jumped up with an exclama^ 
 tion. 
 
 "Tiens ! But it is strange that you should both 
 choose the same day to come here. Run, my little 
 one"— to Marie— "it is M. Renel,"— and to the priest 
 — "No controversies, M. le Cur6, if you please." 
 
 "But no, Madame," he laughed back. "We are 
 good friends, I and the good M. Renel. I find the 
 Uttle pastor very amiable, though not too lively as 
 a companion." 
 
 I fancied a slight look of embarrassment, perhaps 
 of regret at the awkwardness of the meeting, on the 
 face of the new-comer as he entered the room in 
 
 [24] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 company with Marie, and Marie's face showed some- 
 thing of the same. 
 
 M. Renel looked thin and meagre beside the burly 
 priest. In fact, they were in figure about in the pro- 
 portions of their respective churches. His face looked 
 as though he had had a sharp walk through frosty 
 air and was starting a bad cold. But the day was 
 warm and I never saw the good little pastor without 
 that same pinched look in his face, and he always 
 wore the same slightly deferential air with which he 
 greeted first Madame, and then M. Lesieur, and then 
 the two boys. An air which, as he spoke to the 
 priest, somehow interpreted itself to my mind as 
 saying, " Pardon, Monsieur, I am, I know, permitted 
 to exist on sufferance. I will not interfere with your 
 prerogatives in any shape or form. I will be good 
 and keep strictly within the lines defined by the law 
 and your church." 
 
 "Eh bien, M. Renel!" said the priest jovially. 
 " You are happily arrived, — just in time to checkmate 
 me in any attempts I may make on Madame and 
 Mademoiselle." 
 
 "But, M. le Curd, I had no slightest idea you were 
 here. You did not come, I think, direct from Dinan, 
 or I must have seen you on the road." 
 
 "In which case you would have turned back, is it 
 not so?" laughed the priest. 
 
 "Well, — perhaps," said the pastor. 
 
 "But you are right, my dear sir. I was on my 
 way to the Cht,teau, and when I saw one of the 
 lambs — tiens ! Jean, mon gars, is it lamb or goat?" 
 
 "Goat," growled Jean, lurching uncomfortably in 
 the warm grip of the fat white hand. 
 
 "Eh bien, — one of the goats of my flock knocked 
 
 into the river by the hand of heretical England " 
 
 [25] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Comment! You saw it, M. le Cure?" exclaimed 
 both the boys. 
 
 "But yes, I saw it all, my children. I was watch- 
 ing your enjoyment. I saw the pretty little pink 
 toes" — he cast a merry glance at Marie, who 
 blushed and looked vexed— "trip across the weir. 
 I saw the battle and the disaster. Then I came 
 across " 
 
 "Across the weir. Monsieur?" asked Marie, with a 
 sparkle of the eye. 
 
 "No, my little one. I got the boat — and came to 
 see if there were any ill-results, since even the goats 
 are dear to me." 
 
 M. Renel had turned towards me with quick friend- 
 liness when he heard I was a heretical Englishman, 
 and Madame introduced us. "Monsieur Charles 
 Gleen is the son of my old friend Kittie MacLeod, 
 who was at Ker Nevan with me, M. Renel. M. Renel 
 is the pastor of our Reformed Church, M. Gleen" — 
 this with a dropping of the voice, lest the words 
 should grate ungraciously on the unreformed ears 
 beyond — "You must be friends." 
 
 And with M. Renel's warm grip of my hand he 
 seemed to brisk up somewhat, as though he felt that 
 with an Englishman he was on sure ground, and 
 might allow himself to feel at home and no longer 
 an alien. 
 
 "You will both stop to eat with us. Messieurs?" 
 asked Madame, comprehending both churches in 
 one hospitable smile. 
 
 "But no, Madame, I thank you," said the priest, 
 "I am to breakfast with M. le Comte at the 
 Chateau. I do not half like leaving M. Renel in 
 sole possession of the spiritual field, and"— he added 
 with a knowing smile,— "I know well that he will 
 
 [26] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 have the more excellent faring, but duty calls, and 
 one lives but to obey." 
 
 "I promise not to poach on your preserves, M. le 
 Cure," said M. Renel. 
 
 "It is understood," smiled the priest, and rose to 
 make his farewells. 
 
 And as he turned his back towards me, in shaking 
 hands with Madame, a stain of earth on his fine 
 black coat recalled to my mind the curious scene in 
 which he had figured in the wood. When he hap- 
 pened to pass near old Bar the long brown body 
 shook with muffled thunder, and the priest looking 
 down at him, said jovially, "Ha, ha, old heretic! 
 You have not improved one bit since the first day I 
 knew you. I believe it is Ma'm'selle who sets you 
 against Holy Church." 
 
 "Not at all, M. le Cure," said Marie sweetly. "It 
 is his nature." 
 
 "A case of demoniacal possession," smiled the 
 priest. 
 
 "Not at all," said Marie. "He belongs to the 
 Reformed Church." 
 
 "If M. le Pasteur were not present I might hint 
 at some connection between the two, but as I can- 
 not wait to argue the points I will refrain." 
 
 "M. le Comte is well?" asked Madame politely as 
 he shook her hand. 
 
 "He is as usual, Madame," said the priest dryly, 
 "and M. Raoul has come down to keep him com- 
 pany for a few days." 
 
 "Ah!" said Madame, and said no more. 
 
 That first meal I ever had in the Chateau of 
 Kerhuel is a very distinct memory with me;— the 
 great oak-panelled room with its diamond-leaded 
 windows;— the wide, open fireplace with its smoul- 
 
 [27] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 dering logs which gave forth a pleasant pungent smell, 
 and its bed of white hot ashes in which the coffee- 
 pot stood waiting;— the carafes of amber cider;— the 
 horse-collar loaves, crisply brown outside and honey- 
 combed white within;— the delicious dishes, begin- 
 ning with a milk-like soup and ending with stewed 
 prunes and cheese, with a number in between which 
 were strange to me but none the less enjoyable; — 
 Madame's cheerful rally of talk as she plied M. Renel 
 and myself with good things more than we had com- 
 fortable capacity for;— the gradual thawing under 
 these genial influences of what was evidently M. 
 Renel's habitual slight frostiness of reserve, until 
 the apologetic primness of his earlier conversation 
 developed towards the end of the meal into a lo- 
 quacity which would no doubt have astonished M. le 
 Curg ; — the bull-dog pertinacity with which my friend 
 Jean attacked his food, and his air of aloofness 
 from everything priestly, whether of one church or 
 the other; — his brother's amusing air of constraint 
 as of one who dined perforce under the eye of the 
 enemy, and the wary glances he shot at the repre- 
 sentative of the alien church; — and Madame's hearty 
 enjoyment in ministering to the bodily welfare of one 
 whose business in life was to minister to souls rather 
 than bodies, and whose path was palpably not strewn 
 with fatness. 
 
 And as for Marie— I can see her at this moment 
 as clearly as I saw her then. She had — I thought 
 then, I think still — the sweetest face I have ever 
 seen, full of life and laughter which left it little time 
 for repose, dark eyes dancing and gleaming with 
 merry audacity, arching brows which spoke in unison 
 with her lips, a wealth of soft hair like spun gold, 
 which made a lovely frame to a very lovely picture. 
 
 [28] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 She chattered away gayly to M. Renel, to her mother, 
 and to myself, over whom she assumed a kind of 
 proprietary interest which had the effect of removing 
 any barriers of restraint, and was much to my Uk- 
 ing. It made me feel very much at home, and set 
 me quite at my ease in spite even of my perpetual 
 blunders in speaking. Mademoiselle corrected these 
 so promptly and prettily, and so greatly did I en- 
 joy the process, that I took to stumbling of set 
 purpose now and again, for the mere pleasure of 
 being put right by so charming a teacher. But the 
 steady dark eyes saw through me at once, and a 
 rosy finger threatened me — "Monsieur Gleen, you 
 are very, very ignorant, but you are not so ignorant 
 as you pretend to be." 
 
 To which I replied in English, "I have learned 
 more French to-day, Mademoiselle, than in all the 
 rest of my life hitherto, and I never enjoyed learn- 
 ing anything half so much before." 
 
 And Mademoiselle shook her head at me, and re- 
 plied, " I do not think you are naturally stupid, but 
 all young men are more or less silly." 
 
 I assured her I was the exception to that general 
 rule, at which she shook her head again doubtfully, 
 and proceeded to heap the good pastor's plate with 
 delicacies in spite of his protesting hands, overcom- 
 ing all his natural scruples with a gentle, "but one 
 must eat, dear sir, one must eat," and forthwith 
 set him an admirable example herself, without any 
 finicking or false pretence. 
 
 "It always makes me hungry to see other people 
 bathe," she said enjoyably. 
 
 "You're always hungry," said George. 
 
 "Eh bien! And why not, my little one? It is 
 good to be hungry and better still to have some- 
 
 [29] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 thing to eat. All the same, I am glad M. le Cure 
 breakfasts at the Chateau. Pouff! ragout and 
 omelette, and not too much of either. His business 
 must have been urgent to suffer such mortification 
 of the flesh " 
 
 "Marie!" said her mother, with a note of gentle 
 warning. 
 
 "Oui, maman!" in momentary meekness from 
 Mademoiselle, as she dropped the Curg and helped 
 herself to a further supply of clotted cream and 
 stewed plums. 
 
 Perhaps it was the presence of her own little pas- 
 tor, who regarded her with most benevolent appre- 
 ciation, together with the absence of M. le Cur^, 
 and perhaps also the unexpected arrival of the 
 friendly foreigner and the quaint manner of his ar- 
 rival, which tuned her to unusually high spirits. 
 Whatever it was she was wholly and absolutely and 
 irresistibly charming, and when I was not laugh- 
 ing with vast and novel enjoyment straight into 
 her challenging dark eyes, I found myself watching 
 her every word and action, as greedily as a hungry 
 dog watches for crumbs from his master's table. 
 
 Jean, as I have said, applied himself stolidly to 
 his food and spoke little. Possibly the merry pha- 
 lanx of heresy in the persons of Madame and Made- 
 moiselle and M. Renel and myself was too much for 
 his orthodoxy. More possibly still it was a lingering 
 sense of discomfort in his left lower jaw which ex- 
 erted the restraining influence, for Jean's manner to 
 the Cnri had not struck me as by any means over- 
 charged with that filial dutifulness which Holy 
 Church expects from her sons, and is so frequently 
 disappointed of. Madame and M. Renel discussed 
 many matters connected with their church in Dinan. 
 
 [30] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Marie flashed perpetually in and out of their con- 
 versation with some gay remark which generally 
 raised a smile from both, or a smile from the little 
 pastor and a gentle reproof from her mother, by which 
 time Mademoiselle was intent upon other business 
 connected with myself or George, whom she teased 
 and provoked and reprimanded to her heart's de- 
 light. With Jean I noticed she took fewer liberties. 
 She did indeed ask him one time if he was feeling 
 very bad, but when he growled she forbore any 
 further levity. 
 
 "Dites done, mon gros, what is it you are angry 
 at?" she asked sympathetically. 
 
 "I am not angry," growled Jean, "neither am I 
 a chattering magpie. You talk enough for all the 
 family, my child." 
 
 "Mon dieu ! but life would be dull if one could not 
 talk. I may not fight. I may not bathe " 
 
 "Pinky toes," said George. 
 
 "Ah, wicked one, you shall have no more cream." 
 
 "Did she not run across the weir prettily. Mon- 
 sieur Gleen?" said George. "Like a httle chicken 
 holding up its little skirts to skip over a little 
 puddle." 
 
 "Very well, my little one, you are not gentil. 
 That means only one lump of sugar in your coffee." 
 
 "Ah, bah!" from George. 
 
 Then a question from M. Renel to Madame re- 
 minded me that there was another member of the 
 family whose acquaintance I had not yet made. 
 
 "And M. Godefroi?" asked the pastor. 
 
 "He is at Rennes endeavoring to arrange a con- 
 tract with the troops there," said Madame. 
 
 It was well into the afternoon before M. Renel and 
 I set out on our homeward journey, and Marie and 
 
 [31] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 her brothers accompanied us for a mile along the 
 road. 
 
 "Present my compliments and remembrances to 
 Madame Gleen, Monsieur Charles, and say I will 
 give myself the pleasure of calling upon her within 
 a day or two," were Madame' s last words. 
 
 "Will you bring those gloves to-morrow, M. 
 Charles?" were Jean's. 
 
 "Gloves? What gloves? You never wear gloves, 
 mon gros," were Marie's. 
 
 And I promised to bring the gloves on the morrow. 
 
 [32] 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 We chatted pleasantly, M. Renel and I, as we 
 tramped along the dusty road, across which the 
 serried poplars were already flinging long shadows 
 into the fields beyond. Sun and shade, sun and 
 shade, as far as the eye could reach, — the rungs of 
 a mighty ladder, with the gleaming Ranee on the 
 right and Dinan perched on its little hill far away 
 in front. 
 
 The good faring, which I imagined I was not 
 wrong in thinking unusually good faring for him, 
 induced more talkativeness on the part of the little 
 pastor than I should have expected. Though indeed 
 I always found him friendly in the extreme to my- 
 self, and ready at all times to afford me every in- 
 formation in his power. He seemed somehow to 
 feel himself on surer ground with me even than with 
 his own people, and allowed his light to bum more 
 freely. 
 
 He inquired about myself and my studies, com- 
 pared English schools and French Lycees, greatly 
 to the detriment of the latter, and stated with vehe- 
 mence his intention of sending his own Uttle son to 
 be educated in England if he could possibly con- 
 trive it. He was very frank and simple in his men- 
 tion of the many difficulties which beset the path of 
 a pastor of the Reformed Church. He excited my 
 sympathy and drew my liking. 
 
 In turn I questioned him as to my new friends. 
 
 "There is another brother whom I have not yet 
 seen?" I asked. 
 
 2 [33] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Yes. M. Godefroi. He is the son of M. de Ker- 
 huel's first wife. He attends to the mill and the 
 estate. Madame comes of the Huguenot Destour- 
 nelles from Poitou way. Her father is rich and some 
 day the little Marie and the boys will be rich too, 
 though for the present, and that is until the old 
 man dies, they have no more than enough. Ma^ 
 dame had a good portion when she married, but 
 M. de Kerhuel, though he was good and amiable, 
 was not a good man of affairs. All they have left 
 is the mill and the small property of Kerhuel. The 
 old man down in Poitou was none too well pleased, 
 it is said, with his daughter marrying out of her 
 own religion. He is very wealthy, but he is also 
 somewhat narrow. The two things so often go to- 
 gether. It is not those who have most who are the 
 most generous, M. Gleen. They miss their oppor- 
 tunities, which is a great pity. It is a great thing 
 to be rich," he said with a sigh, "but the rich are 
 not without their troubles too." 
 
 "Madame did not strike me as being burdened 
 with many cares," I said. 
 
 "Madame is a very noble woman and riches will 
 not spoil her when they come. And the little Marie 
 takes after her, for all her lightness of heart. They 
 are hearts of gold both. I owe them much," and 
 he compassed twenty rungs of the ladder before he 
 spoke again. " Madame carries things with a stout 
 heart — a truly Christian heart — trusting the good 
 God to carry her through the future as he has done 
 through the past. She is too wise to meet troubles 
 half-way, and yet" — he said musingly — "every day 
 brings the possibility of trouble nearer. . . . You 
 see, M. Gleen, it is a divided house, — necessarily 
 so. When Madame married M. de Kerhuel she in- 
 
 [34] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 sisted on keeping her own religion for herself and 
 any daughters she might have. She was wise, for the 
 hold of the priest is stronger on the women than on 
 the men. So Marie is Protestant and her brothers 
 belong to Rome, though, ma foi, Jean is no very 
 complaisant son of the Church. That is the fear. 
 So many of our men see through the priests and 
 despise their teachings, they are like to grow up 
 with no beliefs at all. With the little George it is 
 different — at present. He is theirs — to make and 
 mould as they will." 
 
 "But Mademoiselle is free of them," I said. 
 
 "Mademoiselle is free of them," and he nodded 
 his head with wise foreboding; "but they will 
 never let so promising a bird escape if they can 
 snare it by hook or crook. And, Monsieur," — 
 and he dropped his voice to a cautious whisper lest 
 the shivering poplars should tell tales, — "they stick 
 at nothing to gain their ends — these gentlemen of 
 the black robe. The one you saw there to-day, M. 
 Lesieur, — he is very pleasant, very suave, very jovial, 
 — all that. But all the same he is a Jesuit, and to 
 make sure of Mile. Marie and the money that will 
 some day be hers, there is nothing that I can im- 
 agine that he would not do." 
 
 "But surely Mile. Marie is safe from him so long 
 as she is Protestant. It seemed to me that Made- 
 moiselle had a pretty decided mind of her own." 
 
 "Dieu merci, yes ! But when her mother dies and 
 she marries — if she should marry into the Church 
 I would not answer for her. The pressure they can 
 bring is sometimes terrible " 
 
 "But Madame married into the Church and she 
 has kept herself safe." 
 
 "Yes truly, but it does not often happen so. And 
 [35] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 if one knew all I think we should, find that Madame 
 passed through desperate times. But, truly, she is 
 a woman in a thousand, and whether the little one 
 would be as steadfast one cannot say. M. le Curb's 
 great ambition is to marry her to this M. Raoul de 
 Querhoal of whom you heard mention. He is grand- 
 son of the old Count up at the great Chateau there 
 and lieutenant in the army. The old man is an old 
 rou6 — outwardly reformed at all events, though they 
 do say — ^but one must needs be charitable. He is 
 very bigoted and very grasping — a miser if ever there 
 was one, grinding his tenants and giving grudg- 
 ingly to the Church just as little as he thinks will 
 save his own soul. And the young man is a profli- 
 gate of the worst, with two great desires in his life 
 — to step into the old man's shoes and money as 
 soon as may be, and to marry more money still so 
 that he may enjoy life to the fullest in his own way. 
 Much as I love the little Marie I would sooner read 
 the funeral service over her than hear the bells ring- 
 ing for her wedding with Raoul de Querhoal, or any 
 man as little worthy of her." 
 
 "But how would the Church benefit, M. Renel," 
 I asked, "by marrying Mademoiselle to M. de 
 Querhoal?" 
 
 "Ah, my friend, trust the Church to pick out 
 plums if it has its finger in the pie." 
 
 "And is Madame aware of M. le Cure's hopes and 
 schemes?" 
 
 "Quite aware of them. Mademoiselle also. The 
 eldest son, M. Godefroi, he approves. And George 
 when he grows up, he will approve also." 
 
 "And Jean?" 
 
 "Jean? I think not. Indisposition Jean is more 
 like an Englishman than a Frenchman, if you will 
 
 [36] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 permit me to say so, Monsieur. He is rough and 
 uncontrollable at times, but he loves his mother 
 and sister dearly and he is very honest. I do not 
 think he would agree to it, but I do not know what 
 he could do to stop it." 
 
 "And do they know the character of the young 
 man?" 
 
 "Yes, they know as much as most know, and that 
 is bad enough, though there is probably much more 
 behind. Poor little Marie, if she should ever fall 
 into that young man's hands ! A thousand times 
 better dead." 
 
 After a little self-cogitation, as I tramped along 
 by his side, I told M. Renel of my strange encounter 
 in the grounds of the Ch&teau, and asked him if he 
 knew what it all meant. 
 
 "That is a very strange story, Monsieur Gleen," 
 he said, "and it confirms rumors I have heard from 
 the country people from time to time. But what 
 it means, or who it is they keep up there, I do not 
 know. The peasants round here are so full of 
 strange stories that one does not as a rule attach 
 much importance to them. They are frightfully su- 
 perstitious, and as for ghosts and such like things 
 they are very children. Yes," he said musingly, 
 "that was very curious. And you are quite sure it 
 was M. le Cur6?" 
 
 "Quite sure," I replied, and he remained very 
 thoughtful all the way to Dinan. 
 
 At parting he said : 
 
 "If I may be permitted, Monsieur Gleen, I would 
 suggest saying nothing of that matter to our friends 
 at Beauche. It might only cause an uneasiness 
 which is quite unnecessary." 
 
 [37] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 I agreed that that was so, and assured him I had 
 no intention of saying any more about it. 
 
 My mother was greatly delighted at thought of 
 meeting her old friend again. She plied me with 
 questions concerning every member of the family. 
 
 "Anna Destoumelles was a very lovely girl," she 
 said musingly, "and we were the best of friends. 
 We corresponded for a time, but lost sight of one 
 another when I went out to India. Is the girl pretty, 
 Charley?" 
 
 "Very pretty, and very lively, and altogether very 
 jolly, — dark eyes, brown hair, and the loveliest little 
 pink toes." 
 
 " Good gracious, boy, how did you see her toes?" 
 
 The relation of my adventures gave her much 
 amusement, and when she had done laughing over 
 them she regarded me thoughtfully. 
 
 "Now, mother mine, don't you go making plans," 
 I said wamingly. 
 
 "Plans, Charley? What do you mean?" she said, 
 with a guilty blush. 
 
 "Oh, don't tell me. I know the meaning of that 
 wise look in your eyes, Madame M^re. Marie de 
 Kerhuel is the prettiest girl I have ever met, and 
 the nicest, so far as I could judge by seeing her run 
 across a weir with her bare feet and eat a very 
 good breakfast in very high spirits. And she is 
 going to have a million francs or so sometime, and 
 the Jesuits are going to marry her to a wicked 
 count " 
 
 "Anna won't let them. She will never let her girl 
 fall into the hands of the priests,— unless she has 
 changed very much since I knew her. She was Hu- 
 guenot to the backbone." 
 
 "Yet she married outside." 
 [38] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 " Ye — s," she admitted grudgingly. " I'm surprised 
 at her doing such a thing." 
 
 "Probably she fell in love with M. de Kerhuel. 
 There couldn't be a better reason." 
 
 "She ought to have known better." 
 
 "Ah, now we're getting into deep waters. Suppose 
 we get back to dry land and a cup of tea, — if you 
 made it yourself, Motherling. If Mademoiselle Druot 
 made it I don't want any." Josephine Druot 
 was the elderly female in a white cap, which blos- 
 somed into a coif of abnormal dimensions on a 
 Sunday, who permitted my mother to assist her in 
 the affairs of our small household. Her ideas on 
 tea-making, however, were hopelessly homeopathic 
 and hydropathic, and the results were very dis- 
 tressing to the English taste. 
 
 "I shall always make the tea myself in future," 
 said my mother firmly, from which I gathered that 
 there had been a passage of arms on the subject. 
 
 Marie de Kerhuel's piquant face haunted me pleas- 
 antly all night long and mingled with my dreams. 
 It was the first face that had ever taken such lib- 
 erties with me, for I had never been much of a 
 girl's boy. In the whole course of my nineteen 
 years I could not remember ever having found my- 
 self on such pleasant terms with so very pleasant 
 a girl, and I awoke next morning with a very dis- 
 tinct desire that those delightful relations should 
 continue. 
 
 Some of the details of her face were less clear than 
 they had been the night before. That troubled me. 
 I felt it my duty to polish up that mental vision 
 with as little delay as possible. The general effect 
 of the sparkling face was there right enough, but it 
 changed so quickly with its varying emotions, that 
 
 [39] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 it had become somewhat elusive in its rapid alterna- 
 tions. But no amount of golden haziness could 
 change the infinite sweetness and beauty of the 
 large dark eyes. I could feel them gazing at me 
 through all the varying shimmer of the rest. I was 
 grateful to Jean for the exactment of that promise 
 which would afford me the opportunity of seeing 
 them so soon again. 
 
 [40] 
 
CHAPTER rV 
 
 I HAVE no doubt my mother smiled inwardly next 
 morning when she asked me over our coffee and 
 milk where I was going that day, and I answered, 
 
 "To Kerhuel." 
 
 "Oh?" said she, non-committally, and with an 
 accent of surprise. 
 
 "To see Jean," I explained. 
 
 "Oh!" with more of a hidden meaning in the in- 
 flection. 
 
 "I promised — in fact he made me promise — to take 
 my boxing-gloves over and give him some lessons." 
 
 "Oh!" with full understanding and nicely con- 
 cealed appreciation. 
 
 And presently, to the surprise of the country folk 
 whom I met, I was striding along towards Beauche 
 with the big gloves strung over my shoulders like 
 the spoils of a modem giant killer. Many humorous 
 remarks Were passed upon me. But they imme- 
 diately set me down as an Englishman, and that 
 condoned anything and everything. 
 
 The two boys were sitting under a tree by the 
 roadside on the look-out for me. 
 
 "Ah, v'la!" cried Jean, and came racing along 
 towards me. "George said you wouldn't come but 
 I knew you would. Are those the gloves? Come 
 along up to my room and we'll have a turn at 
 once. We'll go in the back way, then no one will 
 see us." 
 
 I did not myself see the necessity for so much con- 
 [41] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 cealment. In fact, I would very much have pre- 
 ferred it otherwise. But I could not very well say 
 so, and we stole stealthily through the great kitchen, 
 with its huge open fireplace and black pot-au-feu, and 
 its garniture of shining pots and pans, and up the 
 staircase, and reached Jean's room without any 
 beneficent encounter with the ladies of the family. 
 
 "Now, Monsieur Gleen!" said the bloodthirsty 
 Jean, locking the door and peeling off his coat in 
 one operation so as to lose no time, " Allons !" and 
 he slipped on a pair of the gloves and made up to 
 me, while brother George perched himself up on the 
 bed to enjoy the proceedings. 
 
 "Dieu!" from Jean, "what a fool one feels in 
 them." 
 
 "Shake hands first," I said. "That is the root 
 of the matter, my friend. That is a promise that 
 you won't lose your temper. When you lose your 
 temper you lose the fight, — as you did yesterday," 
 I added, by way of touching him up. But he did 
 not need any spur of that kind, and in a moment 
 we were dancing round on our toes, and before he 
 knew it I had tapped him on the nose in a way 
 that made his eyes water and then blaze. 
 
 "Gently!" I cried, as he came furiously at me. 
 " If you can't keep cool, Jean, I'll first thrash you 
 and then I'll decline to fight any more." 
 
 "Sapristi! but you've broken my nose," he cried. 
 
 "It's all part of the game. Break mine if you 
 can. I don't mind so long as you keep your tem- 
 per. If you strike with both fists at once you lay 
 yourself open to — that kind of thing," and I got 
 in again on his left jawbone, which, from the wince 
 he gave, was probably still tender from yesterday's 
 crack. 
 
 [42] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Kick him, Jean," suggested George from the 
 bed. 
 
 "We don't kick," I said. 
 
 "Little fool !" panted Jean, "it is the boxe we are 
 at, not the savatte." 
 
 "Ma foi! I'd kick his head off," squeaked 
 George. 
 
 "I'll kick you out of the room if you don't shut 
 up," growled Jean. 
 
 "Piff, paff! You daren't. K you did I'd tell 
 Godefroi about the gun." 
 
 "Little pig!" observed Jean. 
 
 "You're stronger than I am," I said, as we sat 
 panting on the side of the bed, "but I'm lighter on 
 the feet and more used to the work, but you'll soon 
 get into it." 
 
 We had half-a-dozen rounds, with chats in between 
 and explanations and demonstrations. Jean was 
 not very quick in grasping a thing, but he had 
 a dogged pertinacity which served him well. He 
 slugged away till he got things right, and managed, 
 with some little difficulty this first day, to keep his 
 naturally hot temper under control. With each 
 gentle tap I got in we became more friendly, how- 
 ever, and when he succeeded at last in planting one 
 very neatly on my nose his amour propre was re- 
 stored and we were the best of friends. 
 
 Then there came a sudden tap on the door and I 
 heard Mademoiselle Marie's voice outside. "Jean, 
 mon gars, what on earth are you doing inside there? 
 Are you killing something or stuffing something or 
 what? Open the door, old boy. If it smells very 
 bad, open the window first, if you please." 
 
 Jean grinned a little painfully and flung open the 
 door. 
 
 [43] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Don't be rude, little one," he said. "It is not 
 'gentil' to hint that my friends smell bad." 
 
 "Comment! Monsieur Gleen?" and the arched 
 brows curved into semicircles of surprise as she 
 came through the door. Bar was at her heels as 
 usual and greeted me affably. "I did not know you 
 were here. What are you all about ? Dieu ! What 
 are those things ? Gloves ? Bon dieu ! Do you wear 
 those on Sunday, Monsieur? They are extremely 
 comme-il-faut. " 
 
 "They are boxing gloves," I said. 
 
 "Ah, you are as bad as Jean. Fighting, fighting. 
 Why can't boys wait until they have to fight ? The 
 time will come quite soon enough." 
 
 "But this is only play. Mademoiselle," I said. "It 
 is good exercise and teaches you many things." 
 
 " AUons ! Show me !" she said, and settled herself 
 on the side of the bed with the long brown dog in 
 her arms. So we fought one more round, which made 
 both our eyes water and Mademoiselle's eyes sparkle, 
 especially when we shook hands and she saw there 
 was no ill-feeling in the matter. 
 
 "That goes better," she cried, with a clap of the 
 hands. "Yesterday it was horrible because you hated 
 one another. To-day it is all right because you are 
 friends." 
 
 "Ma — rie!" came Madame' s voice up the stair- 
 case. 
 
 "Mon dieu !" cried Mademoiselle, with another clap 
 of the hands, "I came to tell you breakfast was 
 ready. You will join us, Monsieur Gleen?" 
 
 "I'm afraid Madame will begin to look on me as 
 intrusive," I began. 
 
 " Not at all. A visitor is always a godsend — unless 
 it is M. le Cur6, who comes from the — from Dinan. 
 
 [44] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 It makes the boys behave themselves so much better 
 when some one is there." 
 
 "Merci, Mademoiselle! — and Mademoiselle also," 
 said Jean, as he dipped his head into the basin. 
 
 "I will tell M. le Cur6 how you adore him," said 
 George. 
 
 "Tchutt, b6b£ ! M. le Cure knows a great deal 
 more than you can ever tell him. I will tell mamma 
 you are washing off the stains of conflict," and she 
 tripped away downstairs with Bar pattering behind. 
 
 Madame de Kerhuel's greeting was hearty enough 
 to remove any feeling of intrusion on my part. She 
 asked instantly after my mother, and was greatly 
 pleased when I told her how eagerly her old friend 
 was looking forward to her promised visit. 
 
 "I too," said Madame warmly. "It is delightful 
 to renew an old friendship, and your mother and I 
 were very close friends indeed. Godefroi, this is M. 
 Charles Glyn, the son of my very dear school friend, 
 Kittie MacLeod." 
 
 M. Godefroi shook hands with me and apologized 
 for having already begun his breakfast. He was 
 tall, dark, and considerably older than the others. 
 In manner he was quiet and reserved. 
 
 "Some one is always late," he said. "Generally it 
 is Mademoiselle Marie " 
 
 "Oh, Godefroi, what a fib!" 
 
 "And as I am a man of business I make a point 
 of starting at the proper time no matter who is 
 absent. Jean, my friend, have you been trying to 
 improve the shape of your naturally beautiful nose?" 
 
 "Boxing," growled Jean, who objected to his nose 
 being brought into such undue prominence. "Mon- 
 sieur Gleen's is as bad." 
 
 "In that case it would not be polite to §a.y any 
 [45] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 more about it," said Godefroi, and went on with his 
 breakfast. 
 
 The meal was as delightful as the last one. More 
 so, for Jean came out of his shell, especially after 
 Godefroi had retired to his affairs, and showed that, 
 far from harboring any resentment for his yester- 
 day's maltreatment, he was inclined to be very 
 friendly with the stranger, and to look upon him as 
 a good gift of the gods. 
 
 "We will go fishing," he said, as we rose from the 
 table. "You fish, M. Charles?" 
 
 "Certainly. When I get the chance." 
 
 "I go too," said Marie quickly. 
 
 "You never catch anything," said Jean. "You 
 only chatter, and when I pull the hooks out you 
 scream." 
 
 "I always feel sorry for the poor things." 
 
 "But you eat them quick enough," said George. 
 
 "It is different. They do not look the same when 
 they are cooked." 
 
 So presently we trooped down to the river side, 
 where the sight of the green-white sickles curving 
 over the weir recalled to my mind the twinkling 
 white feet which tripped so daintily through them 
 the day before. 
 
 With the steady "klop— klop" of the great wheel 
 close in our ears, and the ceaseless hum of the 
 grinding stones dominating every other sound, we 
 scrambled into a big flat punt, and Jean took the 
 pole and pushed us out into the smooth swift mill- 
 race. Characteristically he allowed us to drift down 
 almost on to the weir for the purpose of eliciting 
 Marie's frantic shrieks and George's startled remon- 
 strances. And when he was satisfied therewith he 
 handed me another pole and we made our way 
 
 [46] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 steadily up-stream, till we came to broad silent pools 
 and water-breaks with the trees almost meeting 
 overhead, and there we staked the punt and pro- 
 ceeded to cast our lines. And Marie chattered and 
 shrieked with laughter which ran down to voluble 
 commiseration whenever we caught anything, and 
 George grumbled at his want of success, and Jean 
 drew in his prey like clockwork and growled at the 
 other two.j And I, if less successful as a fisherman, 
 drew immense and novel enjoyment from them all, 
 and marvelled delightedly at the changes which 
 twenty-four short hours had wrought in our relative 
 standing. For before we touched bank again it was 
 "Jean," and "George," and "Charles," and "Marie," 
 with us all, and we were on as intimate a footing as if 
 we had known one another all our lives, and I knew 
 beyond all possibility of questioning that Marie de 
 Kerhuel was the prettiest and sweetest and alto- 
 gether the most charming girl in all the world. She 
 was for a time just a trifle hesitant on the bare 
 "Charles," as Iwason the simple "Marie." Butwhen 
 she had, at sight of a fish on her line, twice on the 
 instant dropped her rod as though it were red-hot, 
 and when twice, amid Jean's growls and her shrieks, 
 I had caught her round the waist and prevented 
 her tumbling overboard in her attempts to recover 
 it— " Monsieur" and "Mademoiselle" slipped into the 
 water and went floating down stream with the bub- 
 bles, and shot over the weir or under the big wheel, 
 and went down the Ranee and were lost in St. 
 Malo bay, for at present we had no further use for 
 them. 
 
 When we had enough dim-eyed silvery beauties ly- 
 ing about the punt to satisfy Jean, and to fill Marie 
 with compassion and a stated desire to restore them 
 
 [47] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 to their native element, which evoked a brotherly 
 threat to throw her over after them, Jean announced 
 his intention of having a swim. He poled the boat 
 ashore and peremptorily ordered Marie off into the 
 woods. 
 
 "I shall come back and watch you," she said. 
 
 "We'll shout when we're ready," growled Jean. 
 "What a nuisance girls are," and Marie scrambled 
 into the bank with shrieking asseverationf^hat Jean 
 had done his best to drop her into the water, and 
 disappeared among the bushes. 
 
 We were in the water in a trice and our shouts 
 soon brought her back to sit on the bank and 
 watch us longingly. 
 
 "I wish I could come too, Jean," she said. 
 
 "Oh, fie!" from George. 
 
 "I shall make myself a swimming suit such as the 
 ladies wear at St. Malo. I don't see why not." 
 
 "You can't swim," said Jean. 
 
 "I can learn. You couldn't swim yourself 
 once." 
 
 "We don't want any girls paddling about with us, 
 do we, mon ami?" 
 
 "Yes," I said. 
 
 " Oh, bah ! She would scream every time a snake 
 got round her leg." 
 
 "Snakes! Oh!" and the longing face lengthened. 
 "Jean, you're lying. I don't believe there are any 
 snakes," she added, as she saw me laughing. "Are 
 there any snakes — Charles?" 
 
 "I've not seen any yet," I said. 
 
 "Well, there are things that feel like snakes and 
 you'd scream just the same," said Jean, and fished 
 up with his foot a long piece of creeper. 
 
 "I'll promise not to scream." 
 [48] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 " Pooh ! You'd choke if you didn't scream. Half 
 your time is spent in screaming !" 
 
 "Rude!" 
 
 And then a shot rang out above our heads and 
 Marie gave a shriek as a wood pigeon fell with a 
 thud almost at her feet and lay there writhing. 
 
 "Oh, cruel, cruel!" she cried, and picked up the 
 wounded bird and tried to soothe it. 
 
 " Tiens'SJ»Who shoots there?" cried Jean angrily. 
 
 "I shoot, Monsieur," and a very elegant young 
 man stepped out from behind a tree and stood look- 
 ing at us with his hands on the muzzle of his gun. 
 He was dressed in what I presume was the height of 
 fashion for the chase, — ^green shooting coat with a 
 belt, knickerbocker trousers, long yellow laced boots 
 and a hat looped up at one side. His face and hair 
 were dark and his little black mustache was care- 
 fully waxed into pin-points. I hated him on 
 sight. 
 
 "M. de Querhoal," said Jean gruffly, as we stood 
 up to our chests in the water looking at him. 
 
 "At your service." 
 
 "Here is your victim. Monsieur," said Marie, 
 holding out the bird. 
 
 "An offering at the shrine of beauty, Mademoi- 
 selle," he smiled. 
 
 The bird squirmed and then dropped its head and 
 its blood trickled slowly through the girl's slim 
 white fingers. 
 
 "Thank you," she said soberly. "I do not want 
 it. It is dead." 
 
 "It is therefore become of some use in the world," 
 said he. 
 
 "Poor little thing !" she said, and looked as if she 
 would throw it into the water. "I am sorry you 
 
 [49] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 killed it, Monsieur," and she began scraping a hole 
 in the soft soil. "I will bury it." 
 
 She completed the grave, smoothed the soft plum- 
 age, laid the warm body down and covered it with 
 grass and heaped the soil up into a little mound on 
 top of it, while M. de Querhoal watched her in 
 amused silence. 
 
 "Sheer waste," he smiled down upon her. 
 
 "Yes," said Marie quietly, "that is so^l 
 
 That was the first time I met Raoul de Querhoal. 
 I have often thought since, in looking back over 
 these old times, that the circumstances of that meet- 
 ing were strangely typical of what followed. Our 
 intercourse began with the shedding of innocent 
 blood, it was marked by the shedding of innocent 
 blood, it ended amid the roaring red floods of 
 the great collapse, and the red stain was over it 
 all. 
 
 Raoul stood there on the bank, gay and debonair, 
 leaning on his gun and smiling down with critical 
 appreciation on Marie, who sat gently patting the 
 little grave which lay between them. It was natural, 
 I suppose, that I should hate him, and I hated him 
 with all my heart and soul. And nothing at that 
 moment would have given me, standing there with 
 my feet in the mud and the water welling past my 
 chest, greater satisfaction than to quench that 
 Boulevard smile of his by plucking his shapely legs 
 from under him and sitting heavily on him under 
 water. No such heroic measures were possible, 
 however, and after staring his fill at Marie, who was 
 diligently binding two twigs into a cross with a 
 piece of grass, as a headpiece for her grave, he in- 
 formed us that we would catch cold if we stood too 
 long in the water, and raising his hat very grace- 
 
 [50] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 fully he bade us adieu, and shouldered his gun and 
 went on his way. 
 
 "Pschutt!" said Marie. 
 
 "P'tit crgve!" growled Jean. 
 
 "Isn't he fine?" said George. 
 
 "Puppy!" said I. 
 
 And even if Lieutenant Raoul had heard the con- 
 sensus of adverse opinion I do not suppose it would 
 have occasioned him one moment's annoyance. He 
 was the kind of self-sufficient young man whose be- 
 lief in himself far outweighed any opinions which 
 the commonplace outsiders who constituted the rest 
 of the world might have of him. But the insolent 
 audacity of his smiling regard of Marie de Kerhuel 
 rankled in my breast, and my instinctive dislike of 
 the young man was strengthened by the fact that 
 Marie shared it with me. 
 
 [51] 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 The following day Madame de Kerhuel and her 
 daughter drove in state in the family carriage to 
 pay their promised visit to my mother, and the 
 expectation of their doing so kept me at home. 
 
 "My dearest Kittie!" 
 
 "Anna!" And the two ladies were on one an- 
 other's necks like a couple of schoolgirls. 
 
 A novel, timid, delightful sensation within me in- 
 formed me that a similar demonstration on the part 
 of the second generation would be an unusually 
 pleasant experience, but fortunately I succeeded in 
 showing no signs of it. 
 
 "And this is your daughter, Anna? My dear," 
 said my mother, as she kissed Marie warmly, "your 
 face drops twenty years out of my life and carries 
 me back to the days when your mother was the 
 loveliest girl at Ker Nevan and I was her very dear 
 friend. They were very happy times, Anna." 
 
 "Very happy, my dear. But we have both had 
 happier since, is it not so?" 
 
 "Surely, and also sadder. And now we live over 
 again in our children." 
 
 "Marie also has been at Ker Nevan," said 
 Madame. 
 
 "Do the Demoiselles Jacquelicot still keep the 
 school?" asked my mother. 
 
 " They still conduct it, and most admirably, though 
 they are not as young as they were in our time." 
 
 "I thought Mile. Sophie was about getting mar- 
 ried just at the time we were leaving." 
 
 [52] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Ah, he died — the poor Sophie — " and then they 
 drifted off into old-time reminiscences, and the sec- 
 ond generation was left to its own devices. 
 
 I induced Marie to come to the back window from 
 which there was a lovely view over the Ranee valley. 
 
 I asked her if she had completed the promised 
 bathing suit, at which she colored beautifully and 
 laughed. 
 
 " But I shall make it," she said. " Why not? The 
 gentlemen and ladies bathe together at Dinard and 
 St. Malo, why not at BeaucM?" 
 
 " Certainly," I said stoutly. "Why not? It would 
 be very jolly." 
 
 "When do you return to school in England, Mon- 
 sieur Charles?" she asked, with mirth in her eyes and 
 a delightful assumption of prudishnessin her manner. 
 
 "I go back about the middle of September. But 
 it is to college I am going — ^not to school — college 
 and the hospitals !" 
 
 "Horrors!" she said. "Hospitals sound horrid. 
 I shall have my bathing suit ready for the day 
 after the middle of September." 
 
 "That is too late. You will be catching cold if 
 you bathe in the river then. It is deUghtful just 
 now." 
 
 "Really? I thought you three looked awfully cold 
 yesterday when you stood looking at the charming 
 M. Raoul." 
 
 "Conceited puppy," I said. 
 
 "I thought he looked extremely elegant, with his 
 beautiful green coat, and his little pointed mus- 
 tache, and his charming smile, and his " 
 
 "His impudence and insolence. I'd like to have 
 jerked him into the river and stamped on him." 
 
 "Well, that probably would have made a difference 
 [53] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 in his appearance. Jean does not seem to like him 
 any more than you do. Now George agrees with 
 me that he is very elegant in appearance, and that 
 his manners are most polished." 
 
 "I should think he would be an extremely nice 
 man to know," I said, taking a leaf out of her own 
 book. "The kind of fellow one would like to have 
 for a friend. I shall make up to him and try to 
 get to know him better." 
 
 " Ah ! Now you are not English. You are becom- 
 ing acclimatized." 
 
 "How so, Mademoiselle?" 
 
 "An Englishman says what he means." 
 
 "And a Frenchwoman — ?" 
 
 "Sometimes, — not always." 
 
 "I will remember." 
 
 "It cuts both ways." 
 
 "Yes, I see it will complicate matters. I think 
 the English style is much the best." 
 
 "Stick to it. Monsieur. It becomes you infinitely 
 better than the other." 
 
 "If you will adopt it also, Mademoiselle — " 
 
 "And why. Monsieur?" 
 
 "Because—" Well, it was rather too soon to tell 
 her why and my explanation got no further. 
 
 "That is a woman's reason," she laughed. "A 
 man— especially an Englishman— should have a 
 reason for everything." 
 
 "And a woman—" 
 
 "Mon dieu ! a woman does as she pleases, or what 
 is the good of being a woman." And then, with a 
 sudden portentous gravity, which was nevertheless 
 very charming in its incongruity, she added— "but 
 very often she is a fool and doesn't know why she 
 does things." 
 
 [54] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 I was cogitating an extremely sagacious answer 
 to this when Josephine Druot brought in the tea 
 things, and burst out into a tornado of welcome of 
 Madame and Mademoiselle, whom she had known 
 nearly all their lives, having been servant at Ker- 
 Nevan when Madame was a girl there and after- 
 wards nurse for a time at Kerhuel. And as for 
 Mademoiselle, — "la petite," as Josephine called her — 
 " Dieu-de-dieu ! I had her in my arms when she was 
 two days old, and mon dieu ! how she did talk — as 
 merry as a cricket — ^though none but the good an- 
 gels could understand a word she said. Dame ! how 
 it takes one back to the old days to see Ma'm'selle. 
 She is as like Madame at that age as this year's 
 rose is like the last. And the boys ? Monsieur Jean, 
 is he as big as ever? It must be nearly time for 
 his service. Ah, in another year, c'est ga. It is 
 painful to have them go, yes truly, but needs must 
 when the time comes. And the little George ? Eigh- 
 teen? is it possible? Why then, Ma'm'selle is ab- 
 solutely a marvel for seventeen, — as well developed as 
 many a demoiselle of twenty and prettier than any 
 twenty of them all rolled in one," and so on and 
 so on, with the unbroken volubility of a paysanne 
 of the Bretagne, and the reminiscent activity of an 
 old family dependent. 
 
 The elders had scarce unravelled the outer fringe 
 of their talk when it was time for the visitors to 
 leave, as they had other calls to make in Dinan, and 
 they carried with them our promise to go over to 
 Beauche early the following day and remain for 
 dinner. 
 
 "She is wonderfully sweet and pretty," said my 
 mother musingly, as we sat together that evening. 
 
 "Madame de Kerhuel—?" I began. 
 [55] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Madame? No— Marie. Anna is good and charm- 
 ing, as she always was, but I think Marie is even 
 prettier than her mother was at her age." 
 
 "Why, you hardly spoke to her, mother. You two 
 old ladies had so much to say to one another that 
 we young ones could hardly get in a word." 
 
 "I was watching you," she said. "She has her 
 mother's voice and eyes and manner. It was like 
 hearing Anna talk in the little back schoolroom at 
 Ker Nevan. I must call on the old ladies and take 
 you with me, to show them what a well-grown 
 English boy is like." 
 
 "That will be a great treat for the old ladies, as 
 Mademoiselle Marie would say . " At which my mother 
 smiled her own knowing little smile and said nothing. 
 
 Next day I chartered a pony-chaise from the pro- 
 prietor of the hotel two doors lower down the street, 
 and the early afternoon found us at Beauche. 
 
 Our respective mothers had still the mutual remi- 
 niscences of nearly twenty years to get through, and 
 we younger ones cleared out in order to give them a 
 fair field. 
 
 Jean brusquely suggested a scramble through the 
 woods as a fit and proper way of spending the 
 afternoon, since there was no need to go fishing on 
 a Saturday, and they had bathed already that 
 morning. His manner carried with it the convic- 
 tion that any dissent would earn nothing but his 
 supreme contempt, without in any way afiecting his 
 personal proceedings. So, when Marie had with 
 some difficulty exacted his consent to her taking 
 Bar with us, on the ground that he was getting 
 absolutely fat and needed more exercise, we fell in 
 with his plan and crossed the river in the punt and 
 plunged into the woods. 
 
 [56] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 " I hope we shan't meet the little green man," said 
 Marie. 
 
 " If we do we'll call him names and throw stones 
 at him," said Jean, who was in an extremely good 
 humor at having coerced us all so easily to his 
 wishes. 
 
 "Perhaps he'd shoot at us," said George appre- 
 hensively. 
 
 "Tchutt! One does not get shot for so small a 
 thing as that in this country. Just let him try it on 
 and I'll punch his silly little head." 
 
 We heard no sounds of Lieutenant Raoul as we 
 pushed up into the higher woods, and Jean, in his 
 humor, discoursed in a way that surprised me, of the 
 trees and their inhabitants, and showed — in a jerky, 
 spasmodic kind of a way it is true, but without any- 
 thing like a desire for self-display, rather as though 
 it were forced out of him by the facts of the case — a 
 wonderful understanding and a keen and loving ap- 
 preciation of all that concerned them. It showed me 
 quite a new phase of his character, that of the ar- 
 dent lover and diligent student of nature. 
 
 "What I would like," he said, stretching out his 
 arms one time, "would be to travel all over the 
 whole earth wherever things are at their wildest and 
 best, — up the Amazon, into the middle of Borneo, 
 anywhere and everywhere where Nature has things 
 all her own way. Mon dieu ! It must be heavenly !" 
 
 "It is generally also very unhealthy," I remarked. 
 
 "Oh, tcha! One dies when the time comes," he 
 said, " and no amount of taking care will keep one 
 alive one day longer." 
 
 We came in time on an opening in the woods from 
 which we looked right down on the great house of 
 Querhoal. 
 
 [57] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Tiens ! there is M. le Curg," said George, as two 
 figures, deep in conversation, came pacing slowly 
 round the corner of the terrace which ran round the 
 front and sides of the house. 
 
 "And the little green man," said Marie. "M. le 
 Cur6 is hearing his confession and giving him abso- 
 lution for all his sins, past, present, and to come." 
 
 "He'll need it, I'll be bound," growled Jean. 
 
 The two below turned and paced slowly back and 
 disappeared round the front of the house. 
 
 "There's a bug-a-boo in that house," said Jean 
 mysteriously. 
 
 "Why, what do you mean, Jean?" I asked, won- 
 dering if his bug-a-boo had anything in common 
 with my wild man of the woods. 
 
 "A most frightful monster," said Jean. "He's in 
 that corner room at the back, the one with the 
 barred windows." 
 
 " Pooh ! You're just trying to frighten us, Jean," 
 said Marie, looking nevertheless somewhat scared. 
 
 "I've seen his face at the window. If you watch 
 long enough maybe you'll see it too." 
 
 "I don't want to see it," she said. "And I don't 
 believe there is anything to see. Come on. Let us 
 go home." 
 
 "Voyons! Wait a bit! See there—" as an old 
 man issued from the stables behind the house carry- 
 ing a great sheaf of straw on his shoulder. 
 
 "That's bug-a-boo's clean bed going in, and now, 
 watch— Mon dieu ! I have seen it all many times. 
 See the old miser go back to pick up the straws lest 
 one should be wasted. Dear old man ! That is our 
 neighbor M. le Comte de Querhoal, mon ami. Per- 
 mit me to introduce you— M. le Comte,— M. Charles 
 Gleen ! Now,— be good friends." 
 
 [58] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "But take my advice, mon ami," said Marie, " and 
 don't dine at Querhoal when you can dine at Ker- 
 huel." 
 
 "That is true," growled Jean. "M. le Comte has 
 one hundred thousand francs a year of income and 
 he Uves like a peasant." 
 
 We watched the old man pick up six fallen straws 
 and carry them into the side door, after he had 
 looked searchingly round to see there were no more. 
 Then we turned into the woods again and went on 
 our way. 
 
 We had made a wide circuit round the Chateau, 
 and on reaching level ground again we had to cut 
 across an expanse of meadow to reach the river. 
 We were hurrying along when old Bar, who had 
 panted patiently at Marie's heels all the way, 
 stopped suddenly as we passed a clump of bushes 
 and gave a sharp yelp. Then with his nose to the 
 ground he began quartering rapidly to and fro and 
 finally set off for the woods with another yelp, his 
 sturdy hind legs spurning the ground and almost 
 driving his nose into it as he sped along. 
 
 "What's taken the old fool?" said Jean angrily. 
 "We must catch him or he'll get into mischief." 
 
 The dog bolted round a corner among the trees 
 and we followed as fast as our legs would carry us. 
 Then we heard his deep belling, and presently, turn- 
 ing another corner, we came on him hurrying to 
 and fro and round and round in a state of much 
 agitation. He would not heed even Marie's voice, 
 and at last Jean pulled out his handkerchief and 
 tied it round his neck, and then, bidding me hold 
 him tight, he took George's, in spite of that young 
 man's remonstrances, and bound it round the dog's 
 muzzle to keep him quiet. It was as much as we 
 
 [59] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 could do to get him along, however, and when we 
 reached the river I found we nad struck it just at 
 the spot where I had come out on the bank that 
 first day. 
 
 "But certainly he is possessed of the devil, as M. 
 le Cur^ says," said Jean, as he took off the hand- 
 kerchiefs and bundled the struggling dog into the 
 smooth water above the weir. Bar yelped and 
 barked and made as though to scramble out, and 
 Jean shouted at him and threatened him with stones, 
 and at last he turned and paddled slowly across to 
 the other side. 
 
 For the rest of us it was a question of wading or 
 getting wet, so we merrily pulled off our shoes and 
 stockings, Marie insisting on our starting before she 
 took off hers, though George assured her gleefully 
 that he would wait and watch her at the other end. 
 
 "Eh bien! wait if you want to," said Marie, 
 "every one is not so rude as you, beb^!" and Jean 
 and I retired along the bank until she had re-shod 
 herself. Then we merrily followed Bar's wet trail up 
 to the Chateau, laughing as we went over his dis- 
 comfiture. 
 
 [60] 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Rarely a day passed after this without finding me 
 during some portion of it at Beauch€. Friends so 
 friendly, and so unreservedly glad of one's com- 
 pany, do not grow by every roadside and were not 
 to be neglected. 
 
 Either it was Jean who hankered for glove exercise 
 — or it was a unanimously decided on day's picnic 
 up the river — or it was an annual expedition in 
 company with the seniors to some distant farm to 
 eat junket and galettes, both of which could have 
 been got equally well at home, but which were sup- 
 posed to derive a novel flavor from the change of 
 surroundings; or it was this, that, or the other. 
 
 Good reasons for following one's inclinations are 
 never hard to find, and any reason that took me 
 to Beauchg in those days was good, and Madame 
 de Kerhuel's welcome was ever of the warmest. Marie 
 asserted that she was learning more of the grammar 
 and construction of the French language through 
 the correction of my mistakes than ever she had 
 learned at school. And for myself I can confidently 
 assert that her pupil enjoyed to the full her sprightly 
 tuition. Nevertheless, in order to remove as speedily 
 as possible some of the reproach of my slip-shod 
 French, I induced M. Renel to give me a conver- 
 sational lesson each day when more important mat- 
 ters did not claim my attention. Induced, did I 
 say? The good M. Renel nearly fell on my neck 
 when I suggested it, and the few francs a week which 
 
 [61] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 it put into his pocket made, I believe, an appreci- 
 able addition to his very slender income. 
 
 We became the best of friends, and I came to 
 have a very high regard and liking for the amiable 
 little man, whose position was none of the easiest 
 or pleasantest, and who bore the disabilities of it 
 with a meek equanimity through which glowed the 
 spirit of his Master. 
 
 We talked of all things under the sun, and, neces- 
 sarily, not infrequently of our friends at BeaucM. 
 That I was deeply interested in them, and all that 
 concerned them, goes without saying, and every 
 scrap of information that fell from M. Renel's lips 
 was eagerly gathered up by me. 
 
 I asked once as to M. de Kerhuel, of whom my 
 mother knew no more than that he had died some 
 fifteen years before. She feared, however, that there 
 were some painful circumstances connected with his 
 death, since Madame had barely touched upon it. 
 In their conversation she had referred to it as "sud- 
 den" and passed on to other subjects. 
 
 M. Renel, in reply to my question, told me the 
 circumstances so far as he knew them. It may be 
 as well to condense into one telling all the various 
 items of information which I learned by degrees con- 
 cerning our friends. 
 
 The de Kerhuels, it seemed, were a distant and 
 younger branch of the ancient family of Querhoal, 
 whose most distinguished member was that Due de 
 Kerouaille, who from being one of the fiercest op- 
 ponents of Henry of Navarre became one of the 
 firmest adherents of Henri Quatre. He was one of 
 those who rode behind his master's carriage in 
 that narrow street leading to Sully's house, when the 
 dagger of Ravaillac stilled the great heart forever. 
 
 [62] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 There was blood relationship therefore between 
 the families of Beauche and Querhoal, but any pos- 
 sible friendliness had been rendered impossible by 
 the fact that Raoul de Querhoal, father of the 
 present Raoul, and Godefroi de Kerhuel, father of 
 the present Godefroi, had both taken it into their 
 heads to fall in love with that great heiress of Poi- 
 tou, Anna Destoumelles, who was at that time com- 
 pleting her education at the school of the Demoi- 
 selles Jacquelicot in Dinan. 
 
 Mile. Destoumelles favored M. de Kerhuel, then 
 a young widower with one small boy, Godefroi, and 
 thereafter Raoul, the rejected, hated her and her 
 husband with a hatred which nothing could quench, 
 and never ceased to love her, as the de Querhoals 
 called love, in spite of his own marriage and of 
 hers. 
 
 Raoul married, and lost his wife within a year, 
 when his boy was bom. Four years later Godefroi 
 de Kerhuel, coming home from Caulnes one foggy 
 night with his servant Jean Dobain, drove into the 
 Ranee and both were drowned. M. de Kerhuel's 
 body turned up a week later outside St. Malo bay, 
 so battered and bruised by rocks and keels that 
 only the scapulary on its breast and the ring on its 
 finger enabled the broken-hearted widow to identify 
 it. Later it was rumored that Raoul de Querhoal 
 had again approached Mme. de Kerhuel with a view 
 to marriage. But Madame was true to her first love 
 and would have none of him. The priests, she knew, 
 looked with longing eyes on her prospective millions, 
 and Raoul, she knew, was theirs body and soul. Her 
 boys indeed were by her marriage contract Catholic, 
 but her daughter was Protestant, and no act of hers 
 should ever place her darling's future in any shghtest 
 
 [63] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 jeopardy. Besides, she did not like Raoul de Quer- 
 hoal. 
 
 M. de Querhoal travelled much in distant lands, 
 and, returning in time for the Italian campaign, 
 was killed at Solferino. His son Raoul lived on 
 with his terrible old grandfather at the Chateau, 
 and continued his education under the priests, of 
 whom M. Lesieur, of the proscribed order of Jesus, 
 was head and chief in the department. M. Lesieur 
 had always occupied a position of more or less im- 
 portance in connection with Querhoal, though indeed 
 the head of the family had no faith or hope save 
 what were tied up in his money-bags, and still less 
 charity. He was popularly supposed to be quite 
 ready to sell his soul at any moment for cash down, 
 if indeed he had not already done so, in which case 
 the gossips, as they wagged their grizzled chins over 
 their cups, averred that the devil had undoubtedly 
 got the worst of the bargain. With the heir, how- 
 ever, M. le Cure's word was law. 
 
 "How is it Jean and George are going into the 
 army?" I remember asking M. Renel one time. 
 " They seem to hate the idea and I understand there 
 is no difficulty in getting off." 
 
 "No difficulty if one has the money with which to 
 buy a substitute from the state," said M. Renel. 
 "But times have not been prosperous at Kerhuel, 
 and the old grandpapa down in Poitou has given 
 all the assistance he intends to give until he cannot 
 help himself. It is hard for Madame and for the 
 boys, for the service is not elevating. The old gen- 
 tleman, I believe, holds that it will do them good. 
 But he himself was an only son and had not the 
 experience of it. He assisted with the education of 
 all three, and that has been of the best, but for the 
 
 [64] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 rest they must wait till he is dead. For the sake of 
 our friends at Kerhuel, one is tempted to wish it 
 might not be unduly delayed. Madame is one who 
 would make the very best use of wealth. For the 
 children — well, it is good to have borne the yoke in 
 one's youth. It teaches common-sense. Mon dieu ! 
 Some of us bear it all our lives and still are found 
 a-wanting." 
 
 When I reached BeaucM the day after our ramble 
 in the woods, I found Marie in dire distress at the 
 disappearance of old Bar, the long brown dog of 
 the melancholy countenance. He had crept out of 
 sight the previous night and no one had seen him 
 since. 
 
 Marie threw all the responsibility on Jean, and 
 the strong feeling she showed for her old friend 
 touched me strangely and showed me new depths in 
 a character which had attracted me first by its 
 piquant brightness and irresponsible livehness. 
 
 "You should not have thrown him into the water, 
 Jean," she said. "He is very old, as old as you 
 yourself, and the shock has been too much for him. 
 He has crawled away into some comer to die, and 
 I shall never see him again. My poor dear old 
 Bar!" 
 
 "He was possessed of the devil," said Jean senten- 
 tiously, which, whether true or not as a simple state- 
 ment of fact, conveyed no information as to Bar's 
 whereabouts and afforded no comfort to his discon- 
 solate mistress. 
 
 "Possessed of your grandmother," said Marie 
 hotly. "It was you who were possessed to throw 
 him into the water like that." 
 
 We searched every nook and corner of the out- 
 buildings, and probed the mysterious darknesses of 
 5 [65] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 the mill, amid the clouds of dust flying fresh from 
 the stones, and the rank smell of that other dust 
 that had lain for years undisturbed till we poked 
 into it in the vain hope of finding Bar, or all that 
 was left of him. 
 
 "If he had died quietly here before the fire," said 
 Marie gloomily, "I could have stood it better, for 
 he was very old and he had to die some time. But 
 it hurts me to think of the poor old thing creeping 
 away all by himself and dying with no one to stroke 
 his head and say good-bye to him." 
 
 But in spite of all our efforts we could not find 
 a hair of him, and for three days Marie refused to 
 be comforted and would not speak a word to Jean, 
 except to reproach him for his inhumanity in throw- 
 ing Bar into the water. This cast somewhat of a 
 gloom over us all, and our spirits were all in mourn- 
 ing for the old dog. 
 
 It was on the third day that Jean took me up 
 into his bedroom for a friendly fight. — "Though how 
 you can go and enjoy yourselves when dear old 
 Bar is lying dead somewhere, I cannot imagine," 
 said Marie sombrely. 
 
 Instead of putting on the gloves, however, Jean, 
 as soon as he had carefully closed the door, placed 
 his first finger alongside his nose, conspirator fash- 
 ion, and said, "I have found him." 
 
 "Who?— Bar?" 
 
 "But yes, Bar. He is dead. He was shot in the 
 Querhoal woods. See," — and he took out of a drawer 
 a screw of paper which, when he had opened it, 
 proved to contain a number of small shot, — "I found 
 his body in the thickets behind the Chateau. He 
 had been dead three days. I dug those shot out of 
 him." 
 
 [66] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "But how on earth did he get there, do you sup- 
 pose, and who shot him?" 
 
 "He must have swam across the river again that 
 same night. And as to who shot him — you remem- 
 ber the pigeon that sacre p'tit creve of a Raoul 
 shot and Marie buried " 
 
 I nodded. I could see her burying it as he 
 spoke. 
 
 "Well, to make quite sure I dug it up and picked 
 the shot out of it also. There they are" — and he 
 produced another screw of paper — " they are just the 
 same, you see." 
 
 "So that it was that little beast Raoul, you sup- 
 pose." 
 
 - "Of course. As a matter of fact any one can get 
 those cartridges, but no one shoots at Querhoal but 
 Raoul." 
 
 "I wonder what he did it for?" 
 
 "God knows. Perhaps Bar howled at him. Per- 
 haps he thought he'd lived long enough. Perhaps 
 he did it for fun. As you say, he's a beast." 
 
 "Have you told Marie?" 
 
 "No. Shall I? Or shall I leave it as it is?" 
 
 "I think she would sooner know he is really dead 
 than be in doubt about it, and besides she blames 
 you for it at present." 
 
 "That matters nothing. But if you think it bet- 
 ter I will tell her." 
 
 I thought it better, and, after putting away his 
 two paper screws of shot, he went down then and 
 there and brought her up to his room and told her 
 how he had found the old dog's body in the bushes 
 behind Querhoal. 
 
 "And what was it killed him, Jean?" she asked 
 angrily, 
 
 [67] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "He was shot." 
 
 "Who shot him?" 
 
 "I presume it was Raoul. No one else is allowed 
 to shoot at Querhoal." 
 
 "I hate Raoul, and the first time I see him I shall 
 tell him what I think of him," she said hotly. "But 
 I am glad you told me, Jean, for I put it down to 
 you. I am sorry. My poor old Bar ! Do you think 
 he would suffer, Jean?" 
 
 "No," said Jean decisively, though upon what 
 ground I knew not. "He would die instantly. He 
 was so very old the shock would kill him." 
 
 "You buried him?" asked Marie. 
 
 "Yes, I buried him." 
 
 "My poor dear old dog ! And I cannot even tend 
 his grave." 
 
 Now it happened that the very next day, being 
 Thursday, we were fishing again in the punt on the 
 upper stream above the weir. We had heard occa- 
 sional shots in the woods, and when there came one 
 at no great distance away Marie begged us to shout 
 all together in hopes of attracting the sportsman, 
 as she wanted to speak to him. And presently 
 Raoul stood on the bank looking down on us with 
 his supercilious smile, neat and trim and dandified 
 as before. 
 
 "Good-day, Mademoiselle and Messieurs! Good 
 sport, I hope?" he said lightly, as though we were 
 a pack of children. 
 
 "Say then, murderer," cried Marie, "why did 
 you shoot my dog?" 
 
 He seemed somewhat taken aback at this brusque 
 salute. 
 
 " I didn't know it was your dog. Mademoiselle," he 
 said after a pause. 
 
 [68] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Why did you shoot him, murderer?" 
 
 "Why did he come howling at my door at mid- 
 night?" asked the young man angrily. 
 
 " Because he hated you, I suppose, murderer, as I 
 hate you." 
 
 "Permit me to inform you that you are very 
 rude. Mademoiselle." 
 
 "Better to be rude than to be a murderer." 
 
 "Pshaw! An old dog." 
 
 "He was worth six of his murderer," she cried. 
 "I wish for you. Monsieur, that you may die as he 
 did." 
 
 "Marie !" said Jean below his breath, and George 
 said "Mon dieu!" 
 
 "Merci, Mademoiselle! All in good time," said 
 Raoul, and tossed his gun over his shoulder and 
 turned on his heel and strode away. 
 
 "Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!" flung Marie 
 after him by way of a parting volley, and then she 
 threw herself down in the punt and sobbed with her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 But presently she raised herself up and said, "Now 
 I feel better. I have done what I could for Bar. 
 AUons, mes enfants ! Fish, fish, or you will fast 
 to-morrow. Charles, mon ami, unless I am mistaken 
 there is something on my hook and you are neglect- 
 ing it shamefully." 
 
 This then, as I have told it, was the beginning of 
 my intercourse with the houses of Kerhuel and 
 Querhoal. It became in course of time a somewhat 
 tangled web, but shot with threads of gleaming 
 gold, and stained, alas ! with blood both innocent 
 and guilty. 
 
 Marie was at this time seventeen, George eighteen, 
 and Jean nineteen or thereabouts, and it was the 
 
 [69] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 year of grace 1867. And the year of disgrace, the 
 year of the Red Deluge lay just three years ahead— 
 for some of us. Jean was if anything short in stat- 
 ure for his age, but of sturdy, powerful build. His 
 face showed much determination, but no beauty ex- 
 cept such as came from two bold, true eyes. He 
 possessed a fiery temper which only blazed out oc- 
 casionally, and I do not remember ever seeing it 
 blaze to any great extent on his own account. 
 Both in manner and speech he was more like the 
 average English public-school boy than the product 
 of a French Lycee. George, on the other hand, was 
 the priest-trained pupil to the core. He was much 
 younger than his brother and sister in everything 
 except actual years, and so deficient was he in back- 
 bone and self-reliance that both Jean and Marie in 
 their moments of annoyance — which were of fre- 
 quent occurrence — addressed him as "B€b€." 
 
 Our friendship grew apace, and I knew, at that 
 time, too little of the manners and customs of 
 French life to understand how very different were 
 the conditions that fostered it from what they 
 might and — if the matter had rested with M. le Pere 
 Lesieur — they would and should have been. I be- 
 lieve that astute and far-seeing gentleman even went 
 the length of remonstrating with Mme. de Kerhuel 
 on the unparalleled liberty 'she allowed her daugh- 
 ter. But Madame was mistress in her own house — 
 of her own side of it at all events — and the priestly 
 remonstrance, uttered I am sure in the suavest man- 
 ner and in the most dulcet of tones, apparently fell 
 flat, for no restrictions were imposed on Marie. The 
 girl always had played with her brothers, why 
 should her freedom be limited because her brothers 
 had a friend who happened to be the son of one 
 
 [70] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 of Madame's own dearest friends? And then — and 
 perhaps chiefly — she was a Protestant, and so had 
 never suffered in mind or body the cramping fetters 
 and prudish trammels of the Convent school, than 
 which I suppose there is only one more objection- 
 able system of education and that is the Lycee, 
 especially if its direction be in the hands of the 
 Jesuit brotherhood. 
 
 All too soon my holidays were over, but when I 
 stood on the deck of the Southampton boat and 
 waved my final farewells to my mother's responsive 
 handkerchief on St. Malo Mole, I could not but feel 
 — and I remember well the slightly guilty sense of 
 it — that, dear as my mother was to me, and never 
 dearer than now when I was leaving her all alone, 
 she no longer reigned supreme in my heart as she 
 had done hitherto. For Marie de Kerhuel's sweet 
 face and laughing eyes swam in between us, and I 
 would have given much at that moment to know 
 whether the sweet face and the laughing eyes felt 
 Beauche just a little bit the lonelier for my absence. 
 Possibly my mother knew and understood and was 
 content, for she and Marie had become very dear 
 friends. I have reason to believe that it was so. 
 But at that time my feelings and hopes and as- 
 pirations, on this subject at all events, were as 
 shyly hidden as though it were a capital crime for 
 a boy to fall in love with the loveliest and most 
 charming girl he had ever seen. I had met plenty of 
 nice girls before, but, having no sisters and being 
 quite unversed in women's ways, I had always 
 fought rather shy of them. With the best of my 
 fellows I could hold my own, but girls — as girls — 
 were rarae aves, and belonged to a branch of the 
 higher sciences which had not yet come within the 
 
 [71] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 scope of my studies. Marie's free and delightful 
 camaraderie was a revelation to me. She entered my 
 heart and took possession of it. I think now, as I 
 thought then, as I shall never cease to think, that 
 she was the brightest and most beautiful and most 
 winsome creature God ever made. 
 
 And no better thought can boy or man haye in 
 his heart than that. 
 
 172] 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 I MUST touch but lightly on the doings of the next 
 two years, for every hour was bringing us nearer to 
 the terrible times which were to be for us, as for so 
 many others, times of endings and beginnings, times 
 of dreadful loss and wondrous gains, times of down- 
 settings and uprisings, times of life through death, 
 and, in the fullness of time, of peace and joy 
 through deadly strife and the red horror of war. 
 
 For me they were years of close hard work, bright- 
 ened all through with the great hopes that were 
 working in me. The golden spur kept my neck tight 
 to the collar, and the dullness of the crawUng 
 months in London served but to throw into more 
 vivid relief the meteoric golden days I spent in Brit- 
 tany. 
 
 The first boat that left Southampton, as soon as 
 term time ended, inevitably found me pacing her 
 deck as though the expenditure of a certain amount 
 of personal energ3' on my part would compass a 
 swifter passage of the waste that lay between me 
 and my heart's desire. Many invitations I had from 
 college friends to pass vacations with them at their 
 homes, but never one did I accept, for all their 
 homes combined could not offer what I hungered 
 and thirsted for, and found only at Kerhuel. And, 
 safely arrived at home, after as short a rest there 
 as would visibly satisfy my dear mother that no ill 
 effects had as yet resulted from my close application 
 to class-room and hospital ward, I was on the road 
 
 [73] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 to the chateau, knowing already indeed that all was 
 well with them there, but eager as ever to see with 
 my own eyes the bright face, and to hear with my 
 own ears the sweet voice, of the brightest and sweet- 
 est girl in all the world. 
 
 Brighter and sweeter and dearer she grew each 
 time I saw her, though each time it took me three 
 much begrudged days to eliminate the "Monsieur" 
 from our intercourse. After that we got back to 
 within appreciable and much appreciated proximity 
 to the old friendly footing, and the days passed all 
 too quickly. 
 
 Madame de Kerhuel's welcome never came short 
 by so much as a hair's breadth of what I would 
 have had it. She could not but know my feelings. 
 The never-failing warmth of her greeting and of her 
 interest in all my doings fed my hopes and revived 
 the courage which Marie's formal "Monsieur" used 
 to damp somewhat at first. But I came in time to 
 understand that this last was only a temporary 
 outwork of maiden modesty, and meant nothing 
 more than that Marie was no longer the simple 
 schoolgirl who tripped with bare feet across the 
 weir right into my heart that first day we met. 
 
 Jean grew bigger and broader, but in manner and 
 disposition changed very little. During my second 
 autumn vacatian he was looking forward with no 
 pleasant anticipations to his approaching "service," 
 the length of which the annual drawing in January 
 would determine. The prospect of the rigorous 
 restraint and cast-iron discipline already threw their 
 shadow on his restless spirit. He argued gloomily 
 that as he had never in his life won a prize in any 
 lottery he had ever gone in for, it was too much to 
 expect that this one would prove any exception to 
 
 [74] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 the rule. He considered himself cast for the full 
 tale of years and behaved accordingly. 
 
 George, grown lean and tall, had still a year be- 
 fore his time came and was not much troubled at 
 thoughts of it. Discipline came natural to him. 
 His more amenable nature had learned to obey un- 
 questioningly and so far had known no revolt. 
 He anticipated no difficulty in getting through 
 his time with the least possible inconvenience to 
 himself if with no great advantage to his country. 
 
 "All you've got to do, Jean, is to stick in with 
 the sergeants. Give them as much drink as they 
 can carry once a month or so and they'll make 
 things all right for you," was his advice. And 
 Jean's reply was to the effect that he'd be hanged 
 if he'd do anything of the kind. 
 
 "I'll do my duty to the best of my power and 
 stand their racketing as well as I can," he said, 
 "but suck up to the hectoring brutes and buy their 
 good-will with drink or anything else !— I'll see them 
 shot first." 
 
 His forebodings were fully realized. He drew a bad 
 number and had joined the colors before I returned 
 in the spring. 
 
 Of Godefroi, the elder half-brother, we saw very 
 little except at meal times. He had his own circle of 
 friends, and devoted his time to the management of 
 the mill and the Kerhuel property, which would be 
 his when Madame came into her own, and which in 
 the meantime formed the livelihood of the family. 
 Whenever I did meet him he was always pleasantly 
 courteous, but had not much to say to me. He had 
 doubtless had ample opportunity of learning that 
 Madame was head of her own side of the house, and 
 that no interference with her views availed to alter 
 
 [75] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 them, and so he confined his attention to his own 
 affairs and his own pleasures. 
 
 My mother had found many old friends in Dinan, 
 though none dearer than those at Kerhuel, and had 
 in addition made many new ones. She was still 
 young in years in spite of her tall son, and the 
 inestimable blessing of a calm and quiet disposition 
 conserved all her good looks and, indeed, made her 
 look years younger than she was. No one had so 
 far come in between us — on her side, at least. And 
 Marie never came between us in the sense of disunit- 
 ing us in the very smallest degree. On the contrary, 
 when in due time I told my mother all my hopes 
 and wishes, they served but to draw us closer to- 
 gether, for as I have said she loved Marie very dearly. 
 
 "I have seen it all along, my boy," she said, " and 
 I could wish you no better wife nor myself a dearer 
 daughter. Marie is her mother over again — well, yes, 
 perhaps even more beautiful than Anna was— and 
 Anna was my dearest friend and is so still." 
 
 "Has Madarae any idea ?" I began. 
 
 "Why, of course, child. Do you suppose any 
 mother could see a handsome young man " 
 
 "Ahem!" 
 
 " Don't be foolish. You are good looking, Charley, 
 almost as good looking as your father was; and she 
 is the loveliest girl I know. You will make a pretty 
 pair. Anna and I have discussed the matter many 
 times." 
 
 "Then Madame does not object?" I asked anx- 
 iously. 
 
 "Object? Why should she object? All she wants 
 is Marie's happiness and well-being, and if you can 
 give her those her mother will be more than satis- 
 fied. But—" she continued, with a slight knitting of 
 
 [ 76 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 the brow, "it is just as well you should know that 
 you are not the only one who aspires to Marie de 
 Kerhuel." 
 
 "Why— who ?" 
 
 "M. le Comte de Querhoal has formally, and 
 through no less a person than M. le Pere Lesieur, 
 requested permission for his grandson Raoul to pay 
 his addresses to Marie." 
 
 "And what did Madame say to that?" 
 
 "She said she would never on any consideration 
 consent to her daughter marrying Raoul, and she 
 told the Curd plainly that Marie detested the young 
 man. The matter has caused a good deal of bad 
 feeling between the two houses. Not that there was 
 ever any love lost between them. But it has created 
 some trouble at Kerhuel also. Godefroi and George 
 side with the Cure " 
 
 "And Jean?" 
 
 "Jean was never very amenable, as you know. 
 But for quite twelve months before he left home he 
 threw off all control in religious matters, and the 
 feeling between him and M. le Curd has been very 
 strained. But surely you must have noticed that 
 yourself? Has he never spoken of it?" 
 
 "Jean was not in the habit of speaking of his 
 feelings, but I remember him walking out of the 
 room one day when he saw M. Lesieur coming up 
 the road." 
 
 "M. le Cure feels very sore at losing his hold on 
 him. I don't like that man, Charley," she said con- 
 fidentially. 
 
 "I doubt if M. le Cure will lie awake of a night in 
 consequence, mother mine. On the other hand he is 
 nothing to us, and I do not see that we need trouble 
 ourselves about him." 
 
 [77] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "He is a Jesuit," she said, with a doubtful shake 
 of the head, "and a Jesuit with a fixed idea sticks 
 at nothing." 
 
 "And what do you imagine to be M. le Cure's 
 fixed idea, mother?" 
 
 " To control as far as possible the fortune that will 
 some day be Madame de Kerhuel's. While he had 
 Jean and George safe in his hands he could look for- 
 ward to controlling, to some extent at all events, the 
 reversion of two-thirds of it, you see. If he could 
 have married Marie to Raoul he would have stood a 
 good chance of the whole in time. Now he is reduced 
 to one-third, and that is the root of the bitterness 
 that is in him." 
 
 "You and Madame have evidently discussed mat- 
 ters down to the ground." 
 
 ' "Anna has been much troubled about it. Do you 
 know, Charley, I really think she would be delighted 
 to see you and Marie safely married, just to put an 
 end to any hopes they may have in that quarter." 
 
 "Come, this is distinctly encouraging." 
 
 " I do not see what he can do, but I am quite sure 
 he will do anything and everything he can to oppose 
 you." 
 
 "I'll punch his head if he tries," I declared. 
 
 "A priest of the Roman Church may be and often 
 is a thoroughly good man and a gentleman. But a 
 Jesuit — a Jesuit with an overmastering idea — I do 
 not like," she said didactically. " A man who adopts 
 as one of the tenets of his creed that the end justi- 
 fies the means is a very dangerous man to quarrel 
 with." 
 
 "Don't you worry about him, mother. If Madame 
 gives me the right to look after Marie and Marie 
 consents, it will take more than fifty Father Lesieurs 
 
 [78] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 to keep me from her. Shall I ask her permission at 
 
 once 
 
 ?' 
 
 "If you are sure of Marie's feelings." 
 
 "Ah ! Who can be sure until he has put the ques- 
 tion and received his answer? Do you — do you think 
 there is any one else, mother?" 
 
 "I do not think so, my boy. I have never seen 
 her so friendly with any one as with yourself." 
 
 "There is a difference between being friendly and 
 being willing to marry one," I said. "I would 
 sooner have waited till I had, at all events, some 
 definite prospects to offer her." 
 
 "She will have no dowry to speak of till old M. 
 Destoumelles dies," said my mother in a business- 
 like tone. "But then she will have half a million 
 francs, and as much more later." 
 
 "That's the trouble. I have nothing to offer her 
 yet, and she will have so much." 
 
 "Yourself," said my mother, as though that coun- 
 terbalanced everjrthing on the other side. "And your 
 prospects could not be better. You will have your 
 M. B. and B. S. in October " 
 
 "Hope so." 
 
 "And the others will follow, and then " 
 
 "Well, I'll wait at all events till those degrees are 
 safe. Then I shall feel as if I had something solid to 
 stand on." 
 
 And I waited longer than I had any intention of 
 doing. 
 
 Next day as I was walking out to Kerhuel I over- 
 took my good friend, M. Renel, also on his way 
 there. He was exuberantly glad to see me back 
 again, and we tramped along between the poplars, 
 full of pleasant talk. Presently hove in sight M. le 
 Cur6 on his way back to the town. He stopped and 
 
 [79] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 greeted us with his usual jovial bonhomie, and looked 
 as little like a deep-plotting schemer as a well-fed, red- 
 faced, jolly-looking gentleman in a nondescript gar- 
 ment and a broad-brimmed flat beaver could well 
 look. 
 
 "Ah— ha, Messieurs! Monsieur Glyn, what 
 wouldn't I give to have springs in my feet as you 
 have? Is it London that agrees with you so well or 
 Brittany?" 
 
 "Both, M. le Curg," I said. "It's the rotation of 
 crops does it." 
 
 "Ah, yes ! The rotation of crops !— The ploughing 
 and the sowing and the hoeing round the little green 
 shoots of knowledge in London, and " 
 
 "The slicing and the cutting and the separation of 
 joints and sinews. If ever you have an accident, M. 
 le Cvlt6, I hope you'll not forget me. A leg or an 
 arm now, or a pressure on the brain. I'm specially 
 good on the brain " 
 
 "Bloodthirsty youth!" he smiled, "regarding ev- 
 ery one you meet as a prospective subject. When I 
 feel any undue pressure on the brain I will promise 
 to think of you, but, mind, I do not promise to send 
 for you. M. le Pasteur, your flock is well and still 
 true to its shepherd." 
 
 "I am obliged to M. le Cure for his interest in it. 
 Nevertheless I will make a pastoral visit." 
 
 "To'^make sure that the wolf has not torn the 
 tender lamb," laughed the Curd. "Eh bien, Mes- 
 sieurs, I wish you good morning and good appetite 
 for a very good breakfast," and he saluted us very 
 courteously with the flat beaver and an elegant bow 
 and passed on. 
 
 "His self-description is sufiiciently precise," said 
 M. Renel sententiously, as we walked on. 
 
 [80] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "But he is harmless in your fold, M. le Pasteur." 
 
 "A Jesuit is never harmless, and least of all when 
 most he looks so." 
 
 "What is he up to now?" 
 
 "The good of his church, he would say. The 
 aggrandizement of M. Lesieur, a less charitable 
 verdict might pronounce." 
 
 "But how?" 
 
 " You remember what I told you once before ? The 
 fathers of the church never forget that our dear 
 friend Madame de Kerhuel has much money coming 
 to her, which must come in time to her children. 
 They want that money kept in the right channels, — 
 that is to say, the channels that lead down to the 
 priestly coffers. The man who can bring that about 
 will deserve well of Mother Church. M. le Curfe be- 
 heves himself to be the man. He has been doing 
 everything in his power to bring about an alliance 
 between M. Raoul de Querhoal and our dear young 
 friend Mile. Marie," and he looked keenly at me as 
 he spoke. 
 
 "And Mademoiselle?" 
 
 "Mademoiselle detests M. Raoul and Madame will 
 not hear of it. But supposing anything happened to 
 Madame, Mademoiselle might be very uncomfortably 
 situated. Therefore " 
 
 "Therefore — my dear M. Renel?" I asked, as he did 
 not continue. 
 
 "Therefore, my dear M. Glyn, if things are as I 
 have dared at times to hope between you and 
 Mademoiselle, take your courage in both hands and 
 go forward. She is one among ten thousand and as 
 good as she is beautiful, and as beautiful as she will 
 be rich some day." 
 
 " That is the trouble, dear M. Renel. Marie will be 
 [81] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 rich and I am comparatively poor. My profession is 
 practically all I shall have, and, as you know, it is 
 a slow and arduous climb nowadays. I love her 
 with all my heart and soul. But I cannot go to her 
 with quite empty hands." 
 
 "You may wait too long," he said anxiously, and 
 I saw how kindly disposed he was to both of us. 
 
 "I hope not. If I get my degrees this year, as I 
 hope to do, I will speak to her at Christmas." 
 
 "If nothing happens meanwhile, that will do," he 
 said. "One of the happiest days of my life wiU be 
 the day I join you two. I will keep it as a holiday 
 for all the rest of my life." 
 
 "You are the very nicest pastor I ever met, M. 
 Renel," I said, and we tramped on in silence for a 
 time, both occupied with our own thoughts. Then 
 said M. Renel, 
 
 "You see, Monsieur Jean has slipped through his 
 fingers and M. le Cure feels very sore about it. I do 
 not think very much of Jean's portion will ever en- 
 rich the Church." 
 
 "What started the ill-feeling?" I asked. 
 
 "It is hard to say. Jean was always very inde- 
 pendent and somewhat uncontrollable, the exact 
 opposite of his brother, who always seemed to me 
 too much the other way." 
 
 "M. le Cure possibly let him feel the bit and he 
 kicked over the traces. Jean would need a very 
 delicate hand on the reins." 
 
 "It is his nature, but I always liked him better 
 than the other. Do you hear from him ? How does 
 he get on in his service?" 
 
 " He's pretty sick of it all. He seems to be con- 
 stantly in hot water, and from the little he says I 
 should say it's a somewhat rough experience." 
 
 [82] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I do not suppose he tells them very much at 
 home, but I gathered that he was not very happy. 
 George will get on better. The yoke comes natural 
 to him. When does he go?" 
 
 "After the new year." 
 
 "Will you, next time you write to M. Jean, Mon- 
 sieur Charles," said the good little man, very im- 
 pressively and with his hand on my arm, "beg him 
 to hold himself sternly in check. He is not of my 
 flock and perhaps he might resent advice coming 
 from me. But I know his hasty temper, and I know 
 somewhat of the extreme unpleasantnesses of his 
 position. For his mother's and his sister's sake I 
 would have no harm come to him." 
 
 "Why, what harm should come to him, M. Renel?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "God knows," he said. "But all the same urge 
 upon him to bear the unpleasantnesses quietly and 
 manfully. They are but for a time. They will pass. 
 Bid him think of his mother and sister." 
 
 Marie, I thought, had never looked so charming 
 and never had she been kinder or more friendly to- 
 wards me. I was sorely tempted to break my resolve 
 and put my fortune — my lack of fortune — to the test 
 by telling her how dear she was to me and how poor 
 a thing the future would be to me unless she shared 
 it. Had she been as poor as myself I would have 
 spoken then and there. But, prospectively at all 
 events, she was rich, and I waited. 
 
 We spent quieter times at the chateau now that 
 Jean's roving spirit was bottled up in a trooper's 
 uniform. George was immersed in his studies and 
 M. le Cur6 spent much time with him. 
 
 "He is going to be a priest," said Marie, with 
 much contempt in her voice. 
 
 [83] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 We were sitting in the big window looking out over 
 the mill and the river and the never-to-be-forgotten 
 weir, for her French maidenliness forbade the thought 
 of rambling abroad with me quite alone, as we used 
 to do "when we were children." 
 
 "I am not much surprised. But I am sorry. It 
 must be a disappointment to your mother." 
 
 "Yes. There M. le Cur6 wins his game," she said 
 a little bitterly. "George says he is going to be a 
 cardinal before he dies." 
 
 "It is a great ambition," I said. "Perhaps Jean 
 will compensate by becoming a general." 
 
 "Jean will never be a general," she said. "He 
 hates the army." 
 
 "What has he set his mind on? Whatever it is 
 he'll get there, I should say." 
 
 "He wants to ramble far and wide and be a 
 discoverer." 
 
 "I remember, that was his old idea." 
 
 "It has always been the wish of his life, and 
 nothing else will make him happy." 
 
 "But George still talks as if he had to serve his 
 time like the rest." 
 
 "He goes for short service, but if he has not be- 
 come a priest by the time he is twenty-six then he 
 has to go back and complete the full term." 
 
 "It's an awful break in a man's life." 
 
 "Yes, you are truly happy in England to have no 
 conscription. Jean, I fear, is not enjojdng himself. 
 Does he ever write to you?" and she looked at me 
 steadfastly. 
 
 "Yes, occasionally, but he never says much in the 
 way of complaint. He is not one to show his feel- 
 ings." 
 
 "I miss him terribly, now that he is gone," she 
 [84] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 said. "I never knew how dear he was to me and 
 how much a part of my Ufe." 
 
 "I've half a mind to run over to Quercy and see 
 him." 
 
 " Oh, do, Charles," she said, laying her hand im- 
 pulsively on my arm. "It would give him such 
 very great pleasure." 
 
 "I will. I wonder if George would care to 
 come?" 
 
 "It's possible he may think he'll be there quite 
 soon enough. They are going to try and get him 
 into the same regiment as Jean." 
 
 "That should make things pleasanter for both of 
 them." 
 
 "We hope so," she said. "I wish I could go and 
 see my dear Jean also. I know he is not happy. 
 He does not say so — to us. But there is no enjoy- 
 ment of life in his letters, and I'm afraid I can read 
 between the lines." 
 
 "Why shouldn't you and Madame go with us? 
 That would be very jolly. It would cheer the old 
 boy up more than fifty visits from me." 
 
 "You shall suggest it to Mother. It would mean 
 three days. Quercy is a stupid place to get to and 
 the journey would take the best part of a day, and 
 that would give us one whole day there." 
 
 Madame was deep in discourse with M. Renel be- 
 side the fireplace. As soon as I saw a propitious 
 opening I struck in with, 
 
 "Dear Madame, I am thinking of running over to 
 Quercy to see Jean. Why should not you and Ma- 
 demoiselle Marie come also, and afford him the 
 greater treat?" 
 
 "It is a good idea," said M. Renel. 
 
 Madame seemed pleased with the suggestion, but 
 [85] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 thoughtful. She turned presently to M. Renel and 
 asked, 
 
 "You think it is a good idea, my friend?" 
 
 " Truly, but— you had better write first. Monsieur 
 Charles, and get M. Jean's own views as to what 
 day would be suitable for him. He is not his own 
 master, you know, and he cannot by any means do 
 what he would." 
 
 "I will write to him as soon as I get home," I 
 said, and Marie clapped her hands at thought of 
 the coming excursion. 
 
 George, when he came down from his own room, 
 where he was deep in his studies, approved the plan, 
 but with no great enthusiasm. 
 
 "I hope he won't fix on next Sunday," he said. 
 "I have promised M. le Cur6 to go with him to the 
 Celebration at Dol. The Cardinal-archbishop is to 
 be there and he is to present me to him." 
 
 "I would sooner see Jean than all the cardinals 
 in the world and the Pope thrown in," said Marie. 
 
 "Of course you would, ma ch^rie," said George 
 dryly. "It is natural. To a little heretic cardinals 
 and even Popes cannot possibly appeal. With me 
 it is different." 
 
 I wrote to Jean that night and in due course re- 
 ceived his reply. It ran thus, — 
 
 "My dear Charles, 
 
 " Yes, I would much like a visit from you, but the 
 only day I can fix is next Sunday the 18th. I am 
 at the moment fairly free from punishments, but 
 God only knows what may happen in the mean- 
 time. I am sorry this clashes with George's engage- 
 ment with the Cardinal-archbishop, but he will en- 
 joy his company much more than he would mine. 
 
 [86] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 How dearly I would like to see the little Marie and 
 my dear Mother I cannot tell you. But beg them 
 not to come here. It would give them no pleasure, 
 but the contrary. It is somewhat of a chance even 
 my being able to spend the afternoon with you. A 
 trooper may propose, but the gods — or rather those 
 devils of sergeant-majors — dispose, and their dis- 
 position is as a rule of the most evil. But if you 
 care to take the chance yourself I would dearly like 
 to see you. Go straight to the Hotel de France, 
 secure a private room, and order such a meal as you 
 see fit for two o'clock — call it what you like so long 
 as it is good. Tell Maman and the little Marie 
 that I shall enjoy seeing them at Christmas a thou- 
 sand times more than seeing them here, nor do I 
 think they would enjoy the visit. No more now. 
 Au revoir till the 18th. Yours, Jean." 
 
 Marie demanded a sight of this letter and I had no 
 alternative but to hand it to her. She was inclined 
 to be cast down at it and to brood over it. But 
 Madame took a more sensible view. 
 
 "I am not sure but he is right, Charles," she 
 said. "I know he dislikes all the surroundings of 
 his present life. He does not want us associated 
 with them. It is, perhaps natural. And he will get 
 eight days with us at Christmas. We must all look 
 forward to that. Mon dieu ! I wish he was back 
 with us for good." 
 
 George did not seem greatly put out at the visit 
 being fixed for the very day on which he could not 
 go. He expressed regret, indeed, but it did not 
 strike me as very deep, for he was looking forward 
 to meeting the Cardinal-archbishop at Dol as one 
 of the great occasions of his life. 
 
 [87] 
 
CHAPTER YIII 
 
 I REACHED Quercy on the Saturday evening and 
 went to the Hotel de France, and next morning I 
 secured a private room, and ordered such a meal 
 as I thought would suit Jean, for two o'clock. Then 
 I strolled out to have a look at the town. 
 
 It struck me as gloomy and uninteresting. I 
 looked into the cathedral church, where a great 
 crowd of country-women in very big white caps, and 
 a few grizzly-faced men in their best stiff Sunday 
 blouses, were stolidly watching the back of a gor- 
 geously-attired priest at the high altar and follow- 
 ing his incantations as best they might. I crossed 
 the deserted market-place, and passed through the 
 Square, of which the theatre occupied the most of 
 one side and caiis all the others, and the caf^s over- 
 flowed on to the sidewalks with handsomely-dressed 
 officers of all ages and shapes and sizes. To glance 
 through the windows was like looking through the 
 glass pane of a teeming bee-hive, and gave one a 
 sense of ceaseless movement, while to put one's head 
 inside the door provoked a stare of astonishment 
 at the audacity of a person in ordinary attire so 
 greatly daring, and filled one's ears with the dis- 
 comforts of a pandemoniac gabble. 
 
 I passed on through lower quarters of the town, 
 where the cafes were of a different order and would, 
 I supposed, be filled later on by the common rank 
 and file, and so in time found my way to the bar- 
 racks, a huge, forbidding building which even at a 
 
 [88] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 distance conveyed an impression of bare discomfort. 
 I watched the men hanging listlessly from the 
 open \windows, and the others who presently began 
 streaming eagerly out towards the town, and I won- 
 dered if I should know my friend in his uniform even 
 if I chanced to come across him. But I thought I 
 would recognize Jean's sturdy figure and frank face 
 and straight true eyes even under the eaves of a 
 brass helmet, and so I stood and watched for his 
 coming. When two o'clock boomed from the cathe- 
 dral tower I made up my mind I had missed him 
 after all, and hurried back to the hotel. 
 
 But he had not yet arrived. The waiter asked if 
 he should send up the breakfast I had ordered for 
 two o'clock. I told him my friend must have been 
 detained, I would ring as soon as he came. At 
 half-past two the waiter came quietly in again, ap- 
 parently to see if I had fallen asleep. 
 
 "I'm sorry my friend is so late, gargon," I said. 
 " Just tell the chef to do the best he can. He can't 
 be long now." 
 
 "Is Monsieur's friend militaire?" asked the waiter, 
 with sympathetic interest. 
 
 "Yes,— in the 17th Dragoons." 
 
 "Officer, Monsieur?" 
 
 "No, he is doing his service." 
 
 "Ah, they are strict, very strict sometimes. Mon- 
 sieur may have had his leave cancelled — a dozen 
 things. It is often so. We will do all possible, 
 Monsieur," and I waited patiently, while I knew the 
 pleasant little breakfast I had had prepared was 
 spoiling downstairs. 
 
 It was close on four o'clock before Jean came 
 hurriedly in, and I was glad I had not waited near 
 the barracks in hopes of knowing him. 
 
 [89] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 He looked imposingly big in his horse-tailed helmet 
 and epaulettes, and very bulky about the legs with 
 their voluminous trousers, red cloth above and 
 black leather below, and heavy boots with spurs. 
 
 "Enfin, Monsieur who arrives!" said the waiter, 
 appearing in his wake. 
 
 "Yes, hurry things up, gargon, and do the very 
 best possible." 
 
 "—Under the circumstances," added Jean grimly. 
 "My dear old boy, you see how well it was that 
 Marie and my mother did not come. One can never 
 tell from one hour to another how one may be 
 situated in this accursed hole. But I'm mighty glad 
 to see you, Charley. It's like coming to the surface 
 again just to see your face. How are they all looking 
 and feeling at home ? God ! What wouldn't I give 
 to be back there and done with all this infernal 
 business. You'll excuse me, old chap, won't you?" 
 And he dropped his helmet and sword into one 
 comer, and flung his big gloves into another, and 
 loosened his belt and tunic. "I'll feel more like my- 
 self when I've got rid of some of these bonds and 
 fetters." 
 
 "Take off your boots and trousers too if you feel 
 like it, my child," I said. "They look monstrously 
 unnatural somehow. Who were they made for, and 
 was the man who made them sober?" 
 
 "They were made for Trooper X of the 17th 
 Dragoons, and I think I'd better keep the trousers 
 on. No one could say they're too tight," he said, 
 "but the boots are beastly uncomfortable. Off they 
 go. I'd give ten years off the other end of my life, 
 Charles, to get putting on an old suit and never 
 seeing those damned things again." 
 
 "That doesn't sound too patriotic, my boy." 
 
 [90] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 " Patriotic ! Do you imagine they manufacture 
 patriots in the French army?" — But the entrance of 
 the waiter with the soup interrupted any further 
 outflow of eloquence on his part, and we discussed 
 home matters till the meal — wonderfully preserved I 
 am bound to say — was finished, and we were left 
 alone with coffee and cognac and cigars. 
 
 "Now, old boy," I said, "you're not happy in 
 your work here. I know that from your letters " 
 
 "Happy!" he said. "Can a man be happy in 
 hell? And that's what it is to me, Charles. It's 
 hell — hell — hell ! And I've got four years more of it." 
 And his face was full of the intensest hatred of it 
 all. "I have been tempted many times to blow 
 out my brains. I have been tempted many more 
 times to blow out several other people's." 
 
 "Why, what's wrong?" 
 
 "Wrong? Everything's wrong. The whole sys- 
 tem's wrong from top to bottom. I came here," he 
 said slowly, "determined to do my duty and put 
 up with everything without a murmur. I knew it 
 would be rough, but I could rough it as well as 
 another. But I did expect to be treated as a human 
 being, — that at least. That seemed to me the ir- 
 reducible minimum. I did not suppose they could 
 get much below it. But they do, my friend. Why, 
 a dog's life is nothing to it. Ordinary slavery is 
 philanthropy to it. It is degradation of the very 
 worst and it turns men into devils." 
 
 "But," I said, in much surprise, "is what you 
 are telling me the rule, or is it special to the Quercy 
 treatment?" 
 
 "That I can't say, for I've had no experience 
 except of the Quercy treatment. It is probably 
 much the same elsewhere. It may be any way. It 
 
 [91] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 depends entirely on the officers. Their power is 
 absolute, life and death, and heaven and hell, and 
 here it's hell. The explanation of the whole matter 
 is very simple. Things have been running very loose 
 in the army for years past. The way the Prussians 
 have knocked Austria into a cocked hat has scared 
 our people at Headquarters. They are trying now 
 to brace matters up with a round turn. They are 
 trying to remedy the evil effects of ten years of loose- 
 ness in the half of no time, and it's a stiff job. And 
 the officers don't as a rule second them. They've 
 got used to being lazy, and they shirk the collar. 
 They want better results, no doubt, but they don't 
 want to do the hard work. Everything is left to the 
 sergeants, and ours are a set of devils. They've 
 been through the mill themselves long since, and 
 been brow-beaten and bullied and hounded till every 
 spark of humanity has been ground out of them. 
 And as they were treated so they treat us. Train- 
 ing ! " he said bitterly. "It might be training of the 
 very best, as it is it is a simple, absolute degrada- 
 tion" — and the last word hissed out like a curse. 
 "Bon dieu!" he said again, "if there was a war 
 you'd see some strange things, — that is, if other de- 
 pots are like this of Quercy." 
 
 "This all sounds pretty bad, Jean. Is there no 
 remedy?" 
 
 "Remedy? Yes — a war that will sweep the whole 
 cursed thing away forever. I can tell you one thing, 
 mon ami, if ever there is a war the sergeants' 
 mess of the 17th Dragoons won't know itself after 
 the first battle. It will be wiped out— from behind 
 — and some of the officers too." 
 
 "That strikes one as rather horrible, you know." 
 
 "Of course it's horrible. So is cutting out a 
 [92] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 cancer, I believe. The only fault I would find with 
 it is that it's sharp and quick, whereas the longest- 
 drawn torture would not compensate for what they 
 make us suffer every hour of the day and night 
 almost." 
 
 "Yes, it is true," he said, unconsciously answering 
 my unspoken thoughts. " It absolutely spoils one's 
 better nature. It lowers one lower than the brutes." 
 
 Now all this troubled me greatly, both on Jean's 
 own account and from fear lest it should all tend 
 towards some catastrophe which might bring dire 
 distress to those who were still dearer to me than 
 Jean himself. 
 
 I drew from him, with no little difficulty and only 
 by the most persistent questioning, some details of 
 his daily trials, and in his own words they seemed 
 to amount to this, — 
 
 "Of the daily work I say nothing. Much of it is 
 filthy and disgusting. Of the companionship noth- 
 ing also. Those things are much what I expected. 
 They are perhaps somewhat worse than I expected 
 in some particulars. But all that is nothing. The 
 root of the trouble lies with the officers. If they 
 did their duty instead of wasting their time round 
 the town and delegating all their powers to men 
 whose only idea of using it is for the swelling of 
 their own pride and positions and pockets, things 
 might be different. On the one side you have men 
 of inferior education with absolute powers of in- 
 flicting punishments of the most galling character, 
 men who are always on the make either in cash or 
 kind,— for when you don't buy off a punishment the 
 fact of their inflicting it commends them to their 
 superiors as energetic officers worthy of promotion. 
 And on the other side you have men in many cases 
 
 [93] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 infinitely better educated than themselves, whom 
 they therefore take special delight in bullying and 
 as they say 'breaking,' men absolutely without the 
 power of appeal to any higher authority, men of 
 honor and self-respect, — God help them ! they soon 
 lose it. Under such conditions what can you expect 
 but hell? And we get it. It is the flagrant in- 
 justice that bites. Punishment fairly deserved any 
 man can suffer in silence. Punishment inflicted ca- 
 priciously by a bullying ruffian not fit to train a 
 dog, and inflicted out of spite, or a desire to earn 
 promotion, or to squeeze constantly increasing sums 
 of money out of you — my friend, may you never 
 know the bitterness of it ! It turns one's heart to 
 gall." 
 
 I could minister no consolation to these bitter 
 wounds. I could only beg him for the sake of those 
 at home to bear himself like a man. 
 
 "—Like a block of wood," he said. "It is not 
 man's work to suffer these things." 
 
 "Well, like anything you choose. Only keep that 
 fiery temper of yours in check. You have managed 
 it so far " 
 
 "It has been tried to the last point at times." 
 
 "I am sure of it. The more honor to you for 
 having kept so tight a hand on it. Possibly things 
 may improve somehow " 
 
 "I doubt it," he said gloomily. 
 
 " They are trying to get George into your regiment. 
 Do you advise it, or shall he go elsewhere?" 
 
 "I have thought of that a good deal," he said. 
 "If I knew that things were different elsewhere I 
 would say send him anjrwhere sooner than here. But 
 I fear they are much the same ever3rwhere. Human 
 nature, such as it is, in officers and sergeants, is 
 
 [94] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 probably much the same all round. And in that 
 case my own experiences here may be useful to him. 
 I can put him up to things which he would have to 
 learn by bitter experience himself elsewhere." 
 
 "Yes, that is what we supposed." 
 
 "I don't want you to tell all this to the home 
 people, Charles," he said. " It would only make the 
 mother and Marie unhappy. I have tried my best 
 to keep it out of my letters, but " 
 
 "Marie, at all events, fears you are having a hard 
 time of it." 
 
 "Dear little girl," he said. "We were always such 
 good friends. Do you know, Charles, I have hoped 
 at times," — he stopped and looked at me. 
 
 "Hoped what, my dear?" 
 
 "I have hoped that you and Marie might come 
 together. Perhaps I ought not to have said it " 
 
 "It is the greatest hope of my life, Jean," and we 
 gripped hands on it heartily. 
 
 He brightened over the discussion of this and 
 other home matters, and by the time he rose to 
 go was decidedly more cheerful. He even laughed as 
 he girded himself into his trappings, — 
 
 "It may amuse you to know that I am at the 
 present moment undergoing confinement to barracks. 
 In itself that is a trifling punishment and I decided 
 that it should not stand in the way of my enjoying 
 your society for an afternoon." 
 
 "And what have you done to earn that distinc- 
 tion?" 
 
 "Nominally it was for quarrelling. The fellow in 
 the next bed to me came home drunk last night and 
 insisted on trying to get into my bed, and I can 
 tell you there's no room to spare. I threw him 
 quietly on to his own bed three times and the fourth 
 
 [95] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 time I gave him a crack on the head in addition. 
 He got nothing, — except the bang on the head, — ^I 
 got a week's stoppage of leave. Two days before I 
 had declined to lend the sergeant of the week 100 
 francs. He's already had 1000 from me at dififerent 
 times, and it seemed to me a poor investment since 
 I got no benefit whatever from it." 
 
 "And how did you manage to get out?" 
 
 "I feed the corporal of the week to say I was on 
 stable duty if any inquiry was made for me, and 
 now I am leaving early so as to be in in time to 
 change my clothes before evening call." 
 
 "I'm sorry you had to take any risks for the 
 purpose of meeting me." 
 
 " Oh, it's all right. I'll get in without any trouble. 
 At first I wouldn't do anything of this kind, but 
 now I'm a hardened sinner." 
 
 We went out together, Jean assuring me that it 
 was the first pleasant day he had had since he came 
 to Quercy, and thanking me very heartily for my 
 visit. 
 
 He stood outside the door for a couple of minutes 
 to make sure there was nothing undesirable about 
 in uniform, and then we walked down the street. 
 
 He led me by back ways which avoided the Square 
 and the cafes, — avoided even the streets which con- 
 tained the troopers' drinking-dens, though we heard 
 the clamor of their enjoyment, and passed some of 
 them, who had already got their quantum, rolling 
 homewards with linked arms and wandering legs and 
 maudlin songs. 
 
 We had reached the bridge leading over the river 
 to the barracks, and had got as far as the second 
 lamp on it, when we encountered a man in uniform 
 swinging across towards the town. 
 
 [96] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Sacr^ — nom de chien!" I heard in a whisper of 
 disgust at my side, as Jean's hand went rigidly up 
 to the salute. 
 
 "Tiens!" said the other, coming to an abrupt 
 stand. "It is Trooper Kerhuel, is it not? What 
 are you doing here, my man?" 
 
 "I have been seeing my friend here, Sergeant." 
 
 "Is he of your family?" 
 
 "I may say yes," said Jean. 
 
 "It seems doubtful however," said the sergeant 
 sarcastically. " How is it. Monsieur ? ' ' turning to me. 
 
 "I am hoping to have the honor of an alliance 
 with the family of Monsieur de Kerhuel, M. le Ser- 
 geant," I said. 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur is Prussian from his accent." 
 
 "No, M. le Sergeant, I am Enghsh." 
 
 "Same thing! Damn all Englishmen!" he said, 
 with withering contempt, and turned to Jean. 
 "Trooper Kerhuel, I gave you a week's confinement 
 to barracks this morning; you will report yourself 
 to the Sergeant-Major for eight days Salle de Police. 
 And take my advice — keep better company in fut- 
 ure." Then, as Jean saluted once more, he turned 
 and went on his way. 
 
 "That's the kind of hog we have to submit to — " 
 began Jean. 
 
 "How will it affect you if I go and punch his 
 head?" I asked, rankling under the sergeant's in- 
 sults. 
 
 "Do me no good, my boy, nor you either. Let it 
 pass. If you punch his head you'd have to fight, 
 and it's very doubtful if you'd get fair play. Your 
 life is more valuable than his. The enjoyment I've 
 had in your company is worth fifteen days Salle de 
 Police." 
 
 7 [97] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 We went on to the barracks and parted there, 
 with promises on my part to repeat the visit before 
 very long. 
 
 I strolled back across the bridge towards the hotel 
 with my blood still boiling from that rascally ser- 
 geant's words, and on my way I passed through 
 the Square. The caKs were all in full swing and 
 looked very gay and animated. The windows and 
 doors were wide open and I could see and hear all 
 that was going on. At the further comer of the 
 colonnade was one that seemed the special haunt of 
 non-commissioned officers. At a table near the open 
 window, with his back to the door, sat the man 
 whose head I was aching to punch. He was evi- 
 dently of a cantankerous disposition, for he was al- 
 ready in hot dispute with three other sergeants, one 
 of his own regiment and two of the Line, whose 
 table he seemed to have invaded. I passed through 
 the open door and took a seat at a small round 
 table behind my enemy, who was too much occu- 
 pied to notice me. 
 
 I could not pick up the point of the dispute. It 
 seemed, however, to turn on some point of etiquette. 
 Possibly the late comer had insisted on placing him- 
 self where he could overhear a private chat between 
 the other three. It gave me an idea. 
 
 I beckoned to a scudding waiter. 
 
 "I want a bottle of champagne," I said. 
 
 "Champagne! Oui, Monsieur. Small bottle?" 
 
 "No, large— and four glasses." 
 
 "Oui, Monsieur." 
 
 He was gone so long that I knew they had had 
 to send out for it. Champagne was not much in 
 demand in a non.-com. cafe, where an order for 
 "cognac fine" stamped a man as a bloated aristo- 
 
 [98] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 crat. The unusualness of the proceeding was further 
 indicated by the jingling flourish with which the 
 Uttle waiter set down the tray containing the bottle 
 and the glasses before me, with much pride and an 
 emphatic, " Champagne, Monsieur !" loud enough to 
 be heard above the surrounding babel. 
 
 I paid him and requested him to draw the cork. 
 He brought me my change and accepted fifty cen- 
 times for himself with an air of confidential devotion 
 to my interests that was infinitely diverting. He 
 then drew the cork with a resounding pop that at- 
 tracted still further attention, and with another em- 
 phatic "Champagne, Monsieur," he wiped up the 
 drops and stood away to watch me begin on the 
 bottle. I lifted the tray and placed it on the table 
 where sat the four sergeants. Their dispute had 
 died down into sullen growls. 
 
 "Messieurs," I said, addressing the Linesmen and 
 the other dragoon, "will you do me the favor of 
 joining me over a bottle of champagne?" 
 
 The three brightened up into surprised cheerfulness. 
 
 "Mondieu!" said the dragoon, who was big and 
 burly and jovial looking. "That is too good an 
 offer to refuse. Monsieur is too kind." 
 
 " Champagne !" murmured the infantrymen. "Will 
 we not?" 
 
 "I wanted to consult you gentlemen on a point 
 of manners," I said, filling glasses for the three and 
 myself, and they assumed a look of extreme interest 
 both in my words and my proceedings. "I am, 
 gentlemen, as you perceive, an Englishman. My 
 father was a colonel in the English army. He fought 
 side by side with France in the Crimea. He was 
 killed at the head of his regiment two years ago in 
 
 India " 
 
 [99] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 ' ' A brave man ! ' ' said the dragoon warmly. ' ' Mon- 
 sieur is to be congratulated," and the infantrymen 
 murmured acquiescence. 
 
 "A few moments ago I was walking in the street 
 here with a friend of mine, whom I had travelled a 
 hundred miles to see, — a trooper in your regiment. 
 Monsieur," — the sergeant bowed as though the regi- 
 ment as represented by himself was thereby honored. 
 "While we were walking another dragoon came up, 
 spoke to my friend and addressed myself. On my 
 replying he informed me that from my accent he 
 perceived I was a Prussian " 
 
 "Monsieur's accent is perfect," said the dragoon. 
 
 "Quite marvellous!" murmured the Line. 
 
 "I informed the gentleman that I was English. 
 His reply was, — ' Damn all Englishmen ! ' and ad- 
 vised my friend to keep better company in future. 
 Now, I have the curiosity to know whether such con- 
 duct is considered correct by other wearers of the 
 uniform of France? What do you say, gentlemen?" 
 
 " Nom-de-dieu ! " said the dragoon, "a man like 
 that ought to be kicked. But, Monsieur, we get 
 some awful blackguards occasionally, and when they 
 are not actually under one's heels one cannot really 
 be responsible for them." 
 
 "Quite so. It must be so in every army. But 
 this man wore the uniform of a sergeant, and from 
 a sergeant of French dragoons one looks for con- 
 duct more correct than that. Is it not so?" 
 
 "Nom-de-dieu!" broke out the dragoon, "that is 
 so. But, — you know. Monsieur, — there are sergeants 
 and sergeants, and now and again one crawls up 
 into the three stripes and forgets to leave the gutter 
 behind him," and he snapped a defiant glance up 
 the table at the stormy face of the man who had in- 
 
 [100] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 suited me. That exceedingly angry gentleman had 
 sat in his corner chewing his mustache, as I could 
 see by a mirror opposite, and sipping, with an 
 attempt at nonchalance, at his tiny glass of cognac, 
 which had long been exhausted. He could not get 
 out without asking me to move, and this his temper 
 would not permit him to do. 
 
 "Why," I said, slightly altering my position so 
 that my eyes seemed to fall on him for the first 
 time, "that is the very man who so insulted me." 
 
 "I'm not a bit surprised at it," growled the ser- 
 geant near me. "It's just what one would expect 
 of him." 
 
 Then in the mirror I saw the angry one stoop to 
 pick up his helmet which he had placed on the floor. 
 I heard the scrape of his chair on the floor and sup- 
 posed he had had enough of it. Next moment I was 
 dragged violently out of my seat by my big friend 
 just as the other one's helmet, swung by the long 
 horsetail plume, came crashing down on my chair 
 with a force that would certainly have cracked my 
 skull if I had been sitting there. 
 
 "You pig-head," shouted my man, lifting me up. 
 "Is it murder you want?" 
 
 But I had got all the opening I needed, and al- 
 most before the other had risen from the swing of 
 his blow my fists met his face, with a crack-crack 
 that made the hot blood in me tingle with joy. My 
 right came against his nose, and my left against his 
 right eye, and he sat down suddenly with blood 
 streaming from him. In an instant the place was 
 in an uproar. Dragoons and Linesmen sprang up. 
 Cries of "Piou-piou!" " Citrouilles ! " broke out all 
 round. My big sergeant caught me by the arm and 
 swung me out through the door into the street. 
 
 [101] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Go, Monsieur, go quick," he said, and his face 
 was full of enjoyment. "You have done well, nom- 
 de-dieu ! very well. But he is a savage brute " 
 
 "Here is my card," I said. "If he wants any 
 more he can have it. But, remember, I will fight 
 only with my fists." 
 
 "He will not fight. Monsieur. He was whoUy in 
 the wrong. It was that made him so mad." And 
 he tore the card up into small pieces. 
 
 "I will wait at the Hotel de France till to-morrow 
 evening." 
 
 "Bien, Monsieur, but go now, I beg of you— and 
 thousand thanks !" 
 
 When I came to think it all over in cool blood I 
 regretted what I had done. Not as regards myself, 
 but on Jean's account. If, as might well be feared, 
 that brute of a sergeant vented his spite on him in 
 default of myself, Jean might have good cause to rue 
 the day I visited Quercy. How well I had preached 
 patience under insult to my friend, and what an 
 egregious ass I had made of myself when my turn 
 came ! 
 
 And yet I felt that to have left the matter where 
 it was would have also left me somewhat con- 
 temptible in my own eyes. As to possible conse- 
 quences to myself I was not greatly troubled. If my 
 opponent desired a further encounter the offer must 
 come from him. He had struck first, I had repUed. 
 We were even so far, but he had had decidedly the 
 worst of it. If he wanted more fight I would fight; 
 but as the challenged the choice of weapons would be 
 mine, and the only weapons I would fight with would 
 be my fists, and I would make a special stipulation 
 against kicking. 
 
 I waited patiently all next day, but no message 
 [102] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 reached me, and I left by the last very "petite- 
 vitesse" night train for Rennes and home. 
 
 At the chateau the following afternoon I was sub- 
 jected to arbitrary and searching inquisition by 
 Marie. She wanted to know every possible particu- 
 lar as to Jean's looks, feelings, surroundings — every- 
 thing. It taxed my ingenuity to the utmost to 
 tell her no actual lies and yet to hide the whole 
 truth from her. But I felt it absolutely necessary 
 to do so, for to have made full disclosure of Jean's 
 extreme discomfort and suffering would simply have 
 meant la3ring an intolerable burden on her shoulders 
 without any possibility of lightening it on his. She 
 and her mother would have fretted themselves ill 
 at their helplessness, and no one would have been 
 benefited. And so I dissembled with care, — made 
 much of Jean's enjoyment at seeing me and hearing 
 all about them all, acknowledged that, from what 
 he had told me, the path of a conscript was not 
 strewn with roses, but as to the actual facts of the 
 case said nothing. I cannot say I was satisfied with 
 myself. The position was unpleasant and unnatural 
 to me, but there was no help for it and I did my 
 best. 
 
 And I am afraid Marie was no more satisfied with 
 me than I was myself. Her large eyes rested gravely 
 on me at times, and made me so extremely uncom- 
 fortable that I began to regret that I had ever gone 
 to Quercy at all. Possibly she understood, however, 
 for after a time she ceased to press me. 
 
 "Does Jean advise George going into his regi- 
 ment, if it can be managed?" she asked, as a wind- 
 up. 
 
 " He does. I put that question plainly to him and 
 he approves the idea." 
 
 [103] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 This seemed to reassure her somewhat, and I was 
 mightily relieved when the ordeal was over. 
 
 A few days later I received a few lines from Jean. 
 He stated that for two days Sergeant Lebeau had 
 not shown up on parade, and when he did at last 
 put in an appearance he brought with him a black 
 eye. That had somehow to Jean's mind so imme- 
 diately suggested me that he was bursting with 
 impatience to know if I was the author of it. "If 
 it is so I shall be delighted, my boy," — he wrote. 
 — " Just say yes or no in your next letter. Any par- 
 ticulars you shall give me by word of mouth over 
 our next meal together, to which I am already look- 
 ing forward with the greatest eagerness. And do 
 not go worrying yourself with the idea that, if it is 
 as I hope, he will vent his spleen on me. He seems 
 under something of a cloud lately — quite apart from 
 the black eye — and has been drafted on to the later 
 comers, who are having a devil of a time of it. He 
 treats every man in his peloton as though he were 
 the giver of the black eye, and I am sorry for them. 
 Except for the consequences to yourself I wish you 
 had knocked his head off." 
 
 This letter gave me much comfort. I have since 
 had reason to believe, however, that in the largeness 
 of his heart the dear fellow was acting to me as I 
 had acted to Marie, and concealing much for the 
 sake of my peace of mind. 
 
 August sped past all too quickly, and in September 
 I returned to my work, big with hope and intention 
 for the coming examinations. 
 
 The temptation to tell Marie all that was in my 
 heart was almost overpowering. But I think she 
 knew it all and I had implicit trust in her. If she 
 felt towards me as I hoped, she would wait for me to 
 
 [104] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 speak as soon as I felt it right to do so. If she did 
 not so feel, she was absolutely free, and it would be 
 better that I had not spoken. 
 
 As I bade her "Good-by till Christmas !" her hand 
 lay in mine for a moment and I looked into her 
 sweet, true eyes. They looked trustfully into my 
 own. I thought I read her heart in them. I am 
 sure she read mine. A spark from heaven shot 
 from the liquid depths and struck fire in my 
 heart and set it plunging furiously. I bent and 
 kissed the little white hand and hurried away. She 
 was still at the door when I turned at the distant 
 corner of the road. The white hand waved to me. 
 I waved mine back. 
 
 Before I saw her again the beginning of the end 
 had come, and that had happened which left its 
 mark on all our lives. 
 
 [105] 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 My examinations came off in October. That I did 
 so well in them as to cause my professors much 
 jubilation, and the expression of opinion that the 
 final M.D. and M.S. degrees were as good as in my 
 pocket, though they were not actually obtainable 
 for another twelve months, was entirely due to 
 Marie. 
 
 When I. looked round at the intent and eager faces 
 of my competitors I wondered if any one among 
 them had such a prize at stake as I had. The 
 strength of my love for her put a fine point on all 
 my knowledge and understanding, difiiculties and 
 obscurities vanished at thought of her and all I was 
 striving for, and I came through triumphantly. 
 Three days before Christmas I packed my bag and 
 set off with a rush to which crawling express trains 
 and wallowing rafts of steamers were simply clogs 
 and hindrances, but painful necessities all the same. 
 Even the wings of an eagle would have been some- 
 what inadequate. For my heart was already at 
 Kerhuel, and I was telling Marie all that was in it, 
 and seeking in her eyes the highest earthly prize a 
 man may have. 
 
 The wandering railway journey round by Rennes 
 and Caulnes was not to be thought of. I went to 
 Dol, procured the lightest two-wheeled nondescript 
 vehicle and the strongest horse they had at the 
 Grand Maison, and set off across country to Dinan. 
 
 The weather was cold and hard, but there was 
 [106] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 fortunately no snow, and we rattled and bumped 
 merrily along ways that in a softer time would have 
 been impassable for mud. The fields looked chill and 
 drear and empty, but overhead and on every side, 
 in apple-tree and oak, the mistletoe hung thick, in 
 spite of hungry London and the steamer loads that 
 had gone there. And Christmas was only two days 
 ahead, and Marie de Kerhuel's bright face danced in 
 front of the horse's joggling brown ears, and every 
 clink of the hoof brought me nearer home and my 
 heart's desire. 
 
 My driver was a cheerful youth of sixty with a face 
 like a winter apple, and a flow of talk like the run- 
 ning of water from a tap. He talked incessantly, to 
 myself, and to the horse, and even to the trees and 
 hedges, and finally found his most appreciative lis- 
 tener in himself, and was quite happy all the time. 
 Of all his output I remember only two things. One 
 was a long invective against the Emperor and all 
 his doings, and that was addressed not to me but 
 to the horse. It ran something like this. "Ah-ha, 
 mon p'tit ! we shall see, we shall see. There are men 
 and men, and this coquin of an Emperor he is but 
 a man and not much of a man at that. They are 
 all as rotten as maggotty apples, I teU you, and one 
 can't even make them into cider. Bon dieu ! put 'em 
 in the mill and grind 'em all up and they'd be good 
 for nothing but manure and not much good for 
 that. Non, non, it's a different kind of man we need, 
 and all in the good God's time we'll have him. 
 Napoleon? — pfutt!" and so on and so on. I judged 
 he was a stanch Legitimist, but I preferred my own 
 pleasant thoughts to a discussion in which I should 
 never have got the better of little Red Pippin, so he 
 had it all his own way. And the other thing I recall 
 
 [107] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 was his bursting out suddenly, "Say then, Monsieur, 
 what in the name of God do they do with all that 
 mistletoe across there? Do they eat it?" 
 
 "No, they dance under it and kiss one another," 
 I said. 
 
 " Nom-de-dieu ! the heathens! Thank God, we're 
 not like that over here, we others ! I made sure 
 they ate it, and I made my old one cook some one 
 day, but it was no good." 
 
 We climbed the hill into Dinan at last and my 
 mother and Josephine came rushing to my knock on 
 the door. 
 
 And then, when Fortune seemed smiling her brav- 
 est and all my world seemed bright and happy, my 
 little sun was clouded. For no sooner were our 
 greetings over than I asked after the folks at Ker- 
 huel, and my mother said, "My dear, I doubt if you 
 will see Marie and her mother. They were summoned 
 in great haste to Poitou yesterday. Madame's 
 father has had a stroke, and they went oif at a 
 moment's notice. They called here in passing and 
 left their congratulations for you and their regrets 
 at not seeing you, and I am sure they were both 
 very sorry to have to go." 
 
 I was very sorry too, both on their account, seeing 
 the reason for their going, and still more on my own 
 at missing them. 
 
 And I did miss them greatly in spite of all my 
 dear mother could do to make up for their absence. 
 When could a mother quite fill the place of that 
 other one in any son's heart? 
 
 That was, without exception, the dreariest and 
 dullest holiday I ever spent. My mother had made 
 many friends. There were bright, handsome, whole- 
 some girls among them, both English and French, 
 
 [108] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 but— Marie de Kerhuel was in Poitou and Brittany 
 was dull without her. 
 
 I made the best of a bad job and fervently hoped 
 the old gentleman in Poitou would have either a 
 smart recovery or a quick and painless passing. 
 
 But he perversely did neither. He lingered on in 
 Poitou between life and death, while I tramped the 
 country roads in Brittany in gloomy discontent at 
 his thoughtlessness. If he had only had the consid- 
 eration to retain his usual health till the Christmas 
 holidays were over, now, I would have thought ever 
 so much more highly of him. Or if he had broken 
 down a month earlier and got through with the 
 business, either one way or the other, I would have 
 been grateful to him. 
 
 It takes a larger heart than most men are pos- 
 sessed of to go all round and give full shares to 
 every one, even to every rightful shareholder. I be- 
 lieve the faculty grows with the years — as the organ 
 does — and that, given the proper kind of heart and 
 the proper kind of treatment, — which, by the way, 
 has nothing of cotton wool in it, for a beefsteak and 
 a small boy are not the only things in this world 
 which improve with pounding — ^given these things, a 
 man's heart may, before he dies, grow large enough 
 for his circumstances. When it happens so we find a 
 very noble man and we love him very dearly. One 
 would naturally expect to find that woman's heart 
 is larger than man's and of finer fibre. As strict 
 matter of fact, however, they are just the same size, 
 and as to fibre I agree with you. But beyond all 
 question it is the woman's heart that pays the 
 largest dividends to its shareholders, which is a very 
 abominable way of putting it, but nevertheless true. 
 
 I was, I am afraid, but dull company for my 
 1 109 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 mother that Christmas-tide. But being a woman 
 and my mother, and having moreover the inestima- 
 ble privilege of knowing — nay, much more, of loving 
 —Marie de Kerhuel, she understood and bore with 
 me. And— knowing Marie and the intention I had 
 had of telling her all that was in my heart— she 
 sympathized keenly with my disappointment and did 
 her very best to cheer me. If I was not as respon- 
 sive as I ought to have been, and if her very best 
 did not cheer me greatly — well, I was twenty-one and 
 my heart was in Poitou. And as for my degrees, of 
 which she was so proud, and on which I had been 
 going to stand so firmly, they were but capital 
 letters of the alphabet and void of ministry to a 
 hungry heart. For any twenty-one-year-older would 
 give all the letters of the alphabet in all their pos- 
 sible combinations for one little word from his 
 mistress's lips. 
 
 I walked out several times to Kerhuel and inter- 
 viewed George, to the detriment of his studies. And 
 always, when I started out, I had the hope that 
 perchance the old gentleman in Poitou had arranged 
 himself somehow, either one way or the other, I did 
 not much care which, and that I should find Marie 
 returned. And all along the road between the gaunt 
 poplars the hope of it buoyed me up, and let me 
 down with a flop when I reached the ch§.teau and 
 found only George there, and our intercourse was 
 not enlivening, which perhaps under the circum- 
 stances was not to be surprised at. 
 
 M. le Cure seemed almost to live there in Madame's 
 absence. At all events, he was there every time I 
 called, assisting George with his studies, I presume. 
 
 I found him at all times pleasant and jovial, and 
 quite paternally interested in my own work and 
 
 [110] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 progress, and inclined to hold me up to his pupil as 
 an example to be followed, which disposed George to 
 incivility and so probably realized the good Cure's 
 wishes. I knew perfectly well that his life's object 
 and mine were diametrically opposed, and that he 
 would do everything in his power to thwart me, but 
 his manners were perfect and left nothing to be de- 
 sired — except the one thing of which no particle 
 entered into his construction, sincerity. 
 
 "You have done extremely well, my dear young 
 friend," said he, "and your future is assured. In 
 what fortunate field do you propose to exercise those 
 great talents ? There must be no wrapping them up 
 in a napkin, you know. To whom much is given of 
 him much will be required." 
 
 "My future must depend upon circumstances, M. 
 le Curg." 
 
 "A talented man is above his circumstances," said 
 the priest. "It is for him to pick and choose. 
 Smaller men may take what they can get. Your 
 great city must offer wonderful possibilities for the 
 noblest of all professions — after my own." 
 
 I did not by so much as the movement of an eye- 
 lash express the opinion that the profession of the 
 order of Jesus — terrible debasement of that name — 
 was not in my mind the grandest in the world. But 
 by way of ruffling his soul, if that were possible, I 
 said, 
 
 "It is possible I may decide to settle in Dinan." 
 
 ' ' Never, never, my friend. You would feel yourself 
 buried alive there. The scope would be too hmited. 
 It is your bounden duty to seek the wider field." 
 
 "Oh, well, we shall see when the time comes," I 
 said. 
 
 Very greatly to my surprise on two occasions I 
 [111] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 found M. Raoul de Querhoal there also, and the im- 
 pression I gathered from his words and manner was 
 that he was, in his own pecuhar way, cultivating 
 brother George's friendship with ulterior motives, 
 and that M. le Cure, to serve his own ends, was 
 doing his utmost to assist him. 
 
 M. de Querhoal looked down upon us all from a 
 very lofty altitude, and in his manner he made it so 
 offensively evident that in meeting us he had to step 
 down at least half-way that at times my toes tingled 
 to kick him. If he had condescended to me as he 
 did to George I doubt if even the inviolability of my 
 neighbor's house would have sufficed to keep my toes 
 off him. George, however, did not seem to feel it so. 
 At all events, he showed no signs of resentment. 
 And Godefroi, the elder brother, when he was there, 
 seemed to me to be quite unnecessarily effusive in his 
 welcome of the young man. Of course, as a business 
 man and one of the small proprietors, he may have 
 felt it good policy to put himself on the best possible 
 terms with the coming great man of the countryside. 
 To me, however, feeling as I did, it seemed to indi- 
 cate but a mean and grovelling spirit, with which I 
 found it impossible to sympathize, more especially in 
 one with whom I hoped to be on more than friendly 
 terms some day. It is quite possible, however, that 
 Godefroi's views on the subject differed from my own 
 in several particulars. 
 
 Raoul, with the assistance of M. le Curfe, may have 
 understood my general feelings, for he had very little 
 to say to me. And that was perhaps just as well, 
 for I was in a state of simmering disgust with 
 things in general, and it would have taken very 
 little to make the pot boil over and put the fat into 
 the fire. 
 
 [118] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 However, we never came to open dispute, and in 
 the light of after-happenings I was glad that we did 
 not. 
 
 I filled in three days by running across to Quercy 
 to see Jean again. He was to have come home but 
 "unavoidable circumstances," which in my own mind 
 I was able to pretty well imagine, had prevented 
 him. He managed to get out and join me at the 
 hotel. How he did it he did not explain beyond a 
 wink. 
 
 We had a fairly cheerful dinner. Things were no 
 better, he said, but he was getting indurated and 
 used to them. He was greatly delighted at the full 
 account of my rencontre with Sergeant Lebeau, and 
 assured me once more that the matter had had 
 no unpleasant consequences with regard to himself. 
 That too I have since been glad to think of. He also 
 expressed a fervent wish for the speedy decease of the 
 old gentleman in Poitou. 
 
 "He never had experience of the service himself, 
 you see," said Jean. "He said it would make men 
 of us and we must go through with it. It's like to 
 make something else of some of us. But do you 
 know, Charles, I have great hopes of a turn up 
 before long, and that will probably make changes." 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 "War," he said. 
 
 "War?" I echoed. "Why, with whom?" 
 
 "Prussia, of course. You see, I get a good deal 
 of time to think about things sometimes. Salle de 
 Police affords excellent thinking accommodation, if 
 it's not too crowded and if the others are not too 
 drunk. Solitary confinement is even better still. 
 There there is nothing whatever to disturb one's 
 thoughts except the rats, and you soon get used to 
 8 [ 113 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 them. Bread and water stimulate one's thoughts 
 up to a certain point. After that they get vague 
 and rambHng. But I've come to the conclusion 
 that sooner or later France and Prussia have got 
 to come to blows. Prussia is growing stronger 
 every day, you see, and I doubt if France will stand 
 that. And then Louis Napoleon's tenure depends on 
 his keeping things humming at high pressure, and 
 lately they've been running down a bit and he will 
 be on the lookout for a lightning conductor out- 
 side." 
 
 "Well, for everybody's sake, my boy, we'll hope 
 it won't come to war. If France and Prussia got at 
 loggerheads I'm afraid the whole of Europe would 
 join in, and there would be some pretty hot work." 
 
 "I expect there would. But anything for a change 
 from Quercy. The discontent of the men here is 
 growing to such a point that I should not be sur- 
 prised any day if it showed head in some unpleas- 
 ant way. If it is the same elsewhere, and I have 
 no reason to suppose it is not, the authorities will 
 have to find some outlet for it or take the conse- 
 quences. It would be so very easy for them to im- 
 prove matters by some reasonable modifications. 
 But instead they seem to think they can keep things 
 quiet by putting the screw on tighter. It is like an 
 engineer sitting on his safety-valve in hopes of keep- 
 ing down the steam below. Any self-respecting 
 boiler would burst just to show him what a fool he 
 was." 
 
 We did not run across Sergeant Lebeau, and I 
 saw Jean safely back to barracks and then caught 
 the night train home. And on the road I thought 
 much of all he had said. I decided, however, that 
 so far as international affairs were concerned his 
 
 [114] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 views were chimerical and the result of too much 
 high thought on bread and water in the police 
 cells, and so I did not let them trouble me. As to 
 the state of matters in his own regiment I felt 
 much uneasiness, but purely on his account. If any 
 outbreak occurred the innocent would as likely as 
 not suffer with the guilty. 
 
 Both Madame de Kerhuel and Marie had written 
 to my mother. The old gentleman was picking up 
 again by degrees but he would not hear of their 
 leaving him, and in due course I had to return to 
 my work in London without ever having seen them, 
 and with all my hopes still at a loose end. 
 
 [115] 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 Circumstances enabled me to leave London for 
 the Easter vacation one day before the term actually 
 ended, and within an hour I was on the Southamp- 
 ton train en route for Kerhuel and home, and this 
 time I vowed that nothing should prevent me tell- 
 ing Marie all that was in my heart. 
 
 But man proposes and God disposes, and mat- 
 ters beyond my imagining awaited me in Brittany. 
 
 The country, gleaming like a jewel with the first 
 flushing of the spring, had never seemed so fair and 
 sweet, as I travelled up the Ranee towards the little 
 city set on a hill, and my heart and hopes beat 
 high. 
 
 I had no slightest doubt of the dear girl's feelings 
 towards me. I had looked deep into her eyes, and 
 her eyes were wells of truth and her heart shone up 
 through them. All the same I ardently desired the 
 sweet formal confirmation of her lips and the proper 
 regularization of our position, and towards that I 
 was travelling as fast as the little steamboat could 
 beat its way up the placid estuary. 
 
 "Did you get the letter I forwarded to you?" 
 were my mother's first words when our welcomes 
 were over. 
 
 "No. What letter?" 
 
 "It was from Quercy, but not, I think, in Jean's 
 writing. It was marked 'urgent' and I sent it on 
 instantly. I did not expect you to start before 
 your time, you see." 
 
 [116] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "From Quercy? — and marked urgent?" and my 
 heart gave a great surge of foreboding. "I will go 
 over to Kerhuel at once. I must go. How are 
 they all, Mother?" 
 
 "All well, except Godefroi, who is down with 
 rheumatism." 
 
 Godefroi's rheumatism did not greatly trouble me, 
 and after a hasty bite and a wash I started oif along 
 the road my heart had travelled oftener even than 
 my feet. 
 
 My welcome was entirely to my liking, for Marie 
 saw me from the window and was standing in the 
 big arched doorway when I reached it. Her face was 
 radiant and beaming, but there was something else 
 in it and I very soon knew what it was. 
 
 "I am enchanted to see you. Monsieur Charles," 
 she cried. "We were just wishing for you." 
 
 " I have been just wishing to be here all the time — 
 Marie. It is nearly six months since I have seen 
 you," and I kissed her hand. 
 
 " Oh, but it was on business matters that we have 
 desired you here, Mother and I," she said. "Here is 
 Maman now," and Madame gave me hearty greeting 
 with just a touch of preoccupation in her manner, 
 the meaning of which I presently understood. 
 
 We chatted for a minute or two about the dis- 
 appointment of not seeing one another at Christ- 
 mas-time, and then Madame's anxiety found voice. 
 
 "Charles, we were just wishing you were here when 
 we saw you coming up the road. Will you do some- 
 thing for us?" 
 
 "Need you ask, dear Madame? There is no possi- 
 ble thing you could ask which I would not joyfully 
 do for you." 
 
 Ah me ! — joyfully ! Well, — you will see. 
 [117] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Godefroi is laid up with rheumatism. He cannot 
 travel, and he has this morning received this from 
 Quercy — " and she pulled out a pale blue slip of a 
 telegram and handed it to me. It was addressed to 
 Godefroi and ran — 
 
 "Please come here at once — George." 
 
 And, knowing so much more than they did, my 
 heart curdled suddenly with fear and it was more 
 than I could do to keep it quite out of my face. 
 — To Marie's eyes at all events. With Madame I 
 was perhaps more successful. 
 
 "But I will go at once, dear Madame," I said. 
 "I shall enjoy seeing the boys. It is probably only 
 some scrape they have got into, and they want the 
 big brother to help them otit." 
 
 "You will eat with us before you leave," said 
 Madame, rising with hospitable housewifely inten- 
 tions. 
 
 "IthiAknot, dear Madame. I have just eaten at 
 home, and if I hurry now I can perhaps catch the two 
 o'clock diligence to Caulnes, which will save much 
 time. And the sooner I go the sooner I shall get 
 back." 
 
 "It is very good of you to take so much trouble 
 on our account," said Madame, "and that when you 
 have only this moment arrived." 
 
 "Trouble on your account, dear Madame, becomes 
 a veritable pleasure. I shall hope to be allowed to 
 take much more." 
 
 I was. 
 
 Marie accompanied me to the door and went a 
 short way down the path with me. When we were 
 out of earshot of the house she turned to me and 
 I saw fear in her eyes, the reflection of that which 
 I had tried to keep out of my own face. 
 
 [118] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Charles, my friend, what is it you fear?" she 
 asked, almost breathlessly. 
 
 "I do not know, Marie. It may be nothing, it 
 may be anything. Whatever it is, — oh, my dearest, 
 remember that my heart beats only for you and 
 yours and my dear mother. I would give my life to 
 save you from trouble." 
 
 "You think it may be trouble?" she asked, with 
 many emotions working in her face. 
 
 "I have no right to say so." 
 
 "But in your heart you fear so?" 
 
 "My heart is heavy. I don't know why." 
 
 I stood holding her hand, very reluctant to leave 
 her so, yet very desirous of not obtruding myself 
 when her heart was troubled. But the sight of her 
 sweet, bright face all sunshine and shadow was too 
 much for me. I grasped the other little hand and 
 looked deep down into the swimming dark eyes. 
 
 "Dearest," I said, in jerks that came from the 
 bottom of my heart, "Give me the right to help 
 
 you at all times, and to comfort you if trouble 
 
 comes. You are dearer to me than all the world, 
 from the very first day I saw you." 
 
 I saw all I wanted in her eyes, but she gave me 
 more. She drew her hands away and put them 
 round my neck and raised her face to my kisses. 
 
 "God keep you, dearest. Come what may we 
 belong to one another," I said, and I kissed her 
 again and again. 
 
 "Now go, my dear," she said at last. "And do 
 your best for us, whatever it is. My heart tells me 
 it is trouble." 
 
 She turned and went slowly back towards the 
 house and I got a last benedictory wave of the hand as 
 I stood for a moment at the corner of the high road. 
 
 [119] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Two hours later I was sitting alongside the driver 
 in the coupfe of the cumbersome old vehicle which 
 formed the southern link between Dinan and the 
 world. And if my heart beat full and high at 
 thought of the dear girl from whom I was speeding 
 as fast as two bony steeds could carry me, it ran 
 slow and heavy at thought of what they were car- 
 rying me to. For that there was trouble at Quercy, 
 and trouble out of the common, I felt convinced. 
 
 If only I had received that letter ! It was me 
 they wanted. The telegram to Godefroi was a last 
 resort. It was from George, — the letter also un- 
 doubtedly, since my mother said it was not in Jean's 
 writing. It was our dear Jean then who was in 
 trouble. What could it possibly be? 
 
 The fates were against me. We had been bumping 
 along for an hour or so and the roads were heavy 
 with the softness of the spring. In spite of the 
 roughness of the journey and all that was in my 
 heart, I had sunk into a half-doze, for I had not 
 slept a wink the night before on the boat. I heard 
 the driver chirruping and talking to his horses, and 
 then there came an earthquake and we were flung 
 almost on to the joggling backs of the suddenly 
 stopped steeds. 
 
 The driver climbed down, dribbling imprecations, 
 reported the front axle broken, and sat down on a 
 heap of road metal to scratch his head and coin a 
 new set of expletives adequate to the occasion. A 
 very brief examination told me that that diligence 
 was anchored there till a smith came to it, so I 
 decided to do at once what the rest of the company 
 would have to do when they had settled matters 
 with the driver. I left him the vehement centre of a 
 still more excited circle, who were all insisting on a 
 
 [120] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 return of their money equivalent to the unperformed 
 part of their journey, which seemed reasonable 
 enough. On the other hand the driver maintained 
 that they had paid to be taken to Caulnes and to 
 Caulnes he would take them as soon as his diligence 
 was repaired, but as for refunding any money — 
 Sacristi ! Sacristi ! Sacrfe nom-de-everything-he- 
 could-put-his-tongue-to ! he'd see them there and 
 further first before he'd do anything of the kind. 
 
 I offered to carry his mails to Caulnes if he would 
 lend me one of the Rosinantes who stood content- 
 edly by the roadside pending settlement. But after 
 a moment's consideration he decided that the whole 
 affair was a deep-laid scheme on my part to get 
 possession of both the horse and the mails. So I 
 struck off at once on my two hours' walk, seeing 
 plainly that this would throw all my train connec- 
 tions awry and make me much later than I expected 
 in arriving at Quercy. 
 
 As a matter of fact it was three o'clock in the 
 morning when I tumbled out of the train there, 
 more than half asleep, and hmp with the long cramp- 
 ing ride. 
 
 At eight o'clock I was outside the barrack gate. 
 There was a crowd of blue blouses and white starched 
 caps hanging round it. As I came up the cathedral 
 boomed out the hour, and, mingling with its last 
 notes, came a dull roll of musketry from inside the 
 barracks. 
 
 At sound of that the crowd gave a great "Huh !" 
 —between a sigh and a sob, and the grizzled lips 
 of the men dribbled curses. 
 
 "What is going on?" I asked of the nearest 
 blouse. 
 
 " Par-dieu, M'sieur, these pigs of military are shoot- 
 [121] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 ing a man in there," and a chill of apprehension 
 stabbed me like an icicle in the heart. 
 
 "What are they shooting him for?" I made shift 
 to ask. 
 
 "Sacres cochons ! because he was a man and they 
 are pigs. And I, I also have a son in there. Maybe 
 they'll shoot him next." 
 
 "What is the name of the man they are shoot- 
 ing?" I asked. 
 
 "Mon dieu ! I know not, Monsieur. But it is not 
 Pierre Callou, and that is my boy, for I have seen 
 him this morning." And he continued cursing the 
 military with much vigor, a proceeding which 
 afforded him much relief, but gave me no informa- 
 tion. Fear was in my heart, and until I saw and 
 spoke to my friends that fear would remain. 
 
 I did not know what might be the usual course 
 of procedure. The most sensible thing seemed to be 
 to ask at headquarters. So I passed the gloomy 
 sentry and walked down the arched passage that 
 led to the barrack square. The gates were left 
 open, purposely, perhaps, to afford the blue blouses 
 a glimpse of the power of their masters. Inside the 
 square I could see serried lines of men standing 
 motionless. 
 
 There was an open door on my left. I looked in. 
 It was evidently the Guard-room. There were mus- 
 kets in racks, a plain deal table, and some wooden 
 chairs. The Guard had evidently slipped round the 
 comer to miss nothing of what was going on. I 
 stepped inside to await the arrival of some one in 
 authority. A bugle rang out and the square was 
 filled with the sound of marching feet, and the 
 ,Guard came slipping back into the room. They 
 looked at me in silence but said nothing even to one 
 
 [122] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 another. There was an air of depression abroad. 
 I waited quietly for theofHcer of the Guard to come in. 
 
 And as I waited I saw ghosts. 
 
 Past the open door of the room in which I stood, 
 went Raoul de Querhoal and M. le Cure Lesieur, arm 
 in arm. 
 
 M. le Cur&'s face was paler than usual. The strug- 
 gle for predominance between the white and the red 
 gave it a mottled appearance, and it lacked its 
 usual joviality. There was a fixity of expression on 
 it nearly approaching to hardness which I had never 
 seen before, but which I could well have imagined if 
 I had been spared the sight. 
 
 Raoul's face was pale too. It always was pale, but 
 now its unhealthy pallor seemed deepened with a 
 touch of lead. He seemed by no means depressed, 
 however. On the contrary, as they passed the door 
 he made some remark to the Cure with a twisted 
 smile on his lips, it might be to show his noncha- 
 lant contempt to, and of, the waiting crowd out- 
 side. M. Lesieur, I think, made no reply, but I could 
 see the jaw inside the shaven cheek nearest to me 
 clenching and working inside the skin. 
 
 What brought these two there together, I won- 
 dered, and then a sergeant came brusquely in with 
 the appearance of making up by an excess of sever- 
 ity for a moment of relaxation. 
 
 "Hola!" he said roughly, at sight of me, "what 
 the devil do you want here?" 
 
 It was my old enemy Sergeant Lebeau, whose 
 nose and eye had felt my fists in the caik. He had 
 not forgotten me. 
 
 "I came to visit a friend. Monsieur," I said, "and 
 not knowing the usual course of procedure I came 
 in here to ask." 
 
 [123] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Well, get out, and go to the devil," he said. 
 
 "May I inquire " 
 
 "Get out, or the guard shall put you out." 
 
 I turned to the door. As I stepped into the tun- 
 nel way I was so fortunate as to meet that other 
 big sergeant who had once before stood my friend. 
 
 "Ah, M. le Sergeant," I said, raising my hat with 
 all the politeness a vehement desire to kick Ser- 
 geant Lebeau had left in me, "may I solicit your 
 good offices for one moment?" 
 
 He looked at me for a moment and then a grim 
 smile broke on his face. "Ah, I remember. But 
 certainly. Monsieur, what can I do for you?" 
 
 "I came to visit some friends here, but I don't 
 know how to set about it." 
 
 "Much better let your friends visit you outside, 
 Monsieur," he said, with another reminiscent grin, 
 as much as to say, "We don't keep champagne in 
 barracks. Your friends will profit more by coming 
 outside." 
 
 "But who is it you wish to see?" he said. "I 
 shall be happy to oblige Monsieur, by informing 
 them, and no doubt they can get leave." 
 
 "It is the Messieurs de Kerhuel I wish to see." 
 
 "Ah!" he said with sudden gravity, and regarded 
 me fixedly for a moment. Then he added, "If Mon- 
 sieur will return to his hotel I will see to the 
 matter." 
 
 "I am greatly indebted to you, M. le Sergeant," 
 I said. "I am at the Hotel de France. I will await 
 my friends there." 
 
 He bowed without speaking, and I raised my hat 
 and went out among the blue blouses. 
 
 It was a gloriously bright morning, not a cloud 
 in the blue sky and the sun beat warmly on the 
 
 [1241 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 white, green-latticed houses, and flashed up from the 
 water as I crossed the bridge. It was market day; 
 the country folk were jogging in from all parts 
 in their green-tilted carts laden with produce; the 
 ladies of the town were hurrying to and fro with 
 their white-capped bonnes, intent on their marketing; 
 all the town was alive and humming merrily. But 
 my heart was chill with the fear of I knew not 
 what, and I shivered in spite of the sun. 
 
 As I passed along the colonnade of the Square I 
 caught sight of Raoul and the Cur6 again. They 
 were sitting at a table in one of the cafes, close to 
 the window, with wine in front of them. Raoul was 
 smoking a cigarette, with his eyes fixed on M. Le- 
 sieur, who was talking earnestly to him. They were 
 too much occupied to see me and I passed on to the 
 hotel. I ordered a private room and told the waiter 
 to set covers for three and we would take what the 
 house could give us when my friends arrived. 
 
 But they were long of coming, very long of com- 
 ing. Ah, me ! Yes truly, very long of coming. 
 
 But at last, after two hours of impatience, during 
 which I walked at least eight miles of well waxed 
 wood floor and got to know the peculiarities of 
 every plank therein, there came a tap at the door 
 and George came in — alone. 
 
 Stay, was it George? I hardly knew him. His 
 face was ghastly white, his eyes red all round, like 
 the eyes of a bloodhound — like old Bar's eyes, but 
 burning with furious fire inside. He stood and 
 looked at me and I at him for a moment. He was 
 so very unlike the George I had hitherto known. 
 
 "You have come," he said hoarsely at last. 
 
 "I have come at the first moment I heard I was 
 wanted, George. Where is Jean?" 
 
 [125] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 He dropped into the nearest chair by the table. 
 His eye glanced at the three covers. 
 
 "You have not heard?" he gasped. 
 
 "I have heard nothing. Tell me quick." 
 
 For answer he flung his arms out over the table, 
 never heeding what was on it, and dropped his head 
 upon them, helmet and all, and sobbed in a fury of 
 heart-break that dims my eyes when I think of it 
 after all these years. 
 
 It was agonizing to witness and to lack the knowl- 
 edge of what it all meant. 
 
 "George," I said, shaking him roughly by the 
 shoulder, "tell me at once what is the matter. Do 
 you hear? Tell me." 
 
 He shook and choked with his sobs so that he 
 could hardly draw breath. I was prepared for the 
 worst, the very worst, before he gasped, in a hoarse 
 and broken voice, 
 
 "He is dead. They shot him this morning. Oh, 
 the devils, the devils, the devils ! May God's curse 
 blight them forever and evermore!" 
 
 Jean dead ! — shot this morning ! 
 
 I sat down in my misery and stared dumbly at 
 the shaking figure in front of me. 
 
 Jean, our Jean — dead ! — shot this morning ! 
 
 I thought of the dear ones at Kerhuel and my 
 heart lay within me like a lump of frozen ashes. 
 
 How long we sat so I know not. Years of misery 
 it seemed, and then the waiter came in to ask if he 
 should bring up breakfast. 
 
 He retired hastily at the hoarse "AUez ! " I fired 
 at him. Then I got up and locked the door. 
 
 Marie,- — and his mother ! My God ! How tell them 
 this awful thing that had come upon us ? 
 
 I sat again in dull, stupid horror. I was roused 
 [126] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 by the crash of George's helmet as he flung it into a 
 corner. He pitched his sabre into another corner 
 and wrenched open his tunic — all in quick spasmodic 
 jerks which told of jangled nerves and loosened grip. 
 
 A crushing blow contains anaesthetic qualities for 
 the mind as for the body. The pain comes with the 
 awakening. 
 
 While yet my mind was numb with the blow, I had 
 the hardihood to drag the story out of George, bit 
 by bit, till I thought I understood the whole, — the 
 whole, at all events, of the bare, tragic, surface facts. 
 
 For him it was like the probe searching round a 
 raw wound. The nerves were tender and shrank be- 
 neath my touch. But my feelings were still dulled 
 and I questioned him relentlessly. He angered under 
 the process, but not with me, — with the maker of 
 the wound. 
 
 This is what he told me, as nearly as possible in 
 his own words, though it came out in disconnected 
 jerks, — now a furious outbreak, molten lava out of 
 a volcano, now a single word, and many bitter 
 curses. 
 
 "The very day I arrived here," he said, "that 
 devil Raoul arrived also. He had got his step and 
 been transferred as Captain to our regiment. No, 
 that was Fate. He could not possibly have ar- 
 ranged it so. He is a devil, but he shall not escape. 
 From the very first he set himself to make us as 
 uncomfortable as he possibly could. Before God I 
 believe now he did it to bring about the very thing 
 that has happened. Why? Well, because he hated 
 the very name of Kerhuel. He wanted to marry 
 Marie, as you must know. M. le Cure desired it 
 also. But Maman and Marie would have none of 
 him. He tried very hard when they returned from 
 
 [127] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Poitou for permission to pay his addresses to her. 
 Marie at last told him she hated the very sight of 
 him. Maman bade him trouble them no more. She 
 told him she would sooner see Marie dead than 
 married to him, and that ended it. I thought they 
 were wrong. So did Godefroi. M. le Cur6 was much 
 put out. It made trouble at home. And when Raoul 
 came here we knew it would make trouble here. 
 Jean never ceased to urge upon me to keep myself 
 in check and quietly put up with any and every 
 annoyance and insult, since only worse could 
 come of resenting it. For himself, he said, he 
 was case-hardened and could stand anjrthing. 
 We had much to put up with. That conceited lit- 
 tle devil seemed to single us out for punishment 
 on every possible and impossible pretext. The 
 more we put up with the worse he got, till things 
 became almost unbearable. Understand, the others 
 suffered also, for he is an insufferable little mar- 
 tinet in his way. Not a man but hated him 
 worse than death. But we two suffered most. We 
 hated him most and we showed it least. Before 
 God, I tell you, Charles, we did our very best to do 
 our duty. But it was punishment, punishment, pun- 
 ishment all the time, week in, week out, night and 
 day. I was on forage fatigue last Monday morning. 
 It is terribly hard work to one who is not strong 
 enough for it. I did my best, but it was too much 
 for me. I was nearly broken in two. My load fell. 
 It was impossible. Raoul stood by enjojring it. 
 Jean was watching too, as he always did, to help 
 me all he could. He came forward to give me a 
 hand. Raoul ordered him away and bade two of 
 the others pile the load on my back again. I fell 
 under it. Raoul laughed, and swore at me for an 
 
 [128] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 imbecile. Sergeant Lebeau, who had charge of our 
 squad, said I could carry it if I chose. I was sulky, 
 he said, and was always trying to shirk. God knows 
 it was not true. I have done my best. Raoul de- 
 clared I should carry that load if it broke my back. 
 I was afraid to look at Jean. I tried again till my 
 heart felt like bursting. I fell again, and Raoul re- 
 garded it as a great joke. 'It will break the Ker- 
 huel spirit if it doesn't break the Kerhuel back,' he 
 said. And the next minute it was all done. Raoul 
 was on his back on the ground with Jean blazing 
 over him. My God ! that was the end. They shot 
 him before us all this morning. Did I say the end ? 
 It was Raoul de Querhoal murdered him. I will 
 
 never rest till I have his blood. Why 
 
 did you not come, Charles ? He begged me to send 
 for you. He wished to see you once more." 
 
 "I never got your letter," I said. "It was sent 
 on to England and I had left the day before. Your 
 telegram to Godefroi was the first intimation I had 
 of anything being wrong." 
 
 "Mon dieu ! Mon dieu ! Who will tell our mother 
 and Marie?" and he got up and paced the room 
 Uke a caged beast. 
 
 He was standing for a moment gazing vaguely 
 out of the window into the street when I heard in 
 a hoarse whisper : 
 
 "Mon dieu! Mon dieu!" and I saw him stiffen 
 suddenly. "Sacre nom de diable !" and he bent for- 
 ward and glared out of the window in an attitude 
 and with something of a look in him that stirred 
 vague recollections in my mind. 
 
 I knew what I should see when I reached his side. 
 Perhaps I did not sound the full depths of his 
 thoughts. 
 
 9 [ 129 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 M. le Cure was coming down the street with Raoul. 
 It was quite likely he was stopping at the Hotel de 
 France. The strain which was on them when they 
 passed out of the barracks was no longer visible. 
 They had doubtless left it behind them at the cafe. 
 The Cure's face had resumed its jovial red. He 
 smiled at some remark which his companion passed 
 with a laugh. I heard George's teeth grinding at 
 my side, and curses hissing in his lips. It seemed as 
 though the intensity and venom of his gaze struck 
 the priest like a blow. He glanced up and round, 
 as one looks when struck by a missile. And his 
 eyes and George's met. What passed in that glance, 
 — some of what passed, and passed in more senses 
 than one, — I have since imagined, but at most only 
 in part. 
 
 M. le Cure's face, however, lengthened into sudden 
 seriousness, and he drew slightly apart from Raoul. 
 They passed out of sight below us. George con- 
 tinued to glare through the window as though he 
 saw them still. Doubtless he saw much, and in- 
 wardly much more. But even he could not see all. 
 
 Presently, as I anticipated, there came a tap at 
 the door. 
 
 "Shall I admit him?" I said. 
 
 "No," he snapped. 
 
 I unlocked the door and confronted the priest. 
 
 " Ah ! M. Glyn ! It is good of you to have come 
 to comfort us in this trying time," he said, in the 
 most sympathetic of tones, and made as though to 
 pass in. 
 
 "You cannot enter, M. le Curfe," I said. "George 
 desires to see no one." 
 
 " Of course, of course. I understand. But he will 
 see me." 
 
 [130] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I think not." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense. Who should administer consola- 
 tion to him better than myself? Permit me, Mon- 
 sieur." 
 
 Without resort to physical force I could not have 
 kept him out. He pushed past me and entered the 
 room. 
 
 "My poor boy — " he began, as he went forward 
 to George. 
 
 "Get out!" — a voice? — George's voice? A wild 
 beast snarl rather. 
 
 "My poor George " 
 
 "Damn you! Get out! Go back to your mur- 
 derer down below." 
 
 The Cure's face was white enough now, — approach- 
 ing the color of Raoul's when he left the barracks. 
 
 "George! — " he began once more. 
 
 ' ' Will you go ? Nom-de-dieu I Where is my sword ? 
 I will hack you in pieces." 
 
 He sprang for his sword and dragged it rattling 
 out of its sheath, but before it was clear the Cure 
 was out of the room, and I locked the door again. 
 
 George flung sword and scabbard in a jangling 
 heap to the floor and sat down at the table with 
 his head in his hands. For a full hour he neither 
 moved nor spoke. At intervals a shuddering sigh 
 broke from him. And so I sat and watched the dis- 
 solution of a man's whole moral nature, — a sight I 
 never wish to see again. 
 
 In that short hour — in that hour as a climax to 
 the rest, at all events — every feeling and fibre of his 
 soul made a complete volte face. Every hope and 
 aspiration died within him. Nay, I am wrong, the 
 hopes and aspirations he had still, but they had 
 swung round like a warped compass to a false pole. 
 
 [131] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 His soul died within him and he sold the dead thing 
 to the devil. And I ? Yes, I knew it, and I had no 
 comfort for him. It was infinitely past all words. 
 And my own heart was filled with rage and fury 
 equal to his own. He must have known it, for when 
 at last he lifted up his twisted face it was to say in 
 a hoarse whisper, — 
 
 "Promise me you will not touch him?" 
 
 I looked back at him. No need to ask whom. 
 
 "He is mine," he said. "I will have him. If you 
 come between us I will kill you." 
 
 I do not know what kind of leave George had that 
 day, but he remained with me till the call rang out 
 in the Square, and before the trumpeters reached 
 the hotel we were on our way to barracks. He had 
 spoken very little during the latter part of the day, 
 but the privacy of the room where his humor could 
 give free rein to its grief and hate was what he 
 needed most. We ate, but for myself it all tasted 
 like ashes, and the wine that washed it down was 
 the more acceptable faring. 
 
 When we reached the barrack gate he wrung my 
 hand with a nervous clinging grip, as though he 
 were not quite sure what would become of him when 
 he loosed it. 
 
 "Go home, Charles," he said, still holding my 
 hand, "and marry Marie. He greatly desired it." 
 
 "I am going to, George," I said. 
 
 "And remember, — he is mine and you are not to 
 interfere." 
 
 "Promise me, at all events, that you won't do 
 anything rash. Remember Marie and your mother." 
 
 "I promise you I won't do anything rash," he 
 said, and turned and went down the tunnel. 
 
 And as I went slowly and sadly back to the hotel 
 [132] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 I could not help thinking that any insurance com- 
 pany which, with a knowledge of the facts of the 
 case, would guarantee one centime on the life of 
 Captain Raoul de Querhoal, over and above the 
 amount of any premium he might pay, would be 
 embarking on an exceedingly hazardous specula- 
 tion. 
 
 [133] 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 And now I had before me surely, as hard and 
 painful a task as ever was imposed upon a man. 
 
 As I travelled slowly homewards the slow train 
 seemed to fly at express speed, and for once as I 
 journeyed towards Kerhuel my heart lagged behind 
 my body. 
 
 How to tell that terrible story without breaking 
 their hearts I knew not, and I racked my brain to 
 little purpose to the endless rhythm of the clanking 
 wheels. 
 
 "Jean is dead. Jean is dead. Jean is dead," 
 groaned the wheels. "Break their hearts. Break 
 their hearts. Break their hearts." 
 
 And I was no nearer the solution of my difiiculties 
 when I dropped from the diligence at Dinan than I 
 had been when I wrung George's hand at the bar- 
 rack gates at Quercy. Except, indeed, that I had 
 decided to take my mother's opinion as to how to 
 do what I had to do. In such matters a woman's 
 heart is worth ten men's heads. 
 
 No doubt I looked woebegone and wretched 
 enough, for I had suffered much and had had next 
 to no sleep for three days. The moment my mother 
 set eyes on me she cried out and drew me swiftly 
 into the room and shut the door. 
 
 "My boy, what is it?" she cried. And I told her 
 the whole dreadful story. 
 
 "My poor Anna ! Oh, my poor, poor Anna !" she 
 [134] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 cried. "And our dear Marie. It is very terrible, 
 Charles." 
 
 " I do not know how to tell them, Mother. It will 
 break their hearts." 
 
 "It has got to be told, my dear, and the sooner 
 the better. They are in a state of very great anx- 
 iety. Marie was here yesterday. You must eat, 
 and then we will go to them at once." 
 
 I was trying in vain to find some taste in the 
 things she set before me, when, after much pondering, 
 she suddenly burst out, somewhat inconsequently as 
 it seemed to me, — 
 
 "Charles, I see the priest in all this." 
 
 But I shook my head. In the general upsetting 
 of my thoughts the same idea had occurred to me, 
 but it was too terrible, and I had refused to give it 
 place. I was not surprised at her remark, however, 
 for I knew her detestation of M. le Cur6 and all his 
 kind. 
 
 Eastern rulers used to shear off the heads of the 
 bearers of evil tidings, and the commission to carry 
 such news was equivalent to a sentence of death. I 
 felt in very similar case as we drove between the 
 long lines of funereal poplars to Kerhuel that bright 
 spring morning. 
 
 Marie saw us from afar and she was waiting at 
 the door when we drove up. There was a light of 
 welcome in her eyes, but in manner she was nervous 
 and depressed as I had never seen her before. She 
 had already gathered from our faces, and perhaps 
 from the fact of my mother's presence, that we 
 brought bad news. 
 
 "Dear child!" said my mother tenderly, as she 
 embraced her. "Take me to your mother, Marie." 
 
 "Is it Jean?" asked Marie, in a whisper. 
 [135] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Yes, dear, it is Jean. He is gone. You must do 
 your best to comfort your mother." 
 
 "Come!" said Marie quietly. "Poor Mother!" 
 and led the way into the room. 
 
 "Anna, my dear, dear friend, I bring you the 
 saddest of news — " I heard my mother say. Then 
 Marie caught me by the hand and drew me along 
 the passage to a smaller room at the back, which 
 looked out over the garden and the fields. 
 
 "Tell me all, Charles, — all," she said, and sank 
 weeping into a chair. 
 
 And holding her hand in mine I told her the whole 
 sad story. And the fluttering starts and twitches of 
 the docile little hand told me how her tender heart 
 was wounded at the telling. She bore it bravely, 
 however, and her chief thought was all for her mother. 
 
 "We will go in presently when the first bitterness 
 of it is over," she said. "For the moment she is 
 better alone with her grief, and your mother, and 
 God." 
 
 She was silent for a time and I did not dare break 
 in on the sacredness of her sorrow. 
 
 "I have feared the very worst from the moment 
 you went," she said presently. "And I knew it must 
 be Jean because the telegram came from George. 
 But I only thought of some accident. I could not 
 dream of such horror as this." 
 
 "It is very terrible, dearest, but, remember, he died 
 for interposing on his brother's behalf. He tried 
 to shield one weaker than himself and it has cost 
 him his life." 
 
 "Yes. I thank you. I will remember. My poor, 
 dear Jean. And George " she asked. 
 
 "It has twisted George's soul. It has changed 
 
 him completely. M. le Curfe came into our room " 
 
 [136] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "M. le Cure?" she said in surprise. "Was he 
 there? What was he doing there?" 
 
 "He came to the hotel with Raoul de Quer- 
 hoal." 
 
 "With Raoul?" she cried again. 
 
 "They were walking along the street when M. le 
 Cure happened to look up and saw George staring 
 out of the window, and he insisted on coming into 
 the room." 
 
 "And George?" 
 
 "George ordered him out, and when M. le Curfe 
 persisted in stopping he took his sword and threat- 
 ened to cut him down. I think he would have done 
 it if the Curfe had not fled." 
 
 "That is right," she said quietly. "I am glad his 
 eyes are opened." 
 
 And thereupon she fell to painful musing, with 
 knitted brows and tense pale face. 
 
 "We will go to my mother," she said at last, and 
 rose and led the way. 
 
 Madame received us with a silent clasp of the 
 hand. Her face was swollen with weeping and full 
 of the bitterest grief. Marie threw her arms round 
 her neck and broke into choking sobs. My mother 
 drew me away to the window at the far end of the 
 room. 
 
 "Does Godefroi know?" she whispered. 
 
 "I have not seen him." 
 
 "You had better slip out now and tell him. Marie 
 and her mother will be better alone for a time." 
 
 I went quietly out through the door near us and 
 found my way to Godefroi's room. 
 
 " Ah, M. Charles ? You have got back. What was 
 the trouble?" 
 
 I told him, in even greater detail than I had given 
 [137] 
 
FLO WERS OF THE DUST 
 
 to Marie and my mother, and left him to form his 
 own judgment. 
 
 He was amazed and horrified beyond possibiUty 
 of speech for a time. 
 
 "Curse this illness!" he broke out at last. "I 
 cannot stand or I would seek Querhoal and force 
 him to fight," and he glared at me as though ask- 
 ing why I had not already done so. "George cannot 
 fight him," he said. "His service bars him; but I 
 was exempt and I am free. I will horsewhip him 
 till he cannot help but fight." 
 
 "George's last words to me were — 'Remember, he 
 is mine.' Before that he had told me that if I in- 
 terfered between him and Querhoal he would cer- 
 tainly kill me too." 
 
 "Ah! bien ! Then he understands." And he lay 
 back in grim satisfaction. 
 
 "All the same," he said presently, "I do not see 
 what he can do. He cannot possibly fight him." 
 
 I left him puzzling over this point and returned 
 to the sitting-room. The three ladies were talking 
 together quietly and brokenly. 
 
 "You too have suffered, my dear Charles," said 
 Madame sadly, as she looked at me. "It was a 
 terrible errand we sent you on. But we did not 
 know." 
 
 "I loved him very dearly," I said. "He begged 
 George to send for me. But the letter went on to 
 England and missed me. I do not know what I 
 could have done if I had been there, dear Madame, 
 but I would have done anything to save him." 
 
 "Yes, I know it," said Madame quietly. 
 
 We stopped all that saddest of days at Kerhuel, 
 ministering such consolation as our friendly presence 
 might, for in face of so dire and final a calamity 
 
 [138] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 words were a mockery. And in the evening we went 
 sadly home, suffering much at thought of the broken 
 hearts we left behind. 
 
 It was a very quiet holiday I spent that Easter. 
 And yet the sorrowful time was shot with gleams of 
 gold. 
 
 While Madame de Kerhuel was still burdened with 
 her sorrow I could not with decency beg her to con- 
 firm my happiness by her formal consent to the be- 
 trothal of Marie and myself. But in spite of our 
 own deep grief we two found much quiet joy in one 
 another's company. Perhaps our happiness was 
 even deepened by its sorrowful setting. 
 
 I stayed a week beyond the beginning of the 
 term, and found it very hard to have to go even 
 then. 
 
 As I was bidding Marie and her mother good-by 
 on the last evening, Madame held my hand as though 
 loath to let me go, as though after what she had 
 just passed through, she feared even this brief part- 
 ing with a friend. Almost before I knew it the 
 words were out of my mouth, — 
 
 "Dear Madame, will you take me for a son in 
 place of him we have lost? Marie is dearer to me 
 than my life." 
 
 She drew me to her and kissed me on the cheek. 
 
 "Yes," she said very quietly. "I am glad. There 
 is no one to whom I would so gladly trust her. 
 May the good God keep you both and give you 
 every happiness!" 
 
 And so the crown of my life came to me, — through 
 no merits of my own, but through sorrow and 
 trouble and bitter loss, and the shedding of inno- 
 cent blood. But as yet I was only heir apparent. 
 Before the crown was on my brow many strange 
 
 [139] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 things were to happen and there was much to be 
 endured. For we stood on the edge of the volcano, 
 and the strange hidden forces had long been at 
 work, making slowly and surely for the great catas- 
 trophe. 
 
 [14«] 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 I WENT back to my work in London in the com- 
 forting hope that after so bitter a time of trouble 
 the proverbial calm would follow. We had paid 
 tribute to Fortune, surely we might now hope for 
 recompense to the extent of a peaceful permission to 
 work out our destinies with no undue harassments. 
 Our eyes eagerly sought primroses on the path and 
 found and rejoiced in them. But the path is a 
 crooked one at best, and full of turnings, and at 
 times every turning holds and hides its own sur- 
 prise. So it was for us in our small way, and so it 
 was for much greater personages than we. For it 
 was a time of convulsion, a time of downsetting and 
 uprising in high places, with all the concomitant 
 suffering in the smaller places, a time of blood and 
 horror. And the Mighty Wheel was already begin- 
 ning to turn. 
 
 I made a point of writing as cheery a letter to 
 George every week as I could possibly put together, 
 and I never ceased to urge upon him the duty he 
 owed his mother and sister of keeping himself well in 
 hand lest their lives should be still further burdened. 
 I heard from him pretty regularly in reply, and re- 
 ceived with much thankfulness the news that since 
 Jean's death his lot had been less rigorous. Whether 
 Raoul de Querhoal had been somewhat overcome 
 with the result of his previous bullying, or whether 
 he feared that a continuance of it might drive George 
 to some desperate act in which he himself might pay 
 
 [141] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 the final penalty, George could not say. But it was 
 certain that, as regarded himself, Raoul kept at 
 a distance,— " The others, however," said George, 
 "are having a devil of a time of it." With the 
 others I had no personal concern. It was enough 
 for me to know that George himself was getting on 
 better, and not being, at the moment at all events, 
 hounded to death as Jean had been. 
 
 I was grinding away at my books one afternoon in 
 my gloomy rooms in Grafton Street. It was hot and 
 dusty outside. It was hot and grimy inside, in spite 
 of a light and airy costume and a window as wide 
 open as its sagged sash would permit. I heard a 
 watering cart rumble splashing along the street. I 
 could smell the mixed odors of the dust its passage 
 raised. Then a small boy tore past with an early 
 evening paper. He was yelling at the top of his rau- 
 cous little pipe, and something in the accents of his 
 unknown tongue sent me flying to the window, and 
 then into coat and waistcoat and down into the 
 street. The boy had gone like a fiery cross to rouse 
 the inhabitants of the West. I captured another and 
 eagerly scanned the paper. 
 
 For days past the political atmosphere had been in 
 a state of electric suspense. The financial pulse and 
 nerves had had a bad attack of flutters. There had 
 been a wild panic on the Stock Exchange. But we 
 said to ourselves that war between France and 
 Germany on so flimsy a pretext as the offer of the 
 Spanish crown to Leopold of Hohenzollern was im- 
 possible. And besides, Leopold had behaved ex- 
 tremely well and had refused it. What more could 
 the Emperor want ? Poor old fellow ! How little he 
 knew, and how much less any one else knew ! 
 
 We may take it, I suppose now, that all he wanted 
 [142] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 was to sit as quietly in his uncomfortable chair as 
 his tortured body would permit him. But his chair 
 was in the crater, and, whatever else he did not 
 know, he knew that the crust was terribly thin and 
 that the fires beneath were raging furiously. He 
 could feel them in his thin dress shoes even through 
 the polished floors of St. Cloud and the Tuileries. 
 The fires must be drawn if there was not to be an 
 explosion. There was only one way. Poke a hole 
 through the side of the crater — the side towards 
 Prussia — and let the hot lava run into the Rhine. 
 
 It was the 16th of July, 1870, and the paper I 
 held, under the terse and fateful heading "WAR," 
 said: 
 
 "The die is cast. The two most powerful armies 
 of modem times are rapidly arrajring themselves 
 against each other. The eventful result is beyond 
 all power of prophecy." 
 
 I was still staring doubtingly at the paper, and 
 reading the words over and over again, when a big 
 hand smote me on the back and a cheery voice cried 
 in my ear: "Well, old man, when do we start?" 
 
 "Start for where?" I asked, recognizing in voice 
 and hand the greeting of the closest friend I had 
 made in the schools, Hugh Myrtle. 
 
 How well I remember his first appearance in the 
 operating room. I was fairly case-hardened, but the 
 subject that day was peculiarly ghastly, and trying 
 even to the more experienced nerves. The dark- 
 haired new-comer's bright, eager face had attracted 
 me as soon as I set eyes on it. He was short and 
 sturdy, his eyes were fixed intently on the table, his 
 jaw was set with great determination. He stood 
 next to me and I saw the color ebb out of his 
 cheeks. I saw his lips whiten and felt him shiver. I 
 
 [143] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 slipped my arm through his and round his back, and 
 whispered, "She does not feel it and it may save her 
 life." He gave me a quick, grateful glance, and then 
 suddenly all his weight was on my arm. I held him 
 quietly — he was not the first I had held so — and 
 presently he came to and stood on his own legs. I 
 lost some of the demonstration, but found a friend, 
 and we had been friends ever since. His parents 
 lived in Sumatra and he was going back there when 
 he had taken his degrees. He had large, flexible 
 hands, and in course of time became unusually 
 skilful with the knife. He had also a ready pen and 
 contributed to a number of journals, medical and 
 otherwise, chiefly however from love of the work, for 
 his folks were wealthy. He was possessed of a cheer- 
 ful and lively disposition, and soon had hosts of 
 friends. 
 
 "There's only one place that holds any attraction 
 for you and me, Glyn, and that's where the fighting's 
 going to be," he said briskly. 
 
 "That so?" 
 
 "Of course. Where the carcasses are there will 
 go-ahead medicals be gathered together. The word 
 translated ' eagle' means in the original ' a picker at 
 dead bodies.' " 
 
 "Really? How learned we've become all of a sud- 
 den. And where do you intend to strike for?" 
 
 "We can be in Paris by to-morrow morning and 
 work up to the front behind the troops. There'll be 
 no lack of subjects, my boy." 
 
 "You little ghoul. You dream subjects, I believe." 
 
 "I do sometimes. I've done some marvellous 
 things in dreams. Things that would make old 
 M.'s eyes drop right out." 
 
 "And the subjects?" 
 
 [144.] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Oh, well, I generally woke. Say, you'll have 
 sunstroke if you stop here much longer without a 
 hat. Then I'll have to take you in hand. I 
 should " 
 
 "No, thanks, I'll go in and save you the trouble. 
 Coming up?" 
 
 "Of course. That's what I came for. Got a rail- 
 way guide inside?" 
 
 "Yes, I've got a guide. But my way won't lie 
 towards Paris. Not first, at all events." 
 
 "Oh, come, Glyn ! You're not going to chuck 
 me." 
 
 "Not a bit, my boy. But I'm more concerned 
 for the living than for the future dead at present. 
 My mother is in Brittany, you know. And I have 
 other friends there too." 
 
 "I see. Is she in Brittany too?" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Why — She. The nearer one still and the dearer 
 one yet than aU other." 
 
 "Yes, she's in Brittany." 
 
 "Oh, well, Brittany's as safe as a pump. The 
 fighting will be along the Rhine, — ^the other side of 
 it, most likely." 
 
 "All the same, I shall go over to Brittany first, 
 whatever I do afterwards." 
 
 "It's a deuce of a way round, but I don't mind 
 coming with you, just to take care of you. I'd like 
 to see your raother, Glyn. It's such a while since 
 I've seen my own that a sight of some one else's 
 will be better than nothing." 
 
 "All right, my boy. She'll make you very welcome. 
 But our habits are very simple. So don't expect 
 any of the eastern magnificence you revel in in 
 Sumatra." 
 
 10 [ 145 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I've an idea your mother will be very like my 
 own, that's why I want to see her." 
 
 "Then I congratulate you, my boy. A good 
 woman makes a difference in any man's life, two 
 make a still greater." 
 
 "I suppose so. I've only got as far as one yet. 
 No doubt the other will come some time. Pass that 
 tobacco, will you, please? It's a long way behind 
 what we get in Sumatra, but I'm getting used to it. 
 There'll be some hot work over there when they 
 come to grips, Charley. We'll get experience enough 
 for a lifetime." 
 
 "What's your idea, Myrtle? — To attach yourself to 
 an ambulance or go on your own hook?" 
 
 "Oh, on my own hook, of course. I want to see 
 as much as I possibly can see. It's the chance of a 
 lifetime. They're always short-handed, you know, 
 and they'll be glad of help when the rush comes." 
 
 We were off by that night's boat, and were in 
 Dinan before second breakfast next morning. 
 
 My mother was delighted to see us. Her delight 
 was tempered, however, when we explained our in- 
 tentions, but she made no attempt to divert us 
 from our plans. My friend had been charmed with 
 St. Malo — with the distant view of it, at all events. 
 Closer acquaintance with its narrow, none too 
 sweet streets, as we sought coffee and rolls at the 
 Franklin, subdued his exuberance somewhat. But 
 the sail up the Ranee and the rustic antiquity of 
 Dinan revived his delight to the full. He and my 
 mother proved mutually satisfactory to one an- 
 other, and I left them together to consolidate their 
 friendship while I walked over to Kerhuel to see 
 Marie and her mother. 
 
 It was more than three months since I had seen 
 [146] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 them. My heart swelled till it felt too large for its 
 casing at the glad welcome that shone from Ma- 
 rie's great dark eyes when she saw me. 
 
 They were sitting in the small room at the back, 
 looking out on the garden and the fields and 
 woods. I got into the house without their know- 
 ing it, and with a tap on the door went in. 
 
 Marie sprang up and at me with a delighted, 
 "Charles!" and Madame's welcome, if more sub- 
 dued, was none the less cordial. 
 
 "And what has brought you here, Charles?" 
 asked Marie. 
 
 "You," I said, as she settled herself again on a 
 footstool at her mother's feet. 
 
 " Of course. I wonder that did not strike me. 
 But have you been turned out of the college and 
 the hospital? This isn't vacation." 
 
 " No, I've come over with a friend. We're going to 
 the front, if they'll let us, to render what assistance 
 we can, — ^to the wounded, of course, I mean." 
 
 "Ah me! the war!" said Madame, with a little 
 shiver. "Is it quite certain, Charles? Will Prussia 
 dare to fight France ? Is there no hope of her back- 
 ing out at the last moment?" 
 
 "I fear not, dear Madame. I fear this is one of 
 the wars that has to be. The pretext is flimsy and 
 stupid and utterly inadequate. The actual causes 
 go very much deeper. Prussia has grown too big 
 and too fast for France's equanimity. Do you know 
 our dear Jean foresaw all this long since " 
 
 "Jean?" exclaimed Marie. 
 
 "Yes, he told me it would have to come to this, 
 that first time I went to Quercy." 
 
 "My poor boy!" said Madame, and I saw that 
 her loss was still heavy on her. The signs of suffer- 
 
 r. 147 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 ing were very visible. There were more gray hairs 
 among the black, and her face was thinner and 
 sadder than ever I had seen it, and she confessed 
 that she had not been feeling up to the mark for 
 some time past. I could imagine, too, how this 
 new turn of events would bring new anxieties on 
 George's account. 
 
 I inquired for the latest news concerning him. 
 
 "We had a letter this morning," said Marie; "just 
 a few lines saying he was well, and they were all 
 looking forward to the war as a change for the 
 better. He is at Chalons. His regiment was ordered 
 there a week ago." 
 
 "I have given up all hope of ever seeing him 
 again, Charles," said Madame quietly, and Marie 
 patted the hand she held against her cheek. 
 
 "Oh, but there is no need for that," I assured 
 her. "There will be hard fighting, no doubt, but 
 every one is not going to be killed, and George has 
 as good a chance as any of them. He might go 
 through the whole campaign without a scratch " 
 
 "Impossible," said Madame, with conviction. 
 
 "Or he might be wounded in the first encounter 
 and invalided home for you to nurse," I went on. 
 
 " It is too good to hope for," said Madame. "He 
 will, I fear, be killed in the very first battle, and 
 only you two will be left to me," and Marie gently 
 kissed the hand she held. 
 
 "How is M. Grandpapa in Poitou?" I asked, by 
 way of diversion. 
 
 But this was no happier a subject. "He is alive," 
 she said, with a shake of the head, "but not much 
 more. Sorrows are multiplied all round." 
 
 "You don't think the Prussians will ever get here, 
 do you, Charles?" asked Marie. 
 
 [148] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "No, I don't see what would bring them round here, 
 even if they could get here, which is not at all likely." 
 
 "They haven't any fleet, have they? They won't 
 come steaming up the Ranee and blow us all to 
 pieces?" 
 
 " Compared with France they have no fleet at all. 
 So you need have no fears, my dear. All the fight- 
 ing will be on land, and far enough away from 
 Brittany." 
 
 "How will it all end?" said Marie. 
 
 "Ah, now you are getting beyond my depth. The 
 end is beyond any man's telling." 
 
 "M. Renel was here yesterday," said Marie, "and 
 he says France will reap as she has sown." 
 
 "Meaning !" 
 
 "She has sown the wind. The harvest is the 
 whirlwind. M. le Pasteur was not too encouraging 
 for once." 
 
 "And what does M. le Cure say?" 
 
 "M. le Curfe? M. le Curfe has not been here 
 since " And I understood. 
 
 "Bring your friend to-morrow, Charles," she said 
 presently. "I would like to see if he is the kind of 
 young man I can safely trust you with." 
 
 "He is a capital fellow, as straight as a die, and 
 very quick and clever at amputations and such 
 things." 
 
 "Horrible! I don't think I shall like him." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you will. It is better to cut off a man's 
 arm or leg than let him die with it on, and it is 
 better to be quick than to be slow. We are looking 
 forward to a lot of experience at the front." 
 
 "Horrible!" she said again. "As Charles Glyn I 
 like you. As the cutter-off of men's arms and legs 
 — non!" with a very decided shake of the head. 
 
 [149] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 We all went out on the morrow. Marie approved 
 of Myrtle. She found something in his honest eyes 
 and dark complexion and sturdy shape that re- 
 minded her of Jean. I had often thought the same. 
 As for the impression she herself made on my friend, 
 Myrtle could not find words on our way home to 
 express what he felt. He naively confessed himself 
 over head and ears in love with her. 
 
 "My God, Glyn!" he said to me that night, "if 
 I could find any girl to care for me as Miss Marie 
 cares for you I'd go to hell for her." 
 
 "The expression is forcible," I said, "but extremely 
 silly. Girls like Marie de Kerhuel don't want you 
 to go to hell for them. Besides, there isn't another 
 like her." 
 
 "That's so," he said despondently. "But you 
 know what I mean." 
 
 "Yes, I know, and you'll find her in time, old 
 boy, without going so far as that." 
 
 Nevertheless the time came when I went to hell 
 for Marie de Kerhuel. 
 
 [150] 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 I CALLED that night on my old friend M. Rend, and 
 had a long chat with him as to the prospects of the 
 war, and more particularly as to our chances of be- 
 ing allowed to proceed to the front. As to the first, 
 the little Reformed pastor's mind was quite made 
 up. And if his conclusions were based rather on 
 ethical considerations than on military knowledge, 
 — and we were all, at that time, from Louis Napo- 
 leon himself down to M. Renel, wofully ignorant of 
 either our own or the enemy's resources,-^they had 
 at all events the merit of eventually proving ab- 
 solutely correct. 
 
 " The Germans fear God and live sound and clean," 
 said M. Renel didactically. "We — I mean as a na- 
 tion — do not, and we shall pay for it. Rottenness 
 has eaten into the bones of our national life and 
 the strongest side will win. There will be terrible 
 work, I fear, but I doubt they will be too stuck-up 
 and pig-headed to accept your assistance. I will 
 give you, M. Charles, a letter to my dear friend and 
 colleague in Paris, M. Jean Dellieu. It is possible 
 he may be able to help you. If he can he certainly 
 will." 
 
 And the following day, with M. Renel's letter in 
 my pocket, we two set off for Paris, en route for 
 the front, should Providence and the authorities 
 and M. Jean Dellieu enable us to get so far. 
 
 We found Paris suffering from delirium — delirium 
 tremens, Myrtle would have it, with a dash of hys- 
 
 [ 151 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 teria and symptoms of convulsions. He advised 
 bleeding as an alleviative, but that big job was not 
 for us. We sought out M. Jean Dellieu and found 
 him a capital fellow, — a M. Renel on a somewhat 
 larger scale. We explained our wishes, and he en- 
 tered into our views with enthusiasm, and set about 
 furthering them to the best of his powers. He was 
 a widower, and lived in a little flat in the Rue St. 
 Dominique, not far from the Invalides. He put a 
 bedroom at our disposal and begged us to make 
 his house our home till he had arranged our affairs 
 for us. The situation was fairly central, we wanted 
 to see all that was going on, and we accepted his 
 offer with gratitude. 
 
 The good M. Dellieu spent himself on our behalf, 
 and came home night after night with a tale of 
 constant rebuffs, but always with fresh plans and 
 new hopes for the morrow. 
 
 Meanwhile we wandered about among the excited 
 crowds, and saw much and wondered more. The 
 first day we had one or two narrow escapes from 
 being mobbed as Prussians. That night M. Dellieu 
 insisted on our buying a couple of disreputably ugly 
 hats of the style worn by the medical students of 
 Paris, and thus disguised we had no further troubles. 
 
 Night after night we sat smoking into the small 
 hours of the next day, relating our adventures and 
 discussing our chances with our genial host, who 
 seemed to find much enjoyment in us in spite of the 
 trouble we were putting him to, and which he in- 
 sisted on calling a pleasure. 
 
 It was on the fourth night that he came in with 
 somewhat tempered exuberance of delight. 
 
 "Enfin! My dear boys," he broke out, "I doubt 
 if we shall do much better than this. I can get you 
 
 [152] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 taken on as stretcher-bearers attached to an am- 
 bulance which leaves to-night to join the Third 
 Corps d'Armee under Bazaine somewhere in the 
 neighborhood of Metz. Metz is a base from which 
 important operations will certainly take place. 
 What say you ? It is not what I could have wished 
 for you, but it may offer chances." 
 
 We said "Yes!" with a shout of thanks. M. 
 Dellieu hurried out to complete the arrangement 
 and we turned to and completed ours, and before 
 midnight we had bid our friend in need good-by 
 and were grinding slowly eastward towards Chalons. 
 
 This is not a history of the Franco-German war, 
 but the story of Marie and George de Kerhuel as I 
 saw it and came in contact with it, and so I must 
 pass rapidly over the time that intervened till we 
 got back to Paris and to the strange happenings 
 which there befell us. 
 
 We saw much, Hugh Myrtle and I, up there in 
 Alsace, much more than we had expected to see, 
 very much more than we would either of us wish to 
 see again. We had gone for experience. We had our 
 fill. 
 
 Our ambulance was ordered straightway to the 
 front to join the 9th Division of Frossard's corps. 
 For two days we lay in the neighborhood of Saar- 
 briicken, where the first skirmish of the war had 
 just taken place and the Prince Imperial had received 
 that much derided "baptism of fire." Our camp was 
 on the Spicheren hills, overlooking a lovely expanse 
 of dale and wood and stream. On the third day a 
 flood of spiked helmets came pouring through Saar- 
 briicken and welled up the neighboring heights till all 
 that side of the country was blue. From the wooded 
 hills behind the big iron works at Stiring we watched 
 
 [153] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 the great fight on the Spicheren, and when, bit by- 
 bit, the Prussians broke down the French resist- 
 ance and we saw them come swarming triumphantly 
 up the mighty rock bastions of the Rote Berg, and 
 far and wide over the hills we heard the French 
 bugles wailing the retreat, and the uproar died away 
 into sullen desultory shots. Myrtle turned his intent 
 dark face to me and said, "If they can take that, 
 and in the face of such odds too, they can take any- 
 thing. Our friends are going to have a devil of a 
 time. Now let's go down and pick up the fragments." 
 
 Ah, — ^the fragments ! See one battle-field still hot 
 with blood and groaning with its awful burden of 
 broken men and horses, and the sights and sounds 
 of it will remain with you to your dying day. 
 
 We stumbled down the hill in the darkness and 
 made for the fires which had begun to glimmer 
 round the Rote Berg. The Prussian carriers were 
 already at work sifting grain from husks. A great 
 number of ladies and women from the neighboring 
 villages were assisting in the good work. Our am- 
 bulance had vanished with the rest of the French 
 army. Not a single French surgeon or bearer could 
 we see. 
 
 "Are we going to change sides, old man?" asked 
 Myrtle. 
 
 "No, we must stick to our own." 
 
 "Then we'd better go after it. Down that road, 
 that's the way our men went. Hang it!" he saidi 
 as the crash of musketry and the shouting broke 
 out along the road we had to go, "they're begin- 
 ning again." 
 
 " They're attacking the town there," I said. "We 
 must go round." 
 
 So we stumbled across the railway line, and forded 
 [154] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 a stream and got on to the open grotind again, and 
 gave the fighting a wide berth, and through the 
 fields came at last to the high road. There was no 
 question as to whether it was the right road. Every 
 second step we came upon some token of hasty 
 flight, — knapsacks, chassepSts, ammunition and pro- 
 vision wagons, a gun with one whole horse and 
 three broken ones, which had got this far and then 
 dropped down to die. We unharnessed the survivor 
 and he whinnied gratefully at sight of us, and showed 
 himself glad of our companionship even though it 
 entailed the carrying of a double load. 
 
 We had barely got started again when a wild 
 scurry of fugitives, — ^the remnant of the defence of the 
 town — caught us up and whirled us along in its 
 panting flight. They had no curiosity concerning us. 
 They had only one thought among the lot of them, 
 and that was to get on. They had no breath for 
 speech, but they managed somehow to curse. If 
 oaths could have struck sparks our dark road would 
 have been well lighted. Our horse went along at a 
 heavy trot. They laid shaking hands on his harness 
 and loped alongside. 
 
 Then one fell and lay. The rest took no notice, 
 but we could not leave him so. We drew rein and 
 dismounted. The others loosed themselves from us 
 with curses at our stoppage and went on. It was 
 sauve qui peut. We lifted the fallen man on to the 
 horse and slowly followed the retreating footsteps. 
 Presently we came across another body. Him too 
 we hoisted on to our steed and followed still more 
 slowly. There seemed no cavalry pursuit, and we 
 had no fear of being interfered with if there had been. 
 The Red Cross badges on our arms we knew would 
 keep us safe from molestation. 
 
 [155] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 One more wounded man we picked up, and went 
 along then at a walk, Myrtle leading the horse and 
 I steadying our cargo as well as I could, and it was 
 no easy job. 
 
 We tramped steadily on. Our wounded men 
 groaned now and again, but we could do nothing 
 for them in the dark. One of them I perceived, by 
 the feel of the three stripes of gold cord on his cuff, 
 was a captain, the others were privates. 
 
 We jogged on in this way for some three hours, 
 and then halted for a rest at a stream which 
 splashed down the bank and ran across the road. 
 We gave the horse a drink and took one ourselves, 
 and tried to get some into our unfortunates. The 
 officer drank and sat up somewhat dazedly, but 
 thereafter was able to support himself on the horse. 
 
 We resumed our journey and coming presently to 
 a dividing of the ways, halted again to decide which 
 one to take. Both seemed equally trodden by our 
 forerunners. We were still hesitating when our 
 officer spoke. 
 
 "Keep the higher road, Messieurs. That other 
 leads to St. Avoid. They will be there to-morrow. 
 We must get to Metz." 
 
 So we turned into the higher road and trudged 
 along. 
 
 As soon as day broke we sought a farm house 
 which stood back from the road, and unloaded our 
 wounded and propped them up by the door. A terri- 
 fied woman came out to our knocking and presently 
 gave us bread and milk and a mouthful of hay for 
 the horse, while three small, dark-eyed children peeped 
 at us from behind her skirts. 
 
 "Is it true. Monsieur, that the Prussians are 
 coming?" she asked tremulously. 
 
 [156] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I'm afraid they will come," I said. 
 
 "We heard the troops passing all night," she said. 
 "But it is incredible that we are beaten." 
 
 "Ij^is a change of front, that is all," said our 
 oiEcer, who was sitting on the ground with his back 
 against the house, munching bread and sipping 
 milk. And as he spoke I recognized him, limp and 
 dishevelled and all out of curl as he was. It was 
 M. Raoul de Querhoal. He must have caught the 
 spark of knowledge in my eye. He peered at me in 
 the half light but made no sign of recognition. 
 
 "Mon dieu ! mon dieu!" wailed the woman. "If 
 those monsters are coming we must go. And the 
 little ones — oh, mon dieu! mon dieu!" 
 
 "If you will take my advice, Madame," I said, 
 "you will stop where you are. There will be no 
 fighting round here, and the Prussians will not harm 
 a hair of your head or the children's. They are 
 fighting soldiers, not women and children." 
 
 "You believe it, Monsieur? Mon dieu! if I could 
 think so." 
 
 "I assure you. Yesterday the ladies from Saar- 
 briicken and all about were helping with the wounded 
 on the field, aind they had no fear of the Prussians. 
 You will suffer infinitely more by going." 
 
 "Dieu merci ! if Monsieur says so. You see, the 
 children are very small . The suffering would be theirs . ' ' 
 
 We got some milk down the throats of our other 
 wounded men, and as the light improved we set to 
 work to examine the damages. 
 
 The Captain had a bullet through the shoulder. 
 He was much bruised and had lost a good deal of 
 blood. It was a clean wound, however, and got 
 evidently at very short range. I said as much as I 
 hastily bound him up. 
 
 [157] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "We were only two squadrons," he said, "and 
 about as many of the line. When we saw it was all 
 up we charged and I got hit, and my horse went 
 down at the same moment. I doubt if another of 
 my men escaped." 
 
 One of the others was shot through the chest. We 
 could make but a cursory examination, but it seemed 
 a marvel he could ever have got as far as he had 
 done. We got a few drops of milk down his throat. 
 He sat up suddenly and coughed violently. Then 
 the blood gushed from his mouth and he fell forward, 
 — dead. 
 
 The other had the upper bone of the right arm 
 shattered. The arm would have to come off. But 
 we had no instruments and it had to wait. He was 
 in great pain, but we bound it to his chest to keep 
 it from joggling, and mounted him on the horse 
 with the Captain's arm round him to keep him from 
 falling, and set out again. The woman declined the 
 few sous I offered her. 
 
 "But no," she said. "It is for the country. And 
 you are quite sure it is safe to wait. Monsieur?" 
 
 "Quite sure," I said, and we bade her good-by 
 and left her. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when we trailed with 
 the other stragglers in the rear of Bazaine's troops 
 through the eastern camp into Metz. At de Quer- 
 hoal's request we sought out Headquarters and de- 
 livered him there. He thanked us politely for our 
 assistance but gave no sign of knowing me and I 
 was not sure whether he did or not. I saw no more 
 of him during my stay in Metz, and on inquiry 
 learned that he had, after one night's rest, continued 
 his journey towards Chalons or Paris. Then we took 
 our other man to hospital, and at last, with in- 
 
 [158] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 finite difficulty, for there was much confusion and the 
 place was overflowing with men, we found our own 
 ambulance and reported ourselves. 
 
 "Eh bien ! you did something, then," said our 
 surgeon-major; " but it was your duty to have kept 
 with us." 
 
 It was on the tip of my tongue to say that then 
 we should have done nothing more than the rest of 
 them, but I forebore. 
 
 For seven days we had rest, and nothing to do 
 but watch the troops and baggage trains pouring 
 through the town toward the west. Most of the 
 wounded had been left behind at Forbach or on the 
 roadsides on the way to Metz, and the hospitals had 
 at present more assistants than patients. 
 
 Twice during those days of doubt and expectancy 
 we saw the Emperor. The heavy face was careworn 
 and drooping. The attempt at impassivity seemed 
 to be maintained only by strong eflfort. 
 
 "He's badly hit, and if one can judge by the look 
 of his face I should say he was a very sick man," 
 was Myrtle's comment, and, with an Englishman's 
 weakness for the losing side, I could not but feel 
 profoundly sorry for the man whose world — a rotten 
 world, no doubt, still, all the world he had — was 
 crunibling to pieces all round him. 
 
 Then, one lovely afternoon, we heard heavy firing 
 to the east, out Colombey way. Frossard's division 
 went to join the fray and we were ordered to follow. 
 
 It was a great fight and we had our hands full. It 
 was quite dark before the fighting stopped, and our 
 troops poured back behind the shelter of the forts. 
 The Prussians drew off too and the field was clear 
 for the pickers-up of the fragments. All that night 
 and next day, until we were spent, we worked, sort- 
 
 [159] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 ing out and bringing in the shattered men, and 
 found place for them where we could. 
 
 "Mon dieu ! mon dieu ! mon dieu !" murmured our 
 Chief, as he and his assistants progressed slowly 
 along the line, cutting, sawing, probing, binding, 
 without pause. "Are there any whole men left 
 then?" 
 
 It was in the evening of that same day, as he 
 stood utterly worn out and panting against the 
 wall for a moment's rest, with his shirt sleeves 
 rolled up above the elbow and his arms all spattered 
 red, that Myrtle and I begged to be allowed to 
 assist. 
 
 " Thanks, thanks ! " he gasped, "but I cannot have 
 my boys mauled. You are willing, but you do not 
 know." 
 
 "Permit me. Monsieur le Major," I said, and 
 turned to the next case — a big dragoon with his 
 left leg smashed to pieces below the knee. A mo- 
 ment's examination showed that the leg must come 
 off at once. 
 
 " Chloroform, Myrtle," and I picked up the Chief's 
 own tools, and proceeded to fix on the tourniquet. 
 I had that leg off in record time and without a 
 single slip, and we had ligatured the arteries and 
 dressed the stump before the astounded surgeon 
 dared to interfere, for fear of spoiling the job. It 
 was the first live leg I had ever tackled, but I had 
 had plenty of practice with dead ones. But I was on 
 my mettle and I just pretended this was a dead one. 
 
 " Dieu-de-dieu ! " he exclaimed. "You are boys of 
 gold. Can he handle the tools also?" 
 
 "Better than I," I said. 
 
 ■^'And you have been carrying a stretcher. Nom- 
 de-dieu, what folly ! You will stop by me in future." 
 
 [ 160 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 So we got our grade, and we worked by Surgeon- 
 Major Cannot's side till the time came for us to 
 leave him. 
 
 Two days later came Mars-la-Tour, two days after 
 that Gravelotte, and it seemed to us, as it had 
 seemed to M. Cannot after Colombey, that there 
 could not be many whole men left. 
 
 We saw nothing of the fighting. The sound of it 
 indeed filled the air, and broken and very muddled 
 accounts of it — chiefly bearing on their own deeds of 
 prowess and the inadequacy of their officers — were 
 imparted to us by our patients, but every minute 
 of our time and every ounce of go that was in us 
 was taken up fighting away the grim spectre. For 
 endless trains of wounded poured in, from morning 
 to night and all night long, and never ceased com- 
 ing. 
 
 "My God, Glyn! This is an experience!" said 
 Myrtle one time, as we met for a moment over a 
 wasb-basin and worked the blood out of our finger- 
 nails in company. 
 
 "We came for experience, my boy, and we're get- 
 ting it." 
 
 "I'd like to have some of the men that brought 
 all this about with their noses tied to that table for 
 a couple of days," he said, jerking his head towards 
 the operation table, which an orderly was sluicing 
 down with a big red sponge. "In fact, I wouldn't 
 mind having some of them right on it. It would 
 bring matters home to them. It's all very well to 
 set the ball rolling and then ride away in a carriage 
 with a face Uke the devil, " 
 
 "I doubt if he could suffer much more, Hugh, even 
 if your knife was as blunt as mine is." 
 
 A few days previously we had seen the Emperor 
 11 [ 161 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 drive gloomily away amid scowling faces and mut- 
 tered curses — his own scapegoat. And again, and in 
 spite of all, as I watched him I felt profound pity 
 for the broken man. 
 
 For a month we lived and breathed wounded men. 
 They died on our hands in shoals in spite of all our 
 care and attention, for the supply of necessaries in 
 every shape and form was utterly inadequate to the 
 demands upon them, and our patients had perforce 
 to go short of very many things which would have 
 made for recovery. Our chief raged and raved, and 
 worked like a very Hercules, but he could not evolve 
 the things we lacked from his inner consciousness, 
 and the military authorities seemed to regard every 
 man who could not bear arms against the foe as a 
 useless pawn, out of the game and done with. 
 
 Then the wet weather came and we were flooded 
 with sodden unfortunates from the lower camps, and 
 gastric fever and typhus ran riot among us. Pyoe- 
 mia, blood-poisoning, also broke out in our wards, 
 and our men went out like snuffed candles. 
 
 The news of the disaster at Sedan reached us from 
 Thionville, but no one believed it. It was too ap- 
 palling. 
 
 It was confirmed, and Metz lost heart. Still Ba- 
 zaine tried again and again to break through the 
 German cordon. But he only packed our already 
 tight-packed hospitals the tighter. It was terribly 
 depressing work. The whole place stank like a pesti- 
 lence. The recollection of the provisioning gives me 
 an uncomfortable feeling inside even yet, but at the 
 time our thoughts were entirely for our sick, who 
 died in heaps from simple lack of the things that 
 would have kept them alive. We hated the idea of 
 leaving our work, ghastly as it was. And yet — and 
 
 [162] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 yet ! We had done more than enough. The Mar- 
 shal seemed to have succumbed to the prevalent 
 depression. The days and weeks passed and no more 
 attempts were made to break through. It looked as 
 though his mind was made up to wait quietly for 
 the bitter inevitable. Our wounded decreased, but 
 the sick increased incredibly. The tending of them 
 was a matter of routine, our special work seemed 
 over. We had done our very best for our friends 
 inside the doomed city. Our friends outside de- 
 manded our consideration as well. For over two 
 months I had had no word from Marie or my 
 mother. I had written many times, but could not be 
 sure that my letters ever reached their destination. 
 The feeUng of discomfort grew upon me — ^grew so 
 great at last that I broached the subject to Myrtle. 
 
 "I was only hanging on for you to say the word, 
 my boy," he said, with a sigh of relief. "I'm ready 
 to quit as soon as you like. How are we going to 
 get out?" 
 
 "We'll talk it over with old Cannot. I wouldn't 
 like him to feel as if we were leaving him in the 
 lurch." 
 
 So we broached the matter in confidence to our 
 Chief that very night, and at first he threw up his 
 hands in despair. 
 
 "But, my boys, however can I get on without 
 you? You are as two additional right hands to 
 me," he said. "These others" — ^with a shrug and 
 then a quick, — "No, no, they are all good and they 
 do their best, but with you I feel quite safe that 
 nothing will be neglected." 
 
 "It is good of you to say so, M. Cannot, and we 
 have done our best. But now we are beginning to 
 feel atixious about our own friends outside. The de- 
 
 [163] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 fence has broken down, the country we fear will be 
 overrun. I have a mother in Brittany and my 
 fiancee also, and I have heard no word of them 
 for two months." 
 
 "Is Ma'm'selle Frangaise?" he asked with interest. 
 
 "Yes, of La Bretagne." 
 
 "It is but natural you should wish to go," he 
 said, nodding kindly, but full of thought. "Yes, 
 truly, it is natural. — But yes, you must go. Now, 
 how?" 
 
 That was a difficult question, but I had got an 
 idea, and I got it from seeing a man drop a couple 
 of corked bottles into the river one night when I had 
 gone out for a breath of fresh air. The bottles con- 
 tained dispatches for Thionville, and the sender cast 
 them on the waters in hopes of their some time get- 
 ting there. It seemed to me that we might get out 
 the same way. It would be a cold and risky swim, 
 and no doubt the river was well watched. But it 
 seemed to me the only way out till the Prussians 
 came in, and that we were not inclined to wait for. 
 
 M. Cannot shivered at the notion, but acknowl- 
 edged that at all events our dead bodies might float 
 through the Prussian lines. We discussed the matter 
 in all its bearings and could hit upon no better 
 plan. 
 
 "When will you go?" asked M. Cannot. 
 
 "To-morrow night, if you can give us our dis- 
 missal by then." 
 
 "I will give you each a letter stating what you 
 have done for us here," he said. " It might come in 
 useful. You have had neither adequate pay nor 
 proper thanks, and you will never get either. But, 
 my dear boys, some of us will never forget, and 
 many that are gone will thank you," and the good 
 
 [164] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 old fellow's eyes were full of tears at thought of 
 parting with us. "Speak to no one of your plans," 
 he said. "The authorities would stop you. And 
 when you get outside, if you do get through alive, 
 take my advice and say nothing to anybody. Will 
 you take a letter for my wife and deliver it if it is 
 possible?" 
 
 This we gladly undertook, and set about our prep- 
 arations like a couple of schoolboys the night be- 
 fore breaking-up day. 
 
 At nine o'clock the next night, in company with 
 the Surgeon-Major, we passed out through the en- 
 ceinte towards Fort St. Julien, nominally to see some 
 patients there. Before reaching the Fort we turned 
 off the road and struck down to the river, and there 
 in the dark hastily completed our toilets, with M. 
 Cannot' s assistance. 
 
 We entered the water dressed only in dark woollen 
 vests and pants. Every particle of white skin that 
 showed, — ^faces, necks, arms, and feet, — was rubbed 
 over with a brown stain which would stand the water 
 and took time to wear off. Our clothes and shoes 
 and a flask of cognac, made up in tight bundles in 
 black oiled paper, were bound to our heads, and 
 another small medicine bottle of cognac hung around 
 each of our necks by a string for refreshment en 
 route. 
 
 We wrung M. Cannot's hand in silence. He kissed 
 us each on our brown cheeks and we were off. 
 
 The night wind had been cold. The water was 
 colder, and it did not smell over sweet. But our 
 hearts were warm with hope and we pushed on 
 ahead of the current. 
 
 In less than half-an-hour we passed the French 
 outposts. So far good. We drank to our own good 
 
 [165] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 health and safe delivery, kept well in the centre of 
 the stream and drove on. 
 
 We were cold to the marrow before we heard the 
 calls of the Prussian sentinels on the banks above 
 ChieuUes. We held our breath and floated past, on 
 again past Malroy, through the bridge of boats at 
 Argancy, and then we could hold out no longer. 
 We crawled ashore stiff and sodden, and rubbed and 
 slapped one another into circulation again, nibbled 
 a biscuit, took in more cognac, dressed ourselves 
 decently, and scrambled up into the road leading to 
 Thionville. But we had no intention of calling there. 
 At best it would mean delay. It might mean a 
 good deal more than delay, and we had no time to 
 waste picking out kinks in red tape. We gave it 
 wide circuit, fed and rested at lonely farmhouses, 
 journeyed by night, and forty-eight hours after leav- 
 ing Metz we crossed the Luxemburg frontier and 
 our troubles for the time being were ended. 
 
 We two were the very last who brought bodies 
 and souls out of Metz — except indeed that extremely 
 strange individual, M. Regnier, and General Bour- 
 baki, whom he fooled into accompanying him on a 
 fool's errand, — until they all came out together 
 that gloomy day six weeks later, all that was left of 
 them. And the conquerors, marching in amid the 
 slime, and filth, and the rotting horses, and the 
 unburied dead, found our old friend Surgeon-Major 
 Cannot still wrathfuUy fighting typhus and pyoemia, 
 and they very soon put him into better fighting 
 trim than he had been since the siege began. 
 
 I believe a certain Scotchman, in fact The Scots- 
 man, claims to have been the last man to get out, 
 but he left ten days before we did. But then it was 
 his business to talk about it and it was not ours. 
 
 [166] 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 In spite of my desire to get on and learn how 
 matters had been going at home during our exile, 
 we found it necessary to take a couple of days' rest 
 in Luxemburg. 
 
 The quiet, after the turmoil and confusion of be- 
 leaguered Metz, the freedom from strain, and plenty 
 of good food soon pulled us round, and on the third 
 day we started for Namur, and came thence without 
 difficulty down through Douai, Arras, and Amiens 
 to Rouen. If I could have been certain that the 
 steamers were still running from Southampton to 
 St. Malo I would have gone straight across to Eng- 
 land. But in Belgium I could get no information on 
 the subject. Myrtle elected to go with me. Our 
 friendship had become very close knit in the trying 
 times through which we had come together. 
 
 From Rouen we journeyed down the river to Hon- 
 fleur, and so by diligence to Caen, Coutances, Av- 
 ranches, Dol, and Dinan, and walked in on my 
 mother one late September afternoon just in time 
 for a cup of tea, and were received by her with a 
 gasp of thankful delight. 
 
 My first inquiries were for Marie. 
 
 " She went to Paris ten days ago to nurse George," 
 said my mother. 
 
 "To Paris!— alone?" 
 
 "No, the old servant, Henriette Dobain, went with 
 her." 
 
 "And why not Madame or Godefroi?" 
 [167] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Anna is not strong. She has never fully got 
 over the shock of Jean's death. And Godefroi is 
 needed here. He and old Joseph Dobain do most of 
 the work about the mill. All the younger men have 
 gone oiF, or been carried off, to the war. The hor- 
 rible war ! It is making much distress even here. 
 There is not a family but has some one either killed 
 or wounded or prisoner. Will it last much longer, 
 Charles?" 
 
 "The Frenchmen could stop it to-day if they would 
 acknowledge what all the rest of the world sees — 
 that they are beaten. But they won't, and so it will 
 probably go on in some kind of a way. Has Ma- 
 dame heard from Marie, do you know, Mother?" 
 
 "I saw her two days ago and she had not heard 
 up to then. I suppose everything is upset." 
 
 I felt decidedly uncomfortable. Paris, I knew, was 
 by this time shut in by the Prussians more or less 
 completely. If they proceeded to a bombardment, 
 which I did not think likely, Paris would be an un- 
 comfortable place to be in, and Marie was there shut 
 up inside with the rest. 
 
 "I shall go over and see Madame at once," I said, 
 " and learn if she has any news. If none, I must go 
 to Paris, Mother." 
 
 "If you judge it necessary, my boy, you must 
 go." 
 
 "Are you game. Myrtle, or will you wait here?" 
 
 "I'll knock your head off if you suggest it in ear- 
 nest," he replied. 
 
 He wanted to come with me to Kerhuel, but I 
 preferred going alone. 
 
 It was nearly dark when I arrived there, and 
 Madame was as delighted to see me as my own dear 
 mother had been. 
 
 [168] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 She and Godefroi were just sitting down to dinner, 
 and I joined them. 
 
 "Have you any word from Marie, Madame?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Not a line, Charles. I am getting anxious for 
 news of her. I know everything is upside down, but 
 I expected some word from her." 
 
 "I shall go there at once." 
 
 "Can you get in?" asked Godefroi; "I hear the 
 Prussians are all around and will let no one in or 
 out." 
 
 "I'll get in somehow," and I told them how we 
 got out of Metz. "Now, where shall I find Marie 
 when I get there? What address was she going to, 
 dear Madame?" 
 
 "I have the telegram here," and she produced it 
 from her pocket, much crumpled and evidently much 
 read, though there was not much to read. It ran, — 
 
 "Can Marie come to nurse me? — wounded inarm 
 and leg. George, chez Taillon, Rue Duvernois 23." 
 It was dated September 15, ten days ago. 
 
 "She went the next day," said Madame, "and 
 Henriette with her." 
 
 "They might have difficulty in getting in even 
 then," I said. "But no doubt the Western Railway 
 would be the last to close up. May I keep this tele- 
 gram, Madame, with the address on it? It is just 
 possible it might assist me in getting through the 
 Unes." 
 
 " Then take it," she said, and I saw that she had 
 clung to it with that curious disinclination to part 
 with even the slenderest filament of connection with 
 her dear ones, which I had seen in my own mother, 
 and which I presume is inwrought in the mother 
 nature. 
 
 [169] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 I was still talking over some of our experiences 
 in Metz when old Joseph Dobain, Godefroi's right 
 hand man in the mill, came to the door and said, 
 
 "Tiens ! M. Godefroi, what do you make of this 
 oiit here?" 
 
 "What is it, Joseph?" and Godefroi got up and 
 went out into the passage to the back door. 
 
 "Charles!" he called, and I went out to him. 
 They were both standing looking out over the river. 
 The sky beyond the Querhoal woods was pulsing 
 red. 
 
 "A fire!" I said. "Where is it?" 
 
 "It must be at the Chateau," said Godefroi. 
 "We'd better go and help." 
 
 "Yes, go," said Madame, who had joined us. 
 "They are no doubt as short-handed as we are," 
 and we three set off across the weir with no faintest 
 idea of what that fire meant to us and to the sad- 
 faced lady we left standing on the step, quietly look- 
 ing at it. 
 
 We crossed the weir and sped across the wooded 
 ground at Joseph's speed, and the roar and crackle 
 of the flames grew upon us through the tree trunks 
 as we drew near. We got into the great alley lead- 
 ing up to the house, and saw that the whole of one 
 end was blazing furiously and the flames were lick- 
 ing swiftly towards the centre. Dark figures were 
 passing to and fro and standing in clumps, silhouet- 
 ted against the fiery background. We approached 
 one such group, blue blouses with grizzled faces, all 
 old men, all with their hands in their pockets. 
 
 "It bums," said one, with a grim, nervous laugh, 
 looking round at us. 
 
 "What started it?" asked Godefroi. 
 
 The old men looked at one another, and one said, 
 [170] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "God knows. Maybe the devil came for the old 
 man and set it on fire." 
 
 "Is there no water? Can we do nothing?" I asked. 
 
 "No water but the well and the river, and nothing 
 to carry it in," said the old man. "It was meant 
 to bum or it wouldn't have got on fire." 
 
 "Where is M. le Comte?" asked Godefroi. 
 
 "We have not seen him, M'sieur, but we have seen 
 the Devil. Without doubt he came for M. le Comte 
 and has taken him away with him." 
 
 "Oh, tcha!" said Godefroi, angrily. "Don't be 
 such fools. Is there no one belonging to the Cha- 
 teau about?" 
 
 "The old Jean-Marie is over there. But all the 
 same, M'sieur, we saw the Devil. Is it not so, mes 
 gars?" he appealed to the others. 
 
 "But yes." 
 
 "It is true." 
 
 "We saw him without doubt, M'sieur." 
 
 "It is the end such as we have always expected." 
 
 But, apart from their stupidity, there was evi- 
 dently nothing to be done. The Chateau, solid as 
 it looked, was like a tinder-box inside. The cen- 
 turies-old beams and panelling burnt with a furious 
 clear flame. A London fire brigade could have made 
 little headway against it. 
 
 But it was against human nature to stand hand 
 in pocket gazing with open mouth and tremulous 
 chins like these old clods. There might be something 
 to be saved. 
 
 Godefroi hurried up to old Jean-Marie and asked 
 peremptorily, "Where is your master, Jean-Marie?" 
 
 "Dieu then! I know not. But he is not here. 
 They say the Devil has taken him," said the old 
 fellow sulkily. 
 
 [1711 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Is he in the Chateau?" 
 
 "Like enough. I have not seen him. That is his 
 part there that is burnt. He and the Devil Kved 
 there together. As for me, thank God, I lived in the 
 stables. For twenty years I have not set foot in 
 the house. Oh, there were reasons — ma foi, yes, rea- 
 sons, good reasons without doubt." 
 
 "Was there any one else there? Any servants?" 
 
 " There was the old Ffelicitfe, Madame la Comtesse 
 en effet. She is over there in the bushes. She is 
 mad, like the rest." 
 
 "No one else in the house?" 
 
 "Not a soul, M'sieur, except the Devil, and they 
 do say he got out." 
 
 We went round to the other wing, towards which 
 the white tongues of flame were licking their way 
 with swift, venomous thirst. The blue blouses 
 shuffled after us with spasmodic ebullitions of 
 country wit, which evoked dry cackles of laughter. 
 
 Godefroi and I clambered over the railing of a low 
 balcony and swung back the green jalousies, but 
 there was a wooden shutter inside the glass and we 
 could see nothing. 
 
 "A stone, Joseph," called Godefroi, over his 
 shoulder, and Joseph handed up a huge lump of 
 rock. Godefroi dashed it at the glass, and Jean- 
 Marie in the rear said "Ta-ta! the old man will 
 send you in a bill for that, M'sieur." Another bang 
 with the stone and the shutter flew open. Godefroi 
 put his hand through the broken window and turned 
 the handle. It opened inwards and we stepped into 
 the room. I struck a match. We got a glimmer of 
 pictures on the walls — old family portraits they 
 seemed to be. The furniture was swathed in linen 
 garments. 
 
 [172] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "We may as well save what we can," said Gode- 
 froi, and seized a picture and carried it to the win- 
 dow, and dropped it into Joseph's arms. I did the 
 same. I heard him calling to the blue blouses to 
 come and help to carry them "away out there, you 
 silly old idiots, not where the walls will fall on them." 
 
 We made a clearance of that room all except the 
 heavier furniture, which we had not time to move. 
 We opened the door into the hall, and the glare and 
 roar of the fire greeted us half-way down it. There 
 was in it a curious, dogged, single-aimed attention 
 to the business in hand, which reminded me some- 
 how of the onslaught of the Prussian troops on 
 the Spicheren heights. It came on with a roar of 
 silent concentration — which is an anomaly and ex- 
 presses it exactly — seized point after point with grim 
 determination, and passed on to the next one as 
 though simply working out its appointed end and 
 doing what had been given it to do from the be- 
 ginning of time. There was no fancy frilling, no 
 turning aside, no waste of any kind. The Spicheren 
 
 heights had to be taken, no matter what 
 
 the cost. That Chateau had to be burned out in the 
 shortest possible time. So the« flames came snaking 
 and leaping along the hall, and we entered room 
 after room and flung out of window everything we 
 could lift. 
 
 By midnight the roof had fallen in and only the 
 walls were left standing. Through the vacant eyes 
 of the house the ruins glowed like a furnace. Fagged 
 and grimy we straggled home across the weir, sup- 
 porting between us the old housekeeper, F61icite, 
 who had sat in the bushes all night watching the 
 fire, and never opened her lips. 
 
 Madame took the poor old creature to the kitchen* 
 [173] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 She seemed completely dazed — ^if indeed that was 
 not her natural state, as Jean-Marie had stated— 
 and Godefroi and I and Joseph sat down to a hastily- 
 prepared meal of which we stood in much need, and 
 presently, when she had bestowed her waif, Madame 
 came and sat with us and heard all we had to tell. 
 
 We were busily discussing the fire and the food, 
 and washing the smoke and dust out of our throats 
 with big draughts of amber cider, when there came 
 a knock on the front door, and old Joseph started 
 up to answer it. 
 
 We heard his startled exclamation, and next mo- 
 ment he tumbled back into the room crying "Mon 
 dieu ! mon dieu !— the Devil!" and behind him in 
 the doorway, leaning one shoulder heavily against 
 the side post and swaying slightly, and looking in 
 on us with wild, bewildered eyes, stood a man. 
 
 Was it a man? — or was it, as Joseph had said, 
 — the Devil ? A gaunt, awful spectre, with wild tan- 
 gles of gray hair bristling over head and face and 
 shoulders, and out through the open front of his 
 tattered shirt, sunken cheeks, and caverns under 
 bushed penthouses of brows, and in the caverns eyes 
 that made my back creep. 
 
 I had seen him once before. Once seen he could 
 never be forgotten. His face and hair were clotted 
 with dried blood as though Raoul de Querhoal had 
 just left off beating him over the head with his gun 
 barrel, as I had seen him doing that last time. 
 
 We had all sprung up at sight of him. But he 
 looked at none of us, but at Madame only. On her 
 the deep eyes were fixed hypnotically. The wild 
 glare was fading out of them. Life and recollection 
 were struggling back to them. 
 
 "Nana?" he said in a hoarse wondering whisper, 
 [174] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 and raised his awful nailed hands towards her, but 
 it was not the same whimpering bleat of "Na — na" 
 that I had heard in the wood. 
 
 Madame's face was like the gray wood ashes on 
 the hearth. She gazed back stupefied. She glided 
 forward like one walking in her sleep. Then she 
 shrieked "Godefroi! Godefroi!" and as Godefroi 
 sprang to her side saying " I am here, ma mere," she 
 fell senseless into his arms and he laid her gently on 
 the chair which I swung forward to receive her. 
 
 He sprang up and faced the intruder. 
 
 "Get out!" he cried, angrily. "Get out— keep 
 back " for the man was coming in. 
 
 But I stopped him. 
 
 "Gently, Godefroi! There is more in this than 
 we know. Your mother knows him." 
 
 ' ' Impossible ! " he said. ' ' Knows that ? ' ' 
 
 The scarecrow had drawn back at Godefroi's men- 
 ace and he stood now leaning against the door- 
 post looking at us as before. Then one hand rose 
 to his forehead and he gripped it like one suffering 
 from a headache or a troublesome problem. The 
 long talon nails drew blood under the pressure. 
 
 I wetted Madame's hps with cognac and bathed 
 her forehead with a serviette dipped in cider, since 
 there was no water. As soon as her eyes opened 
 they fixed in a wild stare, as though drawn by a 
 magnet, on the eyes of the man at the door. 
 
 "It is not possible !" I heard her murmur. "Mon 
 dieu ! mon dieu ! it is not possible !" 
 
 And yet something within her, something keener 
 than the flesh, told her that it was so. She strug- 
 gled up in the chair and sat gripping the arms till 
 her fingers were like ivory. 
 
 So, for a minute, while we all stood wondering. 
 [175] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Then she got up and once more gHded swiftly to 
 the door — to the man. 
 
 With her left hand arched over that side of her 
 face, as though to hide her emotion from us, she 
 peered into the wild, sunken eyes, and something 
 looked out of them at her and she knew. 
 
 The wild man looked at her with knowledge also, 
 and murmured once more "Nana?" 
 
 Her self-control now was very wonderful. She 
 raised the other white hand and it was trembling 
 as with an ague, and very gently she put aside the 
 masses of tangled hair. 
 
 "My God! My God! Is it indeed thou?" she 
 murmured "Godefroi?"— the last with an intona- 
 tion quite different from her usual one when using 
 that name. 
 
 Godefroi, thinking he was called, hastened to her. 
 
 "What is it, ma m^re?" 
 
 "It is your father," she said softly, and drew the 
 wild man gently into the room. 
 
 [176] 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 Anxiety or no anxiety on my mother's part, there 
 was no going home for me that night. This thing 
 beyond beKef claimed me wholly. And indeed, with 
 all modesty, I do not know what they would have 
 done without me. For Godefroi was, for a consid- 
 erable time after that astounding revelation, in a 
 state of incredulous amazement which quite bereft 
 him of speech and almost of action. 
 
 It was I who had to feed the new-comer, cutting 
 meat and bread into small pieces and tendering 
 them bit by bit, with very small sips of wine in be- 
 tween, while Madame sat in her chair tremulous, 
 watchful, wondering, much as Mary must have sat 
 and looked at Lazarus while Martha ministered to 
 him. 
 
 By the time that strange meal was ended, with a 
 small cup of hot coffee just dashed with cognac, 
 Godefroi the younger had partially come to himself, 
 though it was evident he thought us all gone crazy, 
 himself included, for crediting so strange a notion 
 for a moment. 
 
 Our guest meanwhile was perfectly quiet, even 
 subdued. He accepted all we gave him, and the food 
 did him good. He sat looking at the fire across 
 the table, occasionally glancing at objects on either 
 side of it. Whenever his eyes fell on Madame they 
 rested there and he stopped eating. When she per- 
 ceived this she quietly moved her chair out of range 
 of his sight and he did not look round at her. 
 12 [ 177 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 What puzzled me most, — ^for I had really not yet 
 had time to think of possible causes, so intent had 
 I been on ministering to the pitiful result, — was the 
 fact that he seemed as much surprised at finding 
 himself there as we were to have him. He would 
 stop in his feeding and seem to ponder the matter 
 painfully, then give it up and go on eating. 
 
 Before his slow meal was finished I begged Madame ■ 
 to get me hot water ready in the kitchen, and scis- 
 sors, and other necessaries, and she hurried away, 
 grateful for the occupation. When I judged he had 
 had enough to eat for the time being, I called to 
 Godefroi, "You must come and help me, Godefroi. 
 I can't manage all alone." 
 
 He had been pacing the end of the room in great 
 agitation, stopping now and again to look at us 
 from under his knitted brow. I could not blame 
 his incredulity. It seemed altogether too monstrous 
 to be true. But I had faith in Madame' s perception. 
 
 "Yes, I will help," said Godefroi. "But, God in 
 Heaven ! I cannot believe it is true." 
 
 "Wait!" I said. "There is some terrible story 
 behind it all." 
 
 "But he is buried over there at Dinan," he said. 
 
 I shook my head. "You have all thought so, but 
 Madame knows better now. Take that other arm 
 and we will lead him into the kitchen." 
 
 He made no resistance, but hung rather heavily on 
 us, as though suddenly weakened under the strain of 
 unusual emotion. 
 
 Godefroi and I locked ourselves in with him and 
 set to work. And a horrible task it was, though 
 his condition was only somewhat in degree worse 
 than that of many a man who had come under my 
 hands after three weeks in the trenches round Metz. 
 Godefroi went white and sick over the job, but then 
 
 ri78] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 he had not seen the things I had seen out there. 
 And here, at all events, we had not a shattered body 
 and the grinding agony of broken bones to contend 
 with. The damage was mental and internal and of 
 long standing. There was a cut on the head, deep 
 and painful, no doubt, but it was not serious. We 
 cleansed him as well as we could, and pared down 
 into the semblance of human fingers those awful 
 talons, which made my back creep whenever they 
 scraped on anything. We cut off all his tangled 
 hair, which the fire had already shortened, till it 
 was no more than a regulation bristle. We trimmed 
 the wild growths on his face down to something ap- 
 proaching an imperial mustache and goatee, such 
 as I had seen in an old photograph of M. de Ker- 
 huel. These changes made a striking improvement 
 in his appearance. The wild man of the woods lay 
 on the floor and in the wash-tub, and in his stead 
 there slowly emerged under our hands a gaunt, 
 hollow-eyed reminiscence of the past, which stirred 
 Godefroi's soul and drew startled exclamations 
 from his lips. The eyes of a loving woman can see 
 through disguisements against which the eyes of a 
 man are blind. 
 
 "Mon dieu ! mon dieu ! mon dieu !" gasped Gode- 
 froi, as he stood off to view our handiwork. "It is 
 he, without doubt. What in heaven's name is the 
 meaning of it all, Charles?" 
 
 "That we shall try and find out," I said. 
 
 Then I dressed the wounded head and in doing so 
 lighted, as I believed, on the original and immediate 
 cause of all his trouble, an indentation of the skull 
 which must have been made very many years ago. 
 He was badly scorched, especially about the legs and 
 feet, and I covered them with flour for the time being. 
 
 [ 179 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 When at last we led him upstairs and got him 
 safely stowed in bed he fell asleep almost instantly, 
 and Godefroi went down to bring up Madame. 
 
 She came quietly in and raised her hands in silent 
 amazement at his changed appearance. Then she 
 fell silently on her knees by the bedside, and there 
 we left her. 
 
 It was with very mingled feelings that I drove back 
 to Dinan with Joseph in his green-tilted spring cart 
 in the fresh of the morning. I was full of anxiety 
 on Marie's account and I wanted to start for Paris 
 without a moment's delay. On the other hand, this 
 new patient, and the extraordinary circumstances 
 under which he had come to us, demanded full and 
 immediate attention and investigation. Joseph was 
 full of curiosity and speculation and talked without 
 ceasing. But I could give him no enlightenment, 
 and I was so tired that it needed little pretence to 
 make him think I was asleep, and his endless bab- 
 blement rippled over my head without eliciting any 
 response. 
 
 It was still early when I reached home and went 
 up to my mother's room, and startled her almost 
 out of her senses by my strange news. 
 
 "Mother," I said, " Monsieur de Kerhuel has come 
 back." 
 
 "Godefroi? Why, where has he been?" 
 
 "Not Godefroi, but Godefroi' s father, Madame's 
 husband, Marie's father." 
 
 "Good gracious, boy, what are you talking 
 about?" and she sat up suddenly, under the im- 
 pression that my brain had given way with what I 
 had gone through in Metz. 
 
 I told her all about it and she grew wildly ex- 
 cited, and was for rushing off to Kerhuel then and 
 
 [180] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 there, to render any help that was possible to her 
 friend. But I persuaded her that Madame would 
 want the recovered man to herself for at least a 
 day, and moreover I had it vaguely in my mind 
 that Myrtle and I between us might do something 
 more for that wounded head, which had been much 
 in my thoughts. That there had existed for many 
 years a pressure on the brain as the result of that 
 former damage, which the later blow had somehow 
 partially relieved, I felt sure. It was quite possible 
 that the pressure might be still further relieved, 
 with the result of a still greater accession, possibly 
 a full recovery, of brain power. 
 
 Having persuaded my mother that she could do 
 nothing for Madame at the moment, and explained 
 my views as to the possible great results of an oper- 
 ation, I went in to Myrtle and, sitting on his bed, 
 gave him a full account of the night's happenings. 
 
 "What an extraordinary country to live in," was 
 his surprised comment. "Have you any idea your- 
 self what it all means, Glyn?" 
 
 "I've got a vague notion that there's a black 
 story behind it all. If you'll get up and dress, we'll 
 have some coffee and go and discuss it with a friend 
 here who knows more about things than I do. 
 Could we manage that operation between us?" 
 
 "It's delicate work, but I'm game to try." 
 
 When we had had a drink of coffee we set out to 
 find M. Renel. He was at home, and delighted to see 
 us back safe and sound from the wars. Then, shut 
 up in his little study, I told him what had hap- 
 pened at Querhoal and at Kerhuel during the 
 night. 
 
 When I had done and his amazement had sub- 
 sided somewhat, he fixed upon me a look of keen 
 
 [181] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 inquiry and grave anxiety, and I knew what he was 
 going to ask. 
 
 "It cannot possibly be the same man you saw " 
 
 "Yes, he is the man I saw in the wood that day." 
 
 "Mon dieu! Then M. le Curfe knows the whole 
 matter." 
 
 "I want you to come with us to him at once." 
 
 "He is not here. He is in Paris, I believe. He 
 went away about a fortnight ago, it was said, for 
 Paris." 
 
 " That is a misfortune. I am going to Paris. Per- 
 haps I may come across him. If I do I will get 
 the truth out of him somehow, if I have to hammer 
 it out." 
 
 "M. Raoul must know also." 
 
 "Yes. I may meet him also. We saved his life at 
 Forbach. Now, broadly, what do you make of it 
 all, M. Renel?" 
 
 "There is undoubtedly some terrible story behind. 
 M. de Kerhuel was supposed to be drowned seven- 
 teen years ago. A body, wearing certain articles 
 which seemed to identify it as his, was found at St. 
 Malo and buried as his body. Apparently he has 
 been held in confinement at Querhoal and has been 
 more or less out of his mind. The Count, you say, 
 is dead. M. le Cur€ and Raoul are in the story. 
 What about the old F61icitfe, you recovered from the 
 fire? She may know something." 
 
 "I forgot all about her. But I doubt if she'll 
 speak. How long has she been at the Chateau?" 
 
 "Many years, but I could not say how many. 
 It is, as you say, quite likely she will not say any- 
 thing. She is of M. le Curfe's flock." 
 
 "We think it possible, M. Renel, that M. de Ker- 
 huel's condition may be stUl further improved by 
 
 [182] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 an operation on the brain, if Madame will permit 
 the attempt. And the sooner that is done the better, 
 for I must get away to Paris. There is no news 
 from Marie since she left home, and I am very anx- 
 ious on her account." 
 
 "Naturally," said M. Renel; "but I trust you will 
 find her all right. When will you attempt the op- 
 eration?" 
 
 "At once, for I want to get away. Myrtle, will 
 you do me the very great favor of stopping be- 
 hind to look after M. de Kerhuel?" 
 
 "I'll do anything to help, my boy. But I would 
 very much like to be with you in Paris. If he goes 
 on all right I might join you later." 
 
 "But can you get in?" asked M. Renel. "The 
 Prussians are said to be aU round the city." 
 
 "Oh, we'll get in all right, somehow or other," 
 and we told him how we got out of Metz. 
 
 "What about tools?" said Myrtle. "Have you 
 any, Glyn? And we'll need chloroform." 
 
 " I've thought of that. Is Dr. Daly still here, M. 
 Renel?" 
 
 "He is still here." 
 
 "Then we will go at once and beg his assistance. 
 He is almost certain to have all we want, though he 
 does not practice now. His advice will be useful, 
 even if he won't perform the operation." 
 
 We all three went along to Dr. Daly's house in the 
 Rue de I'Horloge. 
 
 "Ah, me boy!" said the old gentleman with brisk 
 welcome; and "Good morning, Padre !" to M. Renel. 
 "I heard ye were back, and I thought ye'd be drop- 
 ping in to tell the old fossil all about it. So ye 
 were in Metz and ye came through alive? And who's 
 your friend?" 
 
 [183] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 I introduced Myrtle, and gave the old Doctor a 
 very brief outline of our adventures, promising 
 fuller details later on. 
 
 "Will you perform an operation on the brain for 
 us, Doctor?" I asked. 
 
 "Which of ye' s needing it?" and he looked quizzi- 
 cally from one to the other. "Or is it the good M. 
 Renel who desires more light?" 
 
 "We've got a sick man up at Kerhuel. He's suf- 
 fering from a wound in the head. But there's dam- 
 age of very old standing which the new wound has 
 partially relieved. We want to complete the cure, 
 and we want you to help us." 
 
 "Ay?" said the old man, and held out his with- 
 ered old hand and looked at it as if it belonged to 
 some one else, and then shook his head. "I'll help 
 ye with me brain and me tongue," he said, "but me 
 hand's past work of that kind. But ye can do it 
 all right. Your hands should be in good practice. 
 Have ye never done it?" 
 
 "Never on a live man. We had some cases in 
 Metz from shell splinters, but the Chief tackled them 
 himself." 
 
 "Ay. Well, there's no trouble if your hand's 
 steady. When'U we go?" 
 
 "Now, if you can. Have you got chloroform, 
 Doctor, and instruments? We have nothing." 
 
 "Ay, ay, I've got 'em all, though it's long since 
 I touched any of 'em. We'll need a carriage, Char- 
 ley. Kerhuel' s beyond the reach of my old legs, 
 though many's the time I was there in the fore 
 times." 
 
 I ran to the hotel and ordered a carriage, and 
 when my mother heard we were going she insisted 
 on going too. 
 
 [184] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I shall stop there," she said. "Anna will need 
 my help in the nursing, especially if you are going 
 to operate on him." 
 
 "Sure now, this is an unexpected treat, Mrs. 
 Glyn," said the Doctor, when he came out to the 
 carriage. "The boys forgot to tell me ye were 
 coming." 
 
 " The boys didn't know, Doctor. But I think Anna 
 will be glad of my help in the nursing." 
 
 "Sure it'd make a sick man well just to look at 
 ye," was the old gallant's reply. 
 
 "And who's the sick man, Charley?" he asked, as 
 we rolled along. "Did ye bring him with ye?" 
 
 I told him the whole story and he listened with 
 keen attention and growing surprise. 
 
 "Saints and angels !" he burst out. "Godefroi de 
 Kerhuel not dead ! — not dead, and come back home, 
 and me at his burying twenty years ago ! Is there 
 no mistake, Charley?" 
 
 " If there is. Doctor, it is Madame's mistake, and 
 that's not likely. She knew him under all the dirt 
 and tangle. He looks a very different man now from 
 what he was when I first saw him." 
 
 "And from what he was when I first saw him, 
 I'll be bound. But I'd trust a woman's heart. 
 Her head's maybe not as good as ours " 
 
 "I don't admit it," said my mother. 
 
 "But her heart hits the bull's-eye every time." 
 
 "It sounds nasty. Doctor, but I have no doubt 
 you mean well." 
 
 "It passes belief," he said, in much excitement. 
 " And what the — well, any way, what's the meaning 
 of it all? Where's he been all this time?" 
 
 But that was too dark a mystery for common 
 discussion. My own vague ideas were full of such 
 
 [ 185 ], 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 grave prejudice to others that I preferred keeping 
 silence till I felt surer of the ground. 
 
 And so all I said in reply to the Doctor's question 
 was, — "Perhaps we shall learn that from our 
 patient." 
 
 1186] 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 We passed a Commissary of Police attended by a 
 very magnificent gendarme striding along towards 
 Querhoal, on the way to inquire into the fire, no 
 doubt, and I felt pretty sure they would find their 
 way to Kerhuel in due course. 
 
 Madame welcomed us with pale nervousness, but 
 was undoubtedly glad to see us. 
 
 "My dear," said my mother, "I have come to 
 help. I am a capital nurse," and Madame found 
 relief on her neck. 
 
 I begged five minutes' conversation with her and 
 explained my ideas fully. She seemed startled at 
 first, but followed all I said with keen interest, and 
 then thanked us warmly for our kindness and asked 
 us to do just what we thought best. 
 
 We three of the profession went up at once to the 
 room where M. de Kerhuel lay still sleeping. Gode- 
 froi was sitting by the bed. To him also I explained 
 what we had come for and he approved fully. We 
 sent him out of the room and stood round the 
 sick man. Dr. Daly gazed long at the worn face 
 before he said : 
 
 "He has suffered much. He is terribly changed. 
 But I can see the remains of my old friend there. 
 God help us ! there is something very strange be- 
 hind all this." 
 
 Then he bent over the sleeping man and gently 
 opened his nightshirt and laid his ear to his chest. 
 The sleeper moved and murmured, "Nana!" 
 
 [187] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Can he stand it?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes, his heart is sound enough, though he's 
 terribly wasted. Been half starved, I should 
 say." 
 
 The Doctor produced his bottle of chloroform and 
 case of instruments, and Myrtle's eyes sparkled at 
 sight of them. 
 
 "You like them?" said the old man. 
 
 "They're beauties." 
 
 " They've done good work in their time," and the 
 old fingers travelled in loving reminiscence over the 
 ivory handles. 
 
 "Which of you is the defter?" 
 
 "Myrtle is the better man," I said. 
 
 "Show me your hands," and he held our right 
 hands in his for a moment. 
 
 "Yes," he said, dropping my hand and holding 
 Myrtle's long flexible fingers in his own. "With 
 nerve and knowledge and that hand you can do 
 great things. You shall do it." 
 
 I got all the other things he needed — water, 
 sponge, bandages — and we gathered round the bed. 
 The sick man had turned his head on the pillow. 
 The old Doctor gently slipped off the bandages I 
 had put on the previous night and bent and exam- 
 ined the wound with very great care. I pointed out 
 the deep mark of the old wound. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "you are quite right. There is 
 almost certainly pressure there. This last cut has 
 begun our work and relieved it slightly." 
 
 He bent again and examined the later wound 
 with a twist in his lip and a pinching of the brows. 
 He straightened up and looked at me, and then 
 bent down once more and examined it carefully 
 again. 
 
 [188] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUSl 
 
 "Do you know what made that hole?" he said 
 shortly. 
 
 "No, Doctor, I haven't got as far as that." 
 
 "Well, I can tell you almost to a certainty. It 
 was made with the same weapon that made the old 
 one. When we uncover the old wound we shall find 
 exactly the same cleavage, unless I am very much 
 mistaken. And what's more, I can tell you the kind 
 of weapon it was made with. It was the small 
 pointed tomahawk of the Paorongs. That wound 
 was made up at Querhoal," he said quickly, and 
 looking at me very intently, " or at all events with a 
 weapon that came from there. I never saw but one 
 of them, and that was brought home by Raoul de 
 Querhoal when he came back from his travels the 
 first time, — not the present Raoul, his father. What 
 does it all mean?" 
 
 "We'll try and find that out. Doctor," I said. 
 "Shall we get this job done first?" 
 
 He showed Myrtle exactly what to do and how to 
 do it, and Myrtle was the coolest of the lot of us. 
 Then we administered the chloroform, and presently 
 there came five tense minutes during which we hung 
 breathlessly over the bed, while the delicate knives 
 cut inflexibly here and there, and probed and picked 
 out chips of blood-stained bone, and it was done. 
 And we all straightened up with a sigh of relief, 
 and with much perplexity in our eyes, for we had 
 seen exactly what Dr. Daly had foretold. 
 
 I left them bandaging the patient and went down 
 at once to tell Madame that the operation, at all 
 events, had been successfully performed, and that we 
 had every reason to hope for good results. 
 
 I found the two ladies sitting hand in hand in the 
 small room at the back, in silent expectation. M. 
 
 [189] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUSl 
 
 Renel and Godefroi were together outside, talking 
 earnestly. 
 
 "Thank God!" said Madame fervently, and be- 
 gan to weiep quietly. "You are all very, very good 
 to me. What should I have done without you, 
 my dear boy?" 
 
 Presently the old Doctor came down and told 
 Madame she might go up for two minutes, but it 
 would be some time yet before the effects of the 
 chloroform wore off. 
 
 "And, dear Madame, you will permit me to hint 
 at breakfast. As an old practitioner I have a con- 
 stitutional objection to empty stomachs. The ma- 
 chine must be fed." 
 
 But Madame's hospitable soul had forestalled his 
 wants, and breakfast was waiting for us in the other 
 room. 
 
 Myrtle assumed a proprietary interest in his pa- 
 tient and insisted on waiting by him till he came 
 round. So we left him with instructions to thump 
 on the floor if he wanted anything. The ladies 
 came soberly down again, and M. Renel and Gode- 
 froi came in from the garden, and the long room 
 held a larger party than it had seen for many a 
 day. But I thought sadly of the many merry par- 
 ties I had seen round that table, which could never 
 meet there again. 
 
 We had not quite finished breakfast, which the good 
 old Doctor was enjoying immensely — he was just 
 saying that if it were possible he would like to 
 breakfast at Kerhuel every morning of his life — when 
 there came a gentle knock on the floor above, 
 and Madame started tip with a look of appre- 
 hension. 
 
 "It is all right, dear Madame," said the Doctor. 
 [190] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Our patient is coming to himself. Go and see, 
 Charley." 
 
 I sped up the stairs and down again. 
 
 "Yes, he is coming to. Will you come, Madame?" 
 and she was at my heels. 
 
 At the sound of her dress on the polished floor the 
 sick man's eyes turned on her, and, devoutly thank- 
 ful, I saw in them a new dreamy knowledge and a 
 great bewilderment. He looked at her steadfastly 
 as she crossed the room, and murmured : 
 
 "Is it thou, Anna? It was the fog, ma chere. 
 How did I get here?" 
 
 She sat down in the chair from which Myrtle had 
 risen, and took her husband's hand in both her 
 trembling ones, and Hugh and I slipped quietly out 
 of the room and closed the door. 
 
 "All well?" asked the Doctor. 
 
 "All well," said Myrtle, and we loaded him with 
 compliments and everything his appetite demanded 
 and the table afforded. 
 
 "Now," said the Doctor, as he emptied his cognac 
 into his coffee and lit a cigarette, "let us talk while 
 Madame is away. I want to get to the bottom of 
 this matter. M. Godefroi, what do you know of it?" 
 
 " I only know that he came to the door last night, 
 the most frightful object conceivable, and that in 
 spite of that my mother knew him." 
 
 "M. Renel?" asked the Doctor. 
 
 "I do not think, M. le Docteur, that I know any 
 more than you do yourself " 
 
 "Not so much," said the Doctor smiling. 
 
 "That is very possible. But I mean concerning 
 what happened at the time of M. de Kerhuel's sup- 
 posed death nearly twenty years ago." 
 
 "Briefly,— that is " 
 
 [191] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Briefly,— M. de Kerhuel, accompanied by his 
 servant, Jean Dobain, a younger brother of old 
 Joseph's, was supposed to have driven into the 
 river in a fog, and a body, supposed to be M. de 
 Kerhuel's on account of the things found upon it, 
 was found in St. Malo bay a week later and buried 
 as M. de Kerhuel." 
 
 "Exactly ! It is the body of Jean Dobain that is 
 buried at Dinan," said the Doctor. "For some 
 reason Jean Dobain's body was made to take the 
 place of M. de Kerhuel. Have you any idea, M. le 
 Pasteur, who could possibly be interested in making 
 such an exchange?" 
 
 "Mon dieu ! no, I have not," said M. Renel, in 
 scared astonishment. Then he looked at me. 
 
 "Ah, Charles, and what do you know?" said the 
 Doctor, following his look. 
 
 I related my meeting with the wild man in the 
 park at Querhoal, and when I mentioned Raoul and 
 M. le Cure 
 
 "Yes," nodded the Doctor, "I suspected we should 
 find M. le Curb's finger in the business somewhere. 
 I'm a good Catholic, M. Renel, as you know, but, 
 thank God, I'm no Jesuit." 
 
 "Dieu merci!" murmured M. Renel. 
 
 I told them also of Jean's statement that the 
 Chateau had held some strange occupant of whom 
 he had caught occasional glimpses. And, with sud- 
 den enlightenment, I told them of the old dog. Bar's, 
 strange excitement in the park, and his death at 
 the hands of Raoul for howling, as he had said, at 
 the door of the Chateau. 
 
 "The dog was with M. de Kerhuel the night he 
 was lost," said M. Renel. 
 
 "And crawled home from somewhere down the 
 
 [193] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 river next day," said the Doctor. "I remember. 
 The old dog knew more than any of us if he could 
 only have spoken." 
 
 I told them also of the talk of the peasants at 
 the fire the previous night. How they had seen 
 the devil and so on, and suggested that it was M. 
 de Kerhuel whom they had seen, at which the Doc- 
 tor nodded. 
 
 I suddenly remembered the woman F61icitfe whom 
 we had brought back to Kerhuel with us. Other 
 matters had driven her completely out of my head. 
 
 "She must know all about it," I said. 
 
 "M. Renel and I have already questioned her," 
 said Godefroi, "but she professes to know nothing." 
 
 "I will see her myself," said the Doctor. He stood 
 musing for a moment and then turned to me. " Will 
 you get down my case of instruments, my boy?" 
 and I ran upstairs for them. 
 
 I tapped at the door and waited, but as no reply 
 came I went in. 
 
 Madame was kneeling by the bedside with her 
 husband's hand in hers and they were talking in 
 low tones, or perhaps the talking was all on her 
 side. On his face was a look of great amazement. 
 They were absorbed in one another and I tiptoed 
 quietly to the dressing-table and got the case of 
 instruments. 
 
 "Yes, you can come if you want to," said the 
 Doctor, in answer to my look of inquiry. 
 
 We went into the kitchen, where the old woman 
 was sitting in a low chair staring into the fire. 
 There was no one else there. 
 
 "FHicitfe!" said the Doctor abruptly. 
 
 "Eh b'en!" said the old woman, looking round 
 at him. 
 
 13 [ 193 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 He opened his case and laid it on the table, and her 
 eyes fastened on the venomous-looking little knives 
 at once. 
 
 " I have just been operating on the gentleman up- 
 stairs," said the Doctor, and he laid some of the 
 knives out on the table. Then he took a piece of 
 paper and drew a lancet through it as though to 
 test its edge. "Now it is your turn." 
 
 "Mon dieu ! M. le Docteur, I am all right." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense! After going through a fire like 
 that ! See, this is chloroform. It will send you to 
 sleep and you will feel nothing at all. I can take 
 both your legs off and you'd never feel it." 
 
 "Mon dieu! mon dieu! But there is nothing 
 wrong with my legs, M'sieur, I do assure you." 
 
 She was standing up in great fright. 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! Perhaps I must cut a hole in your 
 head as we had to in Monsieur's upstairs. Maybe 
 it's your throat needs looking to. No matter what 
 it is I can do it for you and you'll never feel it till 
 it's done. It's painful afterwards, of course, but " 
 
 "But, Monsieur, I assure you there is nothing 
 the matter " 
 
 "Oh, pshaw! don't waste my time, my good 
 woman. A woman who can tell me what I want to 
 know and w^on't, has got to be operated on, of 
 course. ' Just smell this quietly now and you'll go 
 off like a top." 
 
 "Mais non ! mais non!" she screamed. "I will 
 smell nothing." 
 
 "Then will you speak?" 
 
 "Mon dieu! and am I not speaking? What is it 
 then that Monsieur desires?" 
 
 "Who was the man they kept in the room up- 
 stairs in the Ch§,teau?" 
 
 [194] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Mais, Monsieur, I know not. He was there when 
 first M. le Comte took me to the Chateau and he 
 has been there ever since." 
 
 "But you saw him." 
 
 "Only once, Monsieur, before last night." 
 
 "And when was that?" 
 
 "Once when he escaped and fled into the woods, 
 and M. Raoul and M. le Cur&, they found him and 
 brought him home again." 
 
 "And who fed him?" 
 
 "M. le Comte always. No one else went in. He 
 was very furious at times." 
 
 "What did they call him?" 
 
 "They spoke of him always as the Fool. I under- 
 stood, Monsieur, that he was a son of M. le Comte's 
 who had been born so, — ^bereft." 
 
 "But M. le Cure knew him and saw him some- 
 times?" 
 
 "Mon dieu ! it is possible. I know nothing of it. 
 There is not much M. le Cure does not know." 
 
 "That is true. But you, you are probably ly- 
 ing," and he picked up the biggest lancet and took 
 a couple of steps towards her. 
 
 ''It is the truth. Monsieur," she cried, shuffling 
 behind the chair. "I swear it by the Holy Vir- 
 gin and the Little One. I know no more about 
 it." 
 
 "Very well," said the Doctor grimly, "I shall 
 wait. If ever I find you have been lying to me I 
 shall come and operate on you. Stay," and he 
 stoppea picking up his instruments and turned to 
 her again. "How did the Chateau get on fire last 
 night?" 
 
 "I know not. Monsieur. It began up above near 
 the room where he slept. I slept below." 
 
 [195] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "And where did M. le Comte sleep?" 
 
 "He slept up above also,— in the front, ordi- 
 narily " 
 
 "And at other times, where?" 
 
 "Dame!" and she glared angrily at us and then 
 muttered, "How should I know?" 
 
 "Did you see him after the fire began?" 
 
 "No, I saw none but Jean-Marie, who dragged me 
 from my bed — mon dieu ! it was like his impudence ! 
 — and threw me in the bushes; and the Fool, who 
 came out of the fire and ran away." 
 
 "Attention!" he said suddenly, with another idea 
 in his mind, and he drew out a pencil and on the 
 white-scrubbed table top drew with rough jerky 
 strokes a full-sized representation of the weapon he 
 had described to us. "Have you ever seen any- 
 thing like that up at the Chateau?" 
 
 "What is it?" she asked, peering close down at 
 it, "a hammer?" 
 
 "No, this is sharp and this is a spike. It is a 
 foreign weapon." 
 
 "Mon dieu ! they had many strange things on the 
 walls. They may have had that." 
 
 "What did M. le Comte carry in his hand when 
 he went in to the Fool to feed him?" 
 
 "C'est ga," she said quickly. "Yes, I have seen 
 him carry a thing like that, Monsieur." 
 
 "Very well, F61icit4. We shall see if you are tell- 
 ing the truth," and we returned to the sitting-room, 
 while the woman, I have no doubt, did her best to 
 imperil our future with her curses. 
 
 "Mon dieu, mon dieu, mon dieu, mon dieu, mon 
 dieu!" said Godefroi, jumping up and smiting his 
 right fist into his left palm in a fury of baffled un- 
 derstanding, when the Doctor related what had 
 
 [196] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 passed. "What is it then? What does it all 
 mean?" 
 
 "I doubt if we shall ever know that in full, M. 
 Godefroi," said the Doctor very gravely. "But you 
 may take it that your father was not drowned that 
 time. He was struck down by some treacherous 
 hand and the blow affected his brain. He has been 
 detained at Querhoal ever since, God alone knows 
 with what object. He has been struck again — with 
 the same weapon — whether by the same hand I can- 
 not say, and that second blow has shown us the 
 way to redress, I hope, the evil done by the first 
 one. If he recovers, as I believe he will, all these 
 last years will probably be blotted from his mem- 
 ory, and he will pick up his life at the point where 
 it broke oif." 
 
 "And will he not be able to help us to the per- 
 petrators of this atrocity? Is no one to suffer for 
 it?" asked Godefroi furiously. 
 
 "If he remembers anything of these intervening 
 years it would only be as in a dream. Nothing 
 could be based on it." 
 
 "It is an infamy!" 
 
 "I doubt if we shall get much further — unless " 
 
 "Unless—? Unless what, M. le Docteur?" 
 
 "Unless you can induce M. le Cure to tell you. He 
 knows all about it, I imagine." 
 
 "M. le Cure knows all about it?" gasped Godefroi, 
 and sat down suddenly as if he had been shot. 
 
 "Yes, M. le Cure knows all about it, unless I am 
 very much mistaken." 
 
 "Mon dieu ! mon dieu!" said Godefroi, and there- 
 after remained very silent. 
 
 Presently M. le Commissaire and his gendarme put 
 in an appearance on the track of Felicite, and as 
 
 [197] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 concealment could only cause future annoyance, and 
 was, besides, practically impossible, Dr. Daly gave 
 them the simple known facts without any comments 
 or ideas of his own, and after partaking of wine they 
 went away swollen with importance and the desire to 
 communicate the astounding story. 
 
 Next morning, leaving Myrtle and my mother in- 
 stalled as guardian angels, and satisfied in my own 
 mind that nothing would be lacking to our patient, 
 I bade them all farewell and started for Paris. 
 
 [198] 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Before me lay a task of very great difficulty and 
 still greater danger, and there was no good blinking 
 the fact. 
 
 Over a last smoke, the night before, I had given 
 Myrtle my ideas on the subject as fully as they could 
 be given in advance and in great ignorance of the 
 actual condition of things round Paris. We had 
 nothing but the vaguest rumors to go upon, but it 
 seemed impossible to doubt that the city was closely 
 invested and passage through the lines interdicted. 
 A neutral therefore ran the double chance of being 
 killed by either side as a spy before he had time to 
 offer explanations, which in any case and at best 
 would probably only extend his life by a very few 
 minutes. My idea was to get down to Orleans and 
 work up to the southeast of Paris, strike the Seine, 
 and at some point outside the Prussian cordon, slip 
 into the water and float down, bit by bit, till I got 
 inside the French lines and so into the city. Our 
 last venture by water had been so successful that the 
 idea of repeating it was the first that occurred to 
 me, nor could much cudgelling of our united brains 
 suggest anything more feasible. 
 
 "If you can only get to the river," said Myrtle. 
 
 "That will be the trouble. Once in the water I 
 shall feel comparatively at home." 
 
 "And where do we meet if I manage to get in 
 too?" asked my friend. 
 
 "Do you really think it is worth the risk, Hugh? 
 [199] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 I have every reason for going. I must go. With 
 you it is different " 
 
 "My dear boy, if the old gentleman here goes on 
 all right I shall be after you in a week. Where shall 
 we meet?" 
 
 "At M. Dellieu's. You remember where it was?" 
 
 "Could find it blindfold if I once strike the 
 Tuileries." 
 
 My baggage consisted of little more than the 
 clothes I stood in, a small bottle of brown stain for 
 the face, the letter Surgeon-Major Cannot had given 
 me, my passport, and about 1,000 francs in gold, — 
 all that I could procure at the moment. 
 
 The Maire of Dinan was good enough to give me 
 a letter supplementary to M. Cannot' s, stating that 
 I was known to him as a British subject of good 
 position, and that the reason for my attempting to 
 enter Paris was the fact that my fiancee, Mile, de 
 Kerhuel, had entered the city some time before the 
 investment and had not since been heard of. 
 
 "I doubt if that will avail you much, M. Glyn, if 
 you fall into the hands of the Prussians," he said. 
 "They are terrible barbarians, I believe." 
 
 "I must take my chances, M. le Maire, and I 
 thank you a thousand times for your kindness," and 
 I was off. 
 
 Rennes, Laval, Le Mans, Tours, OrMans, and so far 
 no great diificulties. Much suspicion on the part of 
 understrappers towards the end, but hearty good 
 wishes and assistance from their leaders as soon as 
 I succeeded in getting to them. 
 
 Orlfeans I found in a state of panic. I walked in at 
 the gate of the Faubourg St. Jean without question 
 from any one. The streets and quays were full of 
 townsfolk, hysterically bewailing their fate in being 
 
 [200] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 left to the tender mercies of the barbarians, and full 
 of furious invective against the heterogeneous mob of 
 Turcos, Mobiles, Francs-tireurs and a sprinkling of 
 Linesmen who were even then defiling in haste across 
 the river. Every soul that wore a uniform, no mat- 
 ter how haphazard and scrappy its composition, 
 seemed animated by but one thought, and that was 
 to put the greatest possible distance between himself 
 and the enemy in the shortest possible time. Neither 
 prayers nor curses had the slightest effect on them, 
 but the thought of the Prussians lent them wings. 
 
 As I came out on the Quai Cypierre a grand dis- 
 pute was going on between the City Fathers and the 
 rear guard, who were preparing to blow up the great 
 bridge. Sooner than lose their bridge, of which they 
 were reasonably proud, the civil authorities vowed 
 the Prussians might trample it to their hearts' con- 
 tent, since these imbeciles of Moblots could not 
 defend it. If it was to be blown up they would be 
 blown up with it. " Cowards ! it is only unarmed 
 Frenchmen you can destroy. If one but whispers 
 'Prussians' you turn tail — "and so on and so on. 
 There came a sudden well-timed yell, "Les Prussiens, 
 les Prussiens," from the Rue Royale. The spectators 
 on the Quai scattered and fled. The military de- 
 cided that further argument was unseemly and that 
 their presence was required elsewhere. The bridge 
 was saved, but there were no Prussians nearer than 
 CheviUy. 
 
 I bought a blue blouse and put it on over the 
 infirmier uniform I had worn in Metz and had re- 
 tained ever since. With the kepi and the blouse I 
 made a very fair franc-tireur, and as such jogged on 
 to Montarges with views on Fontainebleau. The 
 country people, however, said the Prussian cavalry 
 
 [201] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 were there, so I gave it a wide berth and struck across 
 country by Chdroy, crossed the Yonne at Pont-sur- 
 Yonne and the Seine at Bray. 
 
 It was between Bray and Nangis, in the neighbor- 
 hood of a little place called Sonnevalle, that I had 
 my first personal experience of the idiosyncrasies of 
 francs-tireurs. 
 
 I was plodding along in the dark, very much on 
 the alert, as I knew the country thereabouts was a 
 kind of Tom Tiddler's ground, scoured constantly 
 by both sides and continually changing hands. It 
 was as black as a hat, and I was put to much 
 trouble to keep the road. I was proceeding with the 
 utmost caution and in absolute silence. Villefois 
 asserts that his men asserted that I was whistling. 
 To that I answer — is it likely? Besides, his men were 
 a band of truculent ruffians as devoid of truth as 
 they were of uniforms or the most elementary germs 
 of manners; murderous scoundrels with whom no 
 gentleman would willingly associate, to whom a 
 wounded Prussian was as a toad to a vicious school- 
 boy — a gift of the gods to be put to the torture. I 
 grant you I was in good spirits at my success so 
 far and was thinking much of Marie, to whom every 
 footstep brought me nearer. But whistling ! — it is a 
 fable of the francs-tireurs, and men who will drop the 
 hoe to bowl over a Prussian courier, and be quietly 
 at work again with the gun hid in the hedge before 
 the smoke has cleared away, will say and do any- 
 thing. To that Villefois' only answer is a lapse into 
 proverbial philosophy, which I account but a weak 
 form of argument at any time. " A la guerre comme 
 a la guerre," says he, and when I hint that there are 
 methods of playing the game which are revolting to 
 a fair-minded man, he gets angry and says I had not 
 
 [ 202 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 had my horses and cattle seized, together with every- 
 thing eatable by man or beast that was in sight, 
 and my house burnt over my head, and my wife and 
 children turned adrift into the woods. And there he 
 has me, especially as regards the wife and children, 
 and I confess that under such circumstances I would 
 probably have done much as the francs-tireurs did, 
 except as regards the wounded Prussians. To which 
 Villefois says I would have attempted to cure them, 
 and the result would have been the same to the 
 Prussians, but longer of coming and much more 
 painful. Then, having dealt that slogging blow, he 
 recovers his good-humor and asserts that when I 
 was hauled before him my face was whiter than his 
 shirt; but being put to the question, he admits that 
 in those days his laundry bill was not a heavy one. 
 Then, sometimes, by way of piling the coals on his 
 head, I ask him how his arm is, and he works a fist 
 like a leg of mutton to and fro to show me that, in 
 his case at all events, my efforts were not wanting 
 in success. 
 
 I was on my back on the ground before I knew it, 
 and as far as I could make out, for my head was 
 humming from a blow, there were seventeen dif- 
 ferent men on top of me, all swearing volubly in 
 whispers. 
 
 I was secured before I could get my breath back, 
 and then the seventeen got off my stomach and 
 kicked me till I stood up. 
 
 "I assure you, gentlemen," I said, "I am not a 
 Prussian spy." 
 
 "Ah bah! shut up, you. If you are not a Prus- 
 sian spy what are you doing here, whistling signals 
 to the cursed pigs over yonder? You are not of 
 hereabouts, and your accent is Prussian. Is it not 
 
 [203] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 so?" to the others, who replied without a dissent- 
 ing voice that it undoubtedly was so. 
 
 "I am an Englishman," I said. 
 
 "It is the same thing," said the spokesman. "Is 
 it not so?" 
 
 The Greek chorus replied that it was so. 
 
 "But," I said, "my papers will show who and 
 what I am." 
 
 "Pooh! anybody can manufacture papers." 
 
 Nevertheless they ripped open my blouse and the 
 semi-military uniform below confirmed them in the 
 certainty of my treachery. If I wasn't a spy why did 
 I wear a uniform? "Pooh! Bah! It is evident! 
 Jules, mon gars, drive your bayonet through his 
 ribs." 
 
 "Attention, Messieurs," I cried, with the expecta- 
 tion of the steel in my side at any moment, "I am 
 an English surgeon attached to the French ambu- 
 lance in Metz. I have just escaped from that 
 town " 
 
 "Of course, it is somewhere down this way." 
 
 "And I am going into Paris " 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 ' ' With your permission, of course. But this is poor 
 return for risking one's life assisting your wounded. 
 Look at my papers, they will confirm all I say." 
 
 " Of course, you would be a fool else." 
 
 However, they pulled out my papers and imme- 
 diately asserted that they were in German, where- 
 upon Jules of the bayonet prepared for action, and 
 Paris and Marie seemed suddenly a very long way 
 off. 
 
 "Attendee, mes gars !" said another voice, and the 
 speaker in low quick tones made some new sugges- 
 tion to which the others assented. They formed up 
 
 [204] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 round me and a blow from the butt of a gun on the 
 lowest joint of my spine intimated their desire that 
 I should move forward, and at the same time almost 
 deprived me of the power to do so. 
 
 We left the road and plunged across country and 
 walked as fast as the ground would permit, for, 
 I reckoned, close on half-an-hour. Then we came 
 among silent scattered houses, and, tapping gently 
 on the window-shutter of one of them, the door 
 opened and admitted us to an unlighted room. I 
 was hauled through another doorway and made to 
 descend many wooden steps. When I got to the 
 bottom of the ladder I found myself in a large and 
 lofty stone-walled room, evidently underground, for 
 the air smelt close after the cool night outside. 
 
 A small wood fire in a wide chimney-place, with a 
 very big iron pot hanging over it, and two or three 
 candles stuck in bottles lent an air of subdued cheer- 
 fulness to the opaque atmosphere, and on the 
 wooden tables were bottles of the wine of the coun- 
 try, which contributed to the same end. 
 
 On a broad-backed seat like a settle, coming out 
 from the fireplace, lay a big man smoking a briar 
 pipe. He had a very cheerful face covered with 
 sunny hair, and a very dirty shirt open at the neck 
 and torn and bloody at the shoulder. Several more 
 men sat smoking on the floor. 
 
 "Hola, J arras! What have you got there?" 
 asked the big man. 
 
 "A spy, captain." 
 
 "Then what the devil did you bring him here 
 for?" 
 
 "He says he's not a spy, captain " 
 
 "Don't they all say that, you fool?" 
 
 "But he says he's an English surgeon " 
 
 [205] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Ah, that's another story. Bring him here to me." 
 
 "Now, Monsieur," to me when I had been brought, 
 "what is this? Do not trouble to lie. If you are 
 an English surgeon and can prove it, do so at once. 
 If you can't we shall be under the painful necessity 
 of putting an end to you." 
 
 "Thank God, I've got to a sensible man at last," 
 I said fervently. "Read the papers which one or 
 other of your brigands took out of my pocket. If 
 that isn't enough I'll tackle that shoulder of yours 
 and set it right." 
 
 " Ah,— bien ! it is well said," and the bold blue eyes 
 shot a friendly look at me. 
 
 "You have been in Metz?" he said, looking up 
 from the papers. 
 
 "Yes, I was working among the wounded there 
 for six weeks." 
 
 "How did you get out?" 
 
 "Swam down the river in the night." 
 
 "Good. How were things with them when yea 
 left?" 
 
 "Not good. Much suffering." 
 
 "Will they get out?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And you want to get into Paris?" 
 
 "As quickly as possible, as you will understand 
 from the papers there." 
 
 He nodded and asked, "Ma'm'selle is French?" 
 
 "Yes, of Brittany." 
 
 "Then Monsieur's sympathies are with us?" 
 
 "Do not my papers prove it. Monsieur?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly. Will you look at my shoulder at 
 once, M. le Docteur? It is extremely painful." 
 
 I begged leave to wash my hands first, and water 
 was instantly brought me in a small bowl. 
 
 [206] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "The bullet is still in," I said, "and it must come 
 out at once. I need a lancet or a very sharp knife. 
 It will rot be difficult. It has gone right through to 
 the back, carrying ith it probably a piece of your 
 coat and shirt. It lies just above the shoulder blade 
 and nothing, I think, is seriously damaged." 
 
 "Dieu merci!" 
 
 "Now a knife — a sharp one, and some clean water 
 and some soft rags and I will have you comfortable 
 in ten minutes. When was it?" 
 
 "Two nights ago." And to his men, "Who has 
 got the sharpest knife among you, boys?" 
 
 Half a dozen were instantly produced. I selected 
 the cleanest and requested the owner to strop the 
 small blade on a sword belt and get the best point 
 possible on it. 
 
 "We potted a patrol outside Fontainebleau and 
 had a hot quarter of an hour," said the wounded 
 man. "But they got up reinforcements and we had 
 to cut for it. I was the only one hit. I think we 
 settled half a score of them. But, mon dieu ! what 
 boots it half a score, or half a thousand ? They are 
 legion — ^like the devils of scripture, and, dieu-de-dieu ! 
 they are likewise swine. Would to God they would 
 all run down a steep place and get drowned ! These 
 are terrible times for France, Monsieur Glyn. Why 
 is it that our chastisement is so heavy? Our men 
 are brave men." 
 
 "That is a very big question. Monsieur " 
 
 "Pardon! Yillefois is my name. Charles Ville- 
 fois, at your service." 
 
 "I am Charles also," I said. 
 
 "A labonheur !"he saidgayly. "Well now, why?" 
 
 "Your top branches are rotten. I think the roots 
 are all right. I saw your men at Spicheren and at 
 
 [207] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Colombey. They fought bravely. But your leaders 
 hesitate and I should say their councils are divided. 
 At Mars-la-Tour and Gravelotte there were twenty, 
 thousand French dead and wounded " 
 
 "Mon dieu ! mon dieu!" resounded all round, me 
 in tones of angry grief, for the others were all lis- 
 tening intently, even Tisson stopped his energetic 
 stropping. 
 
 "And quite as many Germans " 
 
 "Dieu merci!" in tones of much relief and satis- 
 faction. 
 
 "But the German losses result in victory and the 
 French losses so far have not. Given equal forces — 
 and you have generally been outnumbered — brains 
 would turn the scale." 
 
 "It is very true," said Villefois, with a shrug that 
 made him wince; "we have lacked a head, and the 
 poor Badinguet was not equal to it. Where is he 
 now, Monsieur?" 
 
 "He is at Wilhelmshohe, in Germany. He was, at 
 all events, when I passed through Luxemburg, and 
 the Empress and the young Prince are in England. 
 Now, M. Tisson, is the knife ready?" 
 
 The knife was handed to me and proved ade- 
 quate. I could feel the bullet below the skin, and a 
 couple of cuts brought out first a scrap of linen, 
 then a scrap of woollen cloth, and finally the bullet 
 itself. I placed them all in Villefois' palm. 
 
 "Your property, M. Villefois." 
 
 "I look on this as a loan," he said, fingering the 
 bullet. "I will return it, or its equivalent, with 
 interest." 
 
 I cleansed the wound as thoroughly as I could and 
 bound it up both back and front, and also bound 
 his arm to his side to keep it out of action. 
 
 [208] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Give it complete rest and renew those bandages 
 every night and morning, and it should heal up all 
 right." 
 
 "No permanent injury?" asked Villefois. 
 
 "Not if you attend to my instructions." 
 
 "I am very greatly indebted to you, M. Glyn. I 
 will help you forward all I can. But I am loath to 
 let you go, for you will certainly get shot by the 
 Prussians." 
 
 "If you'll do what you can for me I'll try and 
 do the rest," I said. 
 
 "Now, boys, supper. Are your men posted out- 
 side, Jarras?" 
 
 "All alive, captain." 
 
 We supped excellently off soup from the big pot- 
 au-feu and the boiled meat that also came out of 
 it, and coarse brown bread, and cheese, and very 
 good red wine from the bottles on the tables. 
 
 "What is this place?" I asked M. Villefois as we ate. 
 
 "It is the underground chapel of a monastery 
 that once stood here. I used it as a wine cellar. 
 But the vintage this year is of another kind and 
 will not be bottled. We have had other things to 
 think of. My vineyards are trampled into mud. My 
 house is in ruins. My wife and children I was for- 
 tunately able to send to Bordeaux to my father, so 
 I have no anxiety on their account. I do not think 
 the Prussian devils will get as far as that. Did you 
 come through Orleans, M. Glyn?" 
 
 "I was there two days ago." 
 
 "And how was it with them?" 
 
 "They were all off their heads, it seemed to me. 
 The troops had crossed the river and wanted to 
 blow up the big bridge and the townspeople wouldn't 
 let them." 
 
 14 [ 209 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "We want a head," he said gloomily. "A strong 
 man— one man— might save France yet if he were 
 strong enough to act alone and make the others 
 obey him. It is too many heads that is our 
 ruin." 
 
 After supper Villefois produced tobacco, and the 
 atmosphere became thick enough to cut with a 
 knife, although the trap door at the head of the 
 stairs was left open. 
 
 "It is warm, at any rate," said my host, "and 
 the nights up above begin to grow cold." 
 
 We talked of many things over our pipes, and I 
 saw that to my new friend it was a great enjoyment. 
 We talked till the rest were snoring in their blankets 
 on the floor. He again expressed regret that I must 
 go— "But, pardon! I was forgetting Ma'm'selle. 
 I wish with all my heart, mon cher, that you may 
 succeed in getting through and may find Ma'm'selle 
 all right. What are your plans?" 
 
 I told him briefly what I thought of trjdng. 
 
 "If you can take the water near enough to the 
 city to stand the swim I see no reason why you 
 should not get through," he said. "The difficulty 
 will be to get there. I can get you within fair reach 
 of the rear of the German lines, but how you will 
 get through I don't know." 
 
 "Where does the line on this side cross the river?" 
 
 "At Choisy bridge." 
 
 "And how far is that from Paris?" 
 
 "Roughly speaking, five miles. But their patrols 
 are all over the country behind. It's a clean sharp 
 front, you see, but a wide sweeping tail, and it's 
 the tail that will bother you. And then if you- ' 
 manage to get past the Germans without being shot 
 for a French spy, the Moblots outside Paris will 
 
 [210] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 shoot you for a German spy. It's a nice little task 
 you've set yourself, my friend." 
 
 "I must trust to Providence and good luck." 
 
 " They are the friends of a brave man. You would 
 like to go to-morrow — that is, to-day?" 
 
 "I would like to be there now, but I shall stop 
 here another day to see that that shoulder is going 
 on all right." 
 
 "That is very good of you," and he stretched out 
 his hand and took mine in a hearty grip. "And to 
 think," he said, "that those cursed fools — but no, I 
 withdraw. They are poor men and uneducated and 
 they have suffered cruelly. All the same, I'm glad 
 they didn't shoot you. The loss would have been 
 mine." 
 
 "And mine to some extent." 
 
 "Truly this is not a healthy country for tourists 
 at the moment. And you really do not think, M. 
 Glyn, that the other powers will intervene even to 
 save Paris from bombardment?" 
 
 "I fear not." 
 
 "It is monstrous. Paris to be levelled to the 
 ground by these barbarians !" 
 . "Suppose it was London, would you intervene?" 
 
 "London is not Paris. Paris belongs to all the 
 world." 
 
 "I'm afraid all the world considers that Paris 
 brought it on herself. Did you yourself want this 
 war, for instance?" 
 
 "Mon dieu, no ! War is horror. No one knows it 
 till they have seen it. But when one's country is 
 beaten on to her knees one does what one can to 
 strike a blow for her. But," he said mournfully, 
 "the blows such as we can strike are like pin pricks 
 in the hide of an elephant." 
 
 [ 211 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Why don't you join the Army of the Loire and 
 regularize yourself?" 
 
 " I can't stand the officers. Fools of any kind are 
 a weariness to me, but when they are insolent and 
 overbearing fools, then I want to trample on them." 
 
 I told him in a few words the story of Jean de 
 Kerhuel. 
 
 "I know it," he said. "I had a friend, a very 
 dear friend. Him too they shot in just the same 
 way. A corporal who had only had his step a week 
 struck him. My friend struck back. They took him 
 out and shot him, — to encourage the others to 
 accept everything in silence. If my friend had 
 struck that blow a week earlier it would have passed 
 unnoticed. That seven days cost him his life." 
 
 "When do you generally go to bed?" I asked at 
 last, feeling very tired myself. 
 
 "I haven't been to bed for a month," he said. 
 "But it's high time we got between the blankets. 
 The enjoyment of meeting a sensible man, to use 
 your own words, has made me selfish. I ask your 
 pardon." 
 
 I helped him to such comfort as a pair of rather 
 thin blankets could afford, and lay down along- 
 side him and fell asleep in a moment. 
 
 [212] 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 The room was empty when I woke up, and Yille- 
 fois came down the wooden ladder while I was still 
 sitting among my blankets. 
 
 "How's the shoulder?" I asked. 
 
 "Bit stiff, but feels happier than it did. You 
 slept well?" 
 
 "Yes, I was tired out." 
 
 "Come upstairs and have some coffee. It's a 
 glorious morning," and I followed him up the ladder. 
 
 The trap-door opened, I found, in the floor of a 
 little outhouse which was lighted only by one small 
 window of bottle glass set in the roof. Round two 
 sides of this room were great piles of winter firing, 
 branches of trees and small logs sawn into short 
 lengths with beards of dried moss hanging to them. 
 They were ranged in a somewhat peculiar way and 
 bound to the sides of the room with cords to keep 
 them from falling down into the cellar. Yillefois 
 saw me looking at them and said, "That is our 
 screen in case of a visit from the enemy — our first 
 line of defence. A tug at those knots when the trap 
 is down and all that wood lies on top of it, and it 
 looks as if it had been there for years and would 
 be a day's work to clear it. We have had more 
 than one call from them, but they have never pene- 
 trated the screen." 
 
 "And the second line of defence?" I asked. 
 
 "Fire and steel if we happen to be at home. This 
 is sanctuary, and would be defended at any cost." 
 
 "And where are all your men now?" 
 [213] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 " In the air and in the ground. Up trees, in hedges 
 and ditches and holes, — watching, watching, watch- 
 ing all the time." 
 
 The sole occupant of the cottage, which was poorly 
 furnished and offered no attractions to marauders, 
 was an ancient woman in a very white mob cap, 
 which contrasted vividly with the creased brown 
 parchment of her face. She was sitting over the 
 hearth smoking a short black pipe, and watching 
 two old tin coffee-pots which stood knee deep in the 
 white wood ashes. 
 
 "Coffee, Babette, if you please," said Villefois, and 
 the old crone got out three bowls and filled them 
 to the brim with deliciously smelling coffee and 
 milk. 
 
 "Is he a Prussian?" she asked, blinking at me. 
 
 "No, my old one, or he wouldn't be here, as you 
 know very well. He's a doctor who has mended my 
 shoulder. Babette doesn't love the Prussians," he 
 said to me. 
 
 "They killed my man and my boy," she growled, 
 " I would cut the throat of every cursed one I found. 
 Mon dieu, yes!" and she looked quite capable of 
 it. 
 
 "Ah— ha! Milk this morning, Babette. You area 
 famous housewife. Where did the milk come from?" 
 
 "The old Lajaille brought it up," croaked the old 
 woman, "but there is no sugar." 
 
 "One can't have everything in war time," said 
 Villefois philosophically. 
 
 The coffee was excellent, even lacking sugar, and 
 we had sweet dark-colored bread without butter. 
 
 The cottage door was wide open and the country 
 side was flooded with sweet sunshine. The silence 
 outside was studded with a dull thudding which 
 
 [214] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 occasionally ran into a continuous roll like distant 
 thunder. 
 
 "They are fighting down Chevilly way," said 
 Villefois, and stopped eating now and again when 
 the rumbling waxed louder and longer. 
 
 The meal finished he went to the door and looked 
 warily out before issuing. I followed and we stood 
 outside. 
 
 There were perhaps half-a-dozen houses in all, but 
 apparently all empty. Behind the cottage lay the 
 tumbled and very ancient ruins of the old monastery, 
 a vast pile of brown weather-beaten stones. Behind 
 them several tall trees, and looking towards them 
 Villefois called, "You are awake, Leon?" and a 
 voice from the topmost branches replied, "But yes, 
 Monsieur, I am awake, of course." And presently, 
 "They are fighting over yonder," said the voice. 
 
 " I hear them. Keep a sharp look-out, mon gars." 
 
 We sat down on a wooden bench by the door and 
 smoked, and then I bathed the wounded shoulder 
 and readjusted the bandages. It was a good deal 
 inflamed, but not more than I would have expected. 
 
 Villefois pointed out the remains of his vineyards. 
 "My own house is three miles from here towards 
 Fontainebleau," he said, "but it is occupied by the 
 Prussians, curse them ! In good times the land 
 brings me in thirty thousand francs a year, and 
 here I am like a rat in a hole, and, ma foi, glad 
 enough to have so big a hole to lie in." 
 
 "Tiens! Monsieur," came a sharp call from the 
 tree, "'y a que'qu' chose, la-bas." 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 A moment's silence and then, 
 
 "Horsemen. They are coming here," and a small 
 boy of perhaps fourteen, with a thin dark face and 
 
 [215] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 black eyes blazing with excitement, came sliding 
 down the tree and danced upon the ground. 
 
 "We had better go in, M. Glyn," said Villefois 
 quietly, and knocked out his pipe and stamped the 
 ashes into the earth, and led the way, the small 
 boy dancing excitedly in the rear. 
 
 " They are coming again, Babette," he said, as we 
 passed through the cottage. "You know what to 
 do?" 
 
 "Si, si, allez, vite, vite! Dieu ! if I could only 
 kill one with my own hand," said the old crone 
 excitedly. 
 
 He made me go first and drew down the trap 
 behind him, and in a moment the piles of firing fell 
 thundering on top of it. 
 
 "Will they be all safe upstairs?" I asked in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " Quite safe," he whispered back. "Safer than the 
 Prussians would be if Babette had any poison and 
 could induce them to drink coffee. They shot her 
 husband and her son — the boy's father — the first time 
 they came. Certainly, Lfeon had been shooting at 
 them from behind hedges whenever he got the 
 chance." 
 
 It was pitch dark but the air was fairly fresh and 
 there was evidently some little ventilation some- 
 where. There was no fire, and Villefois, taking my 
 hand drew me round the wall to the large open 
 hearth. 
 
 "Stand here and we may hear what passes," he 
 whispered. ' ' This chimney runs round into the chim- 
 ney of the cottage," and we stood and listened 
 intently. 
 
 Before long we plainly heard the arrival of the 
 unwelcome guests, their brusque German voices, and 
 
 [ 216 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Babette's growls in reply, but it was impossible to 
 make out the words. 
 
 It occurred to me that my position was a pe- 
 culiarly unpleasant one. If by any mischance they 
 should poke round till they discovered the cellar 
 I would not give a halfpenny for my own life. I 
 should be simply a franc-tireur caught red-handed, 
 and all such were shot on sight, so Yillefois had 
 assured me the night before. I listened anxiously 
 for the sounds above to die away, betokening their 
 departure. But, instead, I heard them laughing 
 and joking and evidently making themselves quite 
 at home. They had possibly smelled coffee and in- 
 sisted on having some. It was a trying hour I 
 spent in that chimney-place. But there was worse 
 to come. 
 
 Down the chimney shaft came the sound of 
 snatches of song and much laughter, and then we 
 heard the humming of a song through the trap 
 door above us, then a tentative movement of the 
 logs as though some curious member of the party 
 were poking casually round to see what was what. 
 Then we heard distinctly an exclamation of surprise 
 from the enterprising one, and more stir above the 
 trap door, and Yillefois pressed my arm. 
 
 "If they come down I have no option but to kill 
 them — ^if I can," he whispered. "I wish you had 
 gone, but it is too late now. You understand — if 
 one of them escapes our sanctuary is violated. It 
 is the lives of all my men or theirs." 
 
 There was no doubt about their intention to come 
 down. The logs were being systematically dragged 
 off the trap. They probably expected to find wine 
 or supplies of some kind. In any case a trap-door con- 
 cealed below a wood pile was too tempting to resist. 
 
 [217] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Get behind that settle," whispered Villefois, 
 "and don't move whatever happens," and I glided 
 softly behind the settle and knelt there, my heart 
 thumping furiously. 
 
 At last the trap was all clear, and with a merry 
 sing-song they heaved it up and a dim Ught 
 streamed down. 
 
 "Hola! below there!" cried a brusque voice in 
 German, and then "Gott! it's as dark as Hades," 
 and a heavy spurred foot came wandering down 
 the ladder. It stopped doubtfully, but those above 
 urged him on. They wanted to be in at the find 
 too. 
 
 " Johann wants his horse," said one above. "He's 
 always at sea on dry land," and they all laughed 
 and scuffled like schoolboys for next place on the 
 ladder. It was a long ladder, and they came crowd- 
 ing down it to their death as merrily as to a feast. 
 
 They had to come down backwards because of 
 their spurs, and the lowest man shouted to the one 
 above him to have a care or he would hook his 
 eyes out. 
 
 Then suddenly the topmost man, whose feet were 
 still feeling for the rungs of the ladder, collapsed 
 with a groan and fell heavily against the man be- 
 low. At the same moment the trap was flung down 
 and in the dark Villefois' revolver spoke. The bot- 
 tom man, who was just setting foot to ground, sank 
 with a groan, and yells and curses broke out from 
 those above. The revolver cracked again, and in- 
 stantly again in the light of its own flash, which was 
 all the light the shooter had to go by. Then there 
 was silence, broken only by the groans of dying 
 men. And the sharp smell of the powder wMfifed 
 about the cellar. 
 
 [ 218 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Three were down. I thought there were two left. 
 
 Yillefois made a movement beside me and at the 
 far end of the room there came a crash of some- 
 thing faUing, it sounded Hke a brick. Two instant 
 flashes shot out from the ladder, an answering 
 flash from the chimney corner and another body 
 fell from the ladder. 
 
 There was only one left. He must have been a 
 brave lad, for he sprang from the ladder and rushed 
 clattering towards the fireplace and ran full tilt 
 into it. 
 
 "Gott! it is useless," he cried furiously. "I sur- 
 render." 
 
 There came two more quick shots from the middle 
 of the room, one for the flash and one for the end, 
 and it was all over. 
 
 For a moment — silence; then I heard Yillefois 
 groping towards the ladder. 
 
 "God have mercy on them and on me!" he said, 
 with a shake in his voice. "There was no help for 
 it." 
 
 He stumbled slowly up the ladder and thumped 
 on the trap till the old woman slipped back a bolt 
 and he could raise it with his head and climb out; 
 and I followed him quickly, feeling very sick at the 
 whole business. 
 
 Old Babette's sunken eyes were glowing like hot 
 coals, and the boy Lfeon's sparkling like diamonds. 
 
 "Are they all dead?" asked the old woman hun- 
 grily. 
 
 "They are dead," said Yillefois. "Let me get out. 
 I am choking." 
 
 "Ah— ha ! God be thanked ! I put the knife into 
 one of them," chuckled the crone. "That is for my 
 man. The boy is still to pay for." 
 
 [219] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Lfepn had disappeared into the cellar. 
 
 I found Villefois on the bench outside with his 
 head in his right hand. 
 
 "That was horrible, horrible!" he groaned, "es- 
 pecially the last on». But it had to be. Curse it all ! 
 curse it all ! and ten thousand curses on those 
 who brought it all about !" 
 
 The troopers' horses, spruce and neat, were hitched 
 to a nail in the wall. They stood quietly waiting 
 the return of their masters. 
 
 Villefois sprang up and went into the cottage. 
 
 "Lfeon, Lfeon, vite ! What are you doing down 
 there, you little devil? Here, I want you," and 
 Leon crawled up the ladder. He might only have 
 been examining the men below to see if they were 
 dead. He might have been emptying their pockets. 
 His hands were red. 
 
 "Take off those saddles," said Villefois. "We will 
 pitch them into the cellar," and he helped with the 
 girths as well as one hand would let him. "Now, 
 mount and carry them towards Villenelle. You can- 
 not cross the river. When you have gone ten miles 
 take off the bridles and turn them loose and come 
 home." 
 
 The boy rode off bareback with two horses on each 
 side of him. Villefois carried the saddles one by one 
 into the cottage and flung them down into the cel- 
 lar, and came and sat down on the bench again. 
 And the sun shone down upon us, soft and bright 
 and peaceful, as if there were no such things in the 
 world as battle and murder and sudden death. 
 
 It was a horrible experience. War is horrible. I 
 do not judge this man, for I had not suffered what 
 he had suffered and so could not enter fully into 
 his feelings. 
 
 [220] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 But I know that to him also it was horrible and 
 foreign to his nature, and that he had done what 
 he had done simply because, from his point of view, 
 it had to be done and there was no escape from it. 
 
 He kept silence for a very long ^ime, and when at 
 last he broke it, it was to say gently to me : 
 
 "You must go on to-night, M. Glyn. I regret 
 much that I kept you — for this." 
 
 I was glad to hear him say it, for another night 
 in that cellar would have been more than I cared 
 for. 
 
 Charles Yillefois has sent me many a barrel of 
 good red wine since those days. Sometimes, when 
 drinking it, the remembrance of what passed that 
 day in the cellar, where it may have lain to ripen, 
 has come over me and the taste of it has changed 
 suddenly between two sips. 
 
 We remained all day on the bench by the door 
 on the look-out for the enemy. The old woman, 
 still chuckling to herself, brought us food, and we 
 sat and smoked and looked out over the quiet 
 country and listened to. the dull thud-thudding away 
 over to the southwest. 
 
 Towards nightfall the men began dropping in with 
 their news. When they heard of the day's doings 
 at the cottage they were full of exultation. Yillefois 
 ordered them to dig a big hole some distance away 
 and to hurry the job through before it was dark. 
 Then they hauled up the dead men, and a most 
 horrible sight was old Babette as she clapped her 
 skinny hands with unholy glee at sight of her par- 
 ticular victim and reclaimed her big bread knife. 
 He had bled dreadfully, which seemed to add to her 
 enjoyment. 
 
 "That is mine, that one, see you. Did I strike 
 [221] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 true? Ma foi, yes. That pays for my old man. 
 The boy is still to pay for. That will come, — k la 
 bonheur ! Please God, and all in good time, that 
 will come too." 
 
 I was glad Babette had no more meals to pre- 
 pare for me. 
 
 I dressed Villefois' shoulder . once more before it 
 got quite dark, and then he called up two of his 
 men, Jarras his lieutenant, and one named Cas- 
 conne, and talked with them at considerable length 
 as to my journey. There were plans and sugges- 
 tions, and counter-plans and new suggestions, and in 
 the end nothing more was decided than that these 
 two should lead me by cross-country ways to as 
 near as they dare go to the rear of the German 
 cordon in the neighborhood of Villeneuve St. George, 
 which lay on the Seine about eight miles from 
 Paris. The district would be full of francs-tireurs, 
 but from them I should be safe with my compan- 
 ions. 
 
 Then Villefois shook me very warmly by the hand 
 and wished me good luck. 
 
 " Perhaps," he said gloomily, " when we have drunk 
 the cup to the dregs, we may meet again in happier 
 times, M. Glyn. If not, one of us, at all events, will 
 never forget that we once met." 
 
 We walked rapidly and for the most part in silence. 
 M. Jarras ventured the remark that this had been 
 a good day for them, for he had himself shot a cou- 
 rier on the Melun road. He also suggested that if 
 the Captain had been quite himself he would have 
 kept the horses and uniforms of the patrol and used 
 them to good advantage in striking further blows. 
 But I could not work up any enthusiasm on the 
 subject and conversation dwindled. 
 
 [222] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 We walked all through the night, and at daylight 
 found lodgment and some scraps of hay for bedding 
 in the loft of a burnt-out farm. We kept watch 
 about all through the day, munching brown bread 
 and fragments of cold meat which we had brought 
 with us, for meals, and washing it down with 
 draughts from the well below. Twice during the 
 day we got sight of distant horse en, but no one 
 disturbed us, and as soon as it was dark we set off 
 again towards the north. Three times that night we 
 walked into the lurking-places of bands of francs- 
 tireurs, but a whispered conversation between them 
 and my guides set us on our way again, and each 
 time with a welcome contribution to our commis- 
 sariat. And twice we lay face to the ground while 
 cavalry patrols clanked past much closer than my 
 companions considered desirable. There was no 
 great difficulty in escaping the patrols. They were 
 audible and visible from a distance. But the sudden 
 stealthy encirclement of the francs-tireurs, who 
 seemed to rise out of the ground, was startling in 
 the extreme. 
 
 We must have made very wide circuits, and more 
 than once we had to try back and go round when 
 my guides learned that bodies of Prussians lay 
 ahead. We crossed a river in a punt which was put 
 at our disposal by some francs-tireurs, one of whom 
 crossed with us and carried the boat back to the 
 other side. It was softening towards daylight when 
 we drew into a wood, and when we reached the 
 further side Jarras whispered : 
 
 "VoilS,, Monsieur, that is Villeneuve St. George, 
 down by the railroad and the river. Choisy is 
 five miles down stream. We cannot take you further. 
 It is dangerous country this." 
 
 [333] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 I thanked them very warmly and hinted at re- 
 muneration, but they would not hear of it. 
 
 "Monsieur's heart is towards France, that is 
 enough," said Jarras. "Adieu and good luck !" and 
 with a final shake of the hand and an exhortation 
 to caution they disappeared among the trees, leav- 
 ing me to play out my own hand, and to muse 
 meanwhile on the slenderness of the dividing Knes 
 between men and men and between life and death. A 
 night or two ago these peasants were ready to cut 
 my throat simply because they were not then aware 
 that "my heart was towards France." For the last 
 two days they had carried their lives in their hands 
 for me. They were going back to their murderous 
 work of slaughtering every Prussian they could 
 safely lay hands on or put bullets into, because 
 their hearts were not towards France. As between 
 man and man there was no reason for this deadly 
 hatred, which transformed men into fiends incarnate. 
 Some men called Prussians had harried their houses 
 and passed on, and were probably by this time 
 under the sod. And so everything in Prussian uni- 
 form, everything, indeed, that was not palpably on 
 the side of France, must suffer vicarious punish- 
 ment, by lead and fire and steel, on every possible 
 opportunity. 
 
 And beyond there, by the lead-colored river, the 
 white houses of Yilleneuve St. George began to glim- 
 mer in the half-light of the dawn, and five miles 
 down stream lay Choisy, and a few miles beyond 
 that Paris, and somewhere in Paris — Marie. Where, 
 and in what case, I wondered much, and longed like 
 the singer of old for the wings of a dove, that I 
 might float above the obstacles of earth, and find 
 my heart's delight and rest. 
 
 [224] 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 I HAD pondered much during our night journeying 
 as to the next move in the game, but so much de- 
 pended on circumstances that it had been impossi- 
 ble to make any definite plan. 
 
 Two plain courses were open to me. I could try 
 the Metz plan of floating down stream into the 
 city. It was a much longer course than at Metz, 
 and fraught with infinitely more difficulties. If I 
 was discovered either by Prussians or Frenchmen I 
 should be shot to a certainty before I could begin 
 to explain my innocence of any evil intent. 
 
 The other plan was to march straight up to the 
 first Prussian post and endeavor to enlist the sym- 
 pathies of the officer in charge. That also might 
 prove a risky proceeding. My papers might satisfy 
 them that I was a non-combatant, but they would 
 also prove my French sympathies. And then, dis- 
 cipline in the Prussian army was so strict that any 
 officer into whose hands I fell would probably feel 
 that he had no option but to forward me promptly 
 to headquarters, if indeed he did not save himself 
 that trouble by shooting me out of hand. 
 
 Here, face to face with Villenetive and the necessity 
 for a prompt decision, I weighed both propositions 
 carefully and finally, and was drawn more and more 
 to the more open course. On the face of it it seemed 
 the bolder plan, but after much consideration I was 
 not sure that it did not after all eliminate some of 
 the chances of being shot. 
 15 [ 225 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Crawling along the high road came an appar- 
 ently endless train of laden wagons escorted by a 
 troop of lancers. They rumbled slowly across the 
 pontoon bridge and creaked away towards the west; 
 and away in the direction of Paris big guns began 
 suddenly a furious fusillade, and I thought surely 
 the Prussians must be trying to carry the city by 
 assault. I got up and made my way through the 
 wet grass to the high road and tramped sturdily 
 towards the village. Presently on the road in front 
 I saw a Prussian sentry watching me stolidly. He 
 let me approach within speaking distance without 
 moving a muscle. Then he asked : 
 
 "Who goes?" 
 
 "A friend," I said, in German. 
 
 "Advance, friend, and give the word." 
 
 "I don't know the word," I said, in my stumbling 
 German. "I want your commanding officer." 
 
 He dropped his bayonet to the level of my ribs 
 and looked at me. He was an uncommonly hand- 
 some lad, with bold blue eyes and crisp yellow hair, 
 and downy indications of a mustache which looked 
 white against the healthy red of his face. 
 
 "You're not going to hurt him, are you?" he 
 said, with a quizzical grin; and then, looking cu- 
 riously at my uniform, for I had shed my blouse 
 along with the francs-tireurs, "But you're not a 
 Frenchman?" 
 
 "No, I'm an Englishman." 
 
 "What a silly fool you must be," he said in per- 
 fect English; and added quickly, "to be here, I 
 mean." 
 
 "That's as it may be," I said. "I'm glad you 
 speak EngUsh anyhow. I'd about got to the end 
 of my German." 
 
 [226] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "It didn't reach far, did it?" he laughed. "Now, 
 what is it you want?" 
 
 "I want to get into Paris." 
 
 "Same here," he laughed again. "But we don't 
 find it healthy to walk straight in along the high 
 road, and I doubt if you would either. What do 
 you want to go in for? You're a great deal bet- 
 ter off outside. I suppose you're a bit mad, like 
 most Englishmen." 
 
 "I think you know Englishmen better than that. 
 You must have lived among us to speak so 
 well." 
 
 "Dear boy, I lived in London for two years, 122 
 Lower Hamilton Terrace, Maida Yale, green bus up 
 Edgware Road, fare threepence from the Bank, or 
 if preferred Underground Railway via Baker Street, 
 whose atmosphere partakes of the hereafter." 
 
 I laughed outright at the incongruity of all this, 
 and he laughed out also. 
 
 "Very nice house, I assure you, only the land- 
 lady's cat was a confirmed inebriate and persisted 
 in drinking my whiskey. What kind of a uniform 
 do you call that? It seems to me a cross between 
 the little man's in the red cap at the corner of 
 Chancery Lane and a French ambulance attend- 
 ant's." 
 
 "You're not far out. I'm a surgeon attached to 
 the French ambulance in Metz." 
 
 "In Metz?" and he pricked up his ears. "Bit 
 off your beat, aren't you? Were you in Metz?" 
 
 "I was there up to a fortnight ago." 
 
 "The deuce you were. How did you get out?" 
 
 "I swam down the river." 
 
 "The devil you did! And why? Had enough of 
 it?" 
 
 [227] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I had matters outside to attend to, — private 
 matters." 
 
 "Ah-ha! I— see," and the blue eyes twinkled 
 knowingly. "And where is the young lady?" 
 
 "In Paris." 
 
 He looked at me keenly and then nodded. "I un- 
 derstand. And you want to get in to look after her." 
 
 "Exactly! She went in to nurse her brother be- 
 fore you gentlemen squatted here, and since then 
 we have heard nothing from her." 
 
 He nodded, looked all round the countryside to 
 see if anything was moving, and then said, "If 
 you'll wait here with me till I'm relieved I'll take 
 you to the commander of the post. He's not a 
 bad sort; a bit bumptious at times, but sufferable 
 as a rule, unless it's francs-tireurs. He's got 'em 
 on the brain and a bit of 'em in his hind leg. His 
 name's Von Marcius and he's my big brother. He's 
 engaged to an English girl, by the way. Miss Maud 
 Pargiter, daughter of old Pargiter of Harley Street. 
 Know her?" 
 
 "I know the old man well enough. I've worked 
 under him. It seems to me I've fallen on my feet. 
 I'm very much obliged to you." 
 f "Don't mention it. If you've any tobacco on you 
 I don't mind joining you in a smoke." 
 
 I pulled out what I had and he filled a big-bowled 
 pipe and I my briar. 
 
 "French cabbage," he said contemptuously; "I'll 
 give you some up yonder that'll make your hair 
 curl. But I came out with half a pouch and got 
 to the end of it an hour ago. God bless Walter 
 Raleigh, if it really was he that discovered tobacco. 
 But I'm inclined to think it must have been a 
 German." 
 
 [228] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 We chatted pleasantly until the relief came along. 
 They eyed me curiously. 
 
 "English friend of the Captain's," said young Von 
 Marcius to the relief officer. " I'll take him to him." 
 
 We tramped martially into Villeneuve, and my 
 new friend led me to the Captain's quarters in the 
 principal hotel. He walked upstairs and tapped on 
 a door. 
 
 "Herein!" said a voice inside and we walked in. 
 A tall man in blue was sitting at table just about 
 to begin breakfast. The delicious smell of the coffee 
 made my mouth water. 
 
 "Hello, Heinrich!" he said. "Who's this?" 
 
 "Friend of Dr. Pargiter's," said Heinrich in Eng- 
 lish. "We've come to have breakfast with you," 
 and he began sniffing at the viands on. the table. 
 
 Captain von Marcius sprang up and held out 
 his hand. 
 
 "Any friend of Dr. Pargiter's is very welcome to 
 me," he said heartily. "How did you get here, my 
 dear sir, and where do you come from?" 
 
 "Walked up against my bayonet and began to 
 babble hieroglyphics under the belief that he was 
 talking German," said Heinrich. "I say, Leo, I 
 move for a triple supply of those kidneys and eight* 
 more eggs. Any to the contrary? It is a vote," 
 and he rang the bell. 
 
 "He's not really cracked, you know," said the 
 elder brother, laughing. "But he amuses himself 
 that way and as a rule he's quite harmless. Now, 
 my dear sir, tell me all about yourself and what I 
 can do for you. Have you seen my dear old friend 
 the Doctor lately, and how was he?" 
 
 "I saw him last July," I said, "and he spent 
 fifteen minutes begging me not to make a fool of 
 
 [229] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 myself, while he was taking off the half of a man's 
 foot that had been crushed by a cart." 
 
 "Ay, and how were you proposing to make a 
 fool of yourself ?—Heinrich, leave enough of those, 
 kidneys for our friend to make a beginning on. By 
 the way, I don't know your name yet— — " 
 
 "Charles Glyn, student at Bart's " 
 
 "I have heard the old man speak of you, Mr. 
 Glyn. If I may say so without the appearance of 
 flattery, he had much belief in your future. You took 
 very good places, I believe, in your degree exams." 
 
 "I have the M.B. and B.S., and was to have 
 gone in for my M.D. and M.S. in December, but I 
 wanted to see some practical work on the field, and 
 so I came to the wars." 
 
 "What corps?" and he too looked curiously at 
 my uniform. 
 
 "I went to Paris. Couldn't get an appointment 
 as surgeon, so went to the front as infirmier with 
 Frossard's corps." 
 
 "Frossard? Then you were at Spicheren, and I 
 suppose in Metz." 
 
 "Yes, I and a friend who had come out with me 
 worked in Metz for a month, and terrible work it 
 was. We got our grades there and did our proper 
 work." 
 
 "You'd better tackle those kidneys, Mr. Glyn, or 
 that boy will hurt himself and leave you none." 
 
 "Mr. Glyn hasn't been on outpost since two o'clock 
 this morning," said Heinrich, with his mouth full. 
 "They do you credit, Leo. I wish you'd invite me 
 to breakfast every morning." 
 
 "I didn't invite you this morning " 
 
 "Oh, my! You said 'Come in!' I beard you 
 distinctly." 
 
 [230] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "If you came every morning you'd get fat and 
 out of condition and unable to do your duty. Field 
 fare is best for boys in the ranks." 
 
 "While their superior ofl&cers revel in devilled 
 kidneys and all the delicacies of the season." 
 
 "Brain wear and tear needs suitable recognition. 
 Here come the hot ones, Mr. Glyn," — as an attend- 
 ant brought in the smoking dish — "Pray help 
 yourself, and, if I may say so without discourtesy 
 — quickly. We shall have business on hand shortly," 
 at which his brother pricked up his ears. "Why 
 didn't you join our side?" 
 
 "Well, I'm bound to say we never expected in 
 England that things would go as they have done." 
 
 "It's been a frightful buckle up, hasn't it? How 
 do you account for it, Mr. Glyn?" 
 
 "Before the first shot was fired a friend of mine 
 in Dinan, the pastor of the Reformed Church there, 
 said to me, ' The Germans fear God and live clean. 
 We, as a nation, do not, and we shall pay for 
 it.' " 
 
 "He was right," said the Captain, with much 
 earnestness. "That is the root of the whole matter. 
 France has proved most astonishingly rotten in 
 her high places. The rank and file as a rule fight 
 well, but their leaders are not worth that," and he 
 snapped his fingers contemptuously. 
 
 "I'm afraid it's impossible not to feel that the 
 clearance that is going on will be beneficial. My 
 sympathies, I'm bound to say, are French " 
 
 "Engaged to a French girl, — shut up in Paris, — 
 wants to get to her," said Heinrich, as he chipped 
 his third egg. 
 
 "Is that so?" asked his brother, looking at 
 me. 
 
 [231 J 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 I stated briefly the facts of the case. 
 
 "It's only natural you should want to get in," 
 said the Captain. "I'll think it over and see what 
 I can do. As a matter of form I will ask you, if 
 you do succeed in getting in through any help I 
 can render you, to pass me your word not to con- 
 vey any information whatever." 
 
 "I pledge you my word I will not. I have no 
 interest to serve except Mile, de Kerhuel's, and my 
 own, so far as she is concerned." 
 
 "That is enough. I will accept your word and I 
 will help you all I can — as you would help me in 
 like case." 
 
 We had barely lighted the cigars which Heinrich 
 rooted out by instinct and made free with as a 
 matter of course, when a horseman came galloping 
 down the street and quick feet came up the stair. 
 A few hasty words at the door and Captain von 
 Marcius picked up his helmet and sword and turned 
 to us. 
 
 "Off to your own place, Heinrich, my boy. They 
 are coming out in force and we are to hasten up to 
 Choisy. Come with me, Mr. Glyn. If you have your 
 Geneva badge with you put it on. It will stop 
 inquiries. Now see," he said quickly, as Heinrich's 
 footsteps died away on the stair and the bugles 
 rang out outside, "this may be your chance. Keep 
 as close to me as you can. We shall drive them in 
 again. If you manage well you might get back with 
 them. It'll be risky, but it's a chance." 
 
 I thanked him heartily, and we ran down the 
 stairs together. 
 
 In five minutes we were pounding over the pon- 
 toons at a quick step, and the faces behind us were 
 all aglow with anticipation. I caught sight of Hein- 
 
 [232] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 rich in the third front rank as they filed past us 
 for their Captain's keen inspection, and he winked 
 solemnly at me and champed his jaw, to show me 
 that whatever happened he was at all events an 
 excellent breakfast to the good. 
 
 [233] 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 The noise of heavy artillery in front of us grew 
 louder and louder as we stepped briskly along the 
 road towards Choisy. 
 
 "Those are their forts, Bicetre, Ivry, possibly also 
 Montrouge," said YonMarcius. "The forts always 
 tell us where they're going to try and break out. 
 It is considerate, but short-sighted on their part. 
 But in any case we have other means of knowing 
 and we are always ready for them. Ah now, that 
 is the chassepSt — " as sharp quick rolls of firing 
 reached us. "They have got well out to-day. Ja- 
 wohl ! they will have all the further to go back. 
 What's this now?" 
 
 This was a staff-officer in gold spectacles who 
 rode briskly up and deflected us from the direct 
 road to Choisy into a road which led due east. We 
 passed through a village crammed with the wagons 
 of a supply train, probably the one I saw pass in 
 the early morning. Then we turned north again on 
 a fine wide high-road which Yon Marcius informed 
 me was the imperial route to Fontainebleau. 
 
 Then off again towards the northeast, with the 
 sound of the firing now very close and the smoke 
 rising in dense clouds just ahead. 
 
 "Now, Glyn, good-by," said the Captain; "take 
 any chance that turns up. We're going in there and 
 some of us will never come out again." 
 
 I wrung his hand and stepped on one side. Hein- 
 [234] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 rich von Marcius winked gayly at me as he passed, 
 and they headed gallantly into the smoke and 
 turmoil. 
 
 I could see ndthing but smoke, and as I seemed to 
 be about the centre of the storm I deemed it wise 
 to execute a flank movement towards the east, 
 which was also to windward. 
 
 The big booming guns of the forts had stopped 
 now, the combatants were too much mixed up, but 
 the crash of field-guns and rattling volleys of mus- 
 ketry were ceaseless. It seemed to me impossible 
 that any one venturing into that inferno could 
 possibly hope to come out ahve. 
 
 I ran on round the rear of the German advance, 
 and ran the faster when an ill-aimed shell screamed 
 over my head and ploughed into the ground on my 
 left and scattered the mould in all directions. Some 
 distance ahead, and well out of the line of fire, I 
 saw some buildings, and I made for them as hard 
 as I could pelt. I came to a stone wall, panted 
 round it till 1 found a gateway, and ran through it 
 and stumbled headlong over the green mounds and 
 small wooden crosses of a graveyard into the open 
 doorway of a church. It was evidently doing duty 
 for a barracks at present. There were half-a-dozen 
 smouldering wood fires on the stone floor, but there 
 was no one about. 
 
 Here I was safe enough, but I wanted to see what 
 was going on outside. As soon as I had recovered 
 my wind I looked about till I found the entrance to 
 the church tower, and running up a flight of cir- 
 cular stone steps, found a small round chamber un- 
 der the slate roof with openings all round it just 
 below the eaves. 
 
 From this a bird's-eye view of the nearer portion 
 [235] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 of the battle-field was obtainable, and I watched 
 eagerly. 
 
 The hardest fighting seemed to be going on on my 
 right, which turned out to be also the German right. 
 The firing was so incessant that the smoke hid the 
 movements from me. To my surprise, for I had 
 imagined myself beyond the extreme left of the 
 Germans, I heard firing on the left hand as well. It 
 struck me very forcibly that my position might, in 
 certain circumstances, become none of the pleasant- 
 est. And before I could change it those circum- 
 stances occurred. 
 
 The hot fight in the centre swung slightly back- 
 wards as the Germans momentarily gave way and 
 the French pressed them harder and harder. German 
 reinforcements came racing up and the French in 
 turn were forced back. They caught sight of my 
 church and graveyard and swept into it in a flood, 
 turning it at once into a strong defensive position. 
 The wall of the churchyard bristled with flame and 
 smoke. Hot feet raced up the stone steps, and in a 
 moment my little round room was filled with sweat- 
 ing, panting men. They were brawny peasant lads, 
 with raw red faces and yellow hair, which in some 
 cases hung down to their shoulders. I knew them in 
 a moment for Breton Mobiles. I had seen many of 
 their kind hanging about Morlaix and St. Brieux 
 and other small coast ports, in stocking caps and 
 thick blue jerseys. They gave me a homely feeling. 
 The first-comers seemed surprised at sight of me, but 
 the Geneva cross on my arm satisfied them and time 
 was precious. They faced round instantly, and the 
 room was full of smoke which poured from the win- 
 dows as if the place was on fire. The only sounds I 
 could hear were the shuflling of their slipshod feet, 
 
 [236] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 their smothered ejaculations in an uncouth tongue, 
 and the pattering of empty cartridge cases on the 
 floor. They fired with what seemed to me, at that 
 time, marvellous rapidity. Whether they hit any- 
 thing I was quite unable to see. No bullets came 
 back our way. Probably the smoke from below hid 
 the small church tower. Then above the din I heard 
 a dominating note. A great explosion shook the 
 tower, and the men, with their backs to me, broke 
 out into language of a peculiarly jaw-breaking 
 description. 
 
 "Obus !" said one, and some of them craned over 
 to see the effect of the shell on their comrades be- 
 low. 
 
 Then I, being at the back, where the view was 
 comparatively clear, saw this sight. 
 
 A large body of men was racing swiftly for the 
 church, bent almost double to avoid the shots which 
 flew past it. In front, waving his sword, ran an 
 ofiicer. At their side, waving his red kfepi and shout- 
 ing vigorously, pranced an elderly man in a general's 
 uniform, mounted on a brown horse. As I looked, 
 the front ranks halted for a second to fire, and at 
 the same moment the officer in front of them flung 
 up his arms and fell. A man sprang out of the front 
 rank and ran to him and caught him in his arms, 
 held him so for a second, dropped him, and sped on 
 in advance of the rest, cheering them to the charge- 
 He took the place of their fallen leader and they 
 swept like a hurricane round the north side of the 
 church and dived headlong into the smoke beyond. 
 Apparently they carried all before them, for the Ger- 
 man fire got further and further away, and as the 
 gray smoke curled up we saw the howitzer, from 
 which the shell had come, standing there forsaken 
 
 [ 237 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 amid heaped piles of dead. The men in the tower 
 shouted at the sight, and raced down the steps to 
 join the pursuit. Those in the churchyard had al- 
 ready gone, — all who could go. As soon as the 
 effect of the charge was apparent the man on the 
 brown horse clapped on his kfepi and bent and gal- 
 loped off to another part of the field. 
 
 I heard groans below and went down to see what 
 help I could give. 
 
 The shell had done the mischief. It had made a 
 hole in the side of the church and the splinters had 
 brought down about a dozen men. About a dozen 
 others lay under the outer wall. I found later on 
 that they were all dead, every one shot through the 
 head as he stood up to fire. 
 
 I laid hands on the first groaning man I came to. 
 His head was torn open, disclosing the brain, a sick- 
 ening sight. I could do nothing for him, but prop 
 him gently against the side of the church. The next 
 man's shoulder was badly torn. The arm would 
 have to come off. I bound it up temporarily with a 
 piece of another man's coat and dragged him with 
 scraping heels inside the church. And so from one 
 to another till I had done all the little I could for 
 them. I found a bucket of water in the church and 
 gave them drinks all round. Then it seemed to me 
 that I might think of myself. I turned my back on 
 the church and struck out for Paris. 
 
 A single body lay in my course. It was the officer 
 I had seen fall as he led on his men. He was lying 
 on his face and I stopped dead at sight of his back. 
 It was riddled with shots — all from behind, a very 
 terrible sight. 
 
 Something moved me to turn him decently face up- 
 ward so as to hide the infamy of those shots. 
 
 [238] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 It was Raoul de Querhoal. I dropped him and 
 hurried on to where I saw figures with stretchers 
 hurrying to and fro. Several ambulance wagons 
 were making slowly towards the city. It took me a 
 good quarter of an hour to reach an ambulance that 
 was still only loading. I went up to a tall thin man 
 in a black frock coat and brown wide-awake hat 
 who stood by apparently directing operations. He 
 had a pleasant, clean-shaven face, and he was smok- 
 ing a large and evidently excellent cigar, both of 
 which things were attractive. 
 
 "There are twelve wounded in the church over 
 there. Monsieur," I said, as I saluted him. 
 
 "I thank you," he said, in pecuUarly bad French; 
 and then shouted in English, "Now then, boys, 
 hurry up there. There's a dozen more in the church 
 over yonder. We'll have to take another wagon." 
 
 "Are they very bad?" he asked me, in his villain- 
 ous French. 
 
 "Some of them are," I repUed in English. "Shell 
 splinters mostly." 
 
 "Hello? What are you?" he asked. "Not one of 
 our men, I think?" 
 
 " No, I'm a surgeon attached to Frossard's Corps, 
 escaped from Metz ten days ago, came through Ger- 
 man lines this morning, want to get into Paris." 
 
 "Gad!" he said, "that's a novelty anyhow. Ten- 
 dency here is mostly the other way. Why — " Then — 
 "Damn it, Frank, handle 'em gently, my boy. You 
 nearly bumped that man's head off against the 
 door." 
 
 Frank was looking rather sick. He was a slim 
 young fellow, and the man he was lifting by the 
 shoulders had a pulped head hke the one in the 
 churchyard. 
 
 [ 239 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Why?" said the other, as he turned to me again. 
 
 "My fiancee is inside and I have heard nothing of 
 her for dose on three months. I came out of Metz 
 to come in here." 
 
 "Good enough," he said. "Can you carve— 
 operate?" 
 
 "I helped carve the remains of Colombey and 
 Mars-la-Tour and Gravelotte. Forty thousand dead 
 and wounded," I said; "and I have my M.B. and 
 B.S. degrees." 
 
 "My God, think of it ! — the dead and wounded, I 
 mean, not the degrees. You must have had your 
 hands full." 
 
 "Too fall. They died Uke flies." 
 
 "They haven't any too much grip. Say! You 
 stick by me. I'll get you in. Phew!" he said sud- 
 denly, looking in the direction of my church, "I 
 doubt if we'll be able to get them just yet. Here 
 they come back again as fast as they went," and we 
 saw the Frenchmen streaming back across the fields, 
 halting now and again to fire into the smoke behind, 
 and then coming on again with a rush. 
 
 "Clear out, boys," he shouted. "We must come 
 back later when they've settled down a bit." 
 
 The ambulance moved ofi' towards a big fort whose 
 heavy guns now began booming over our heads, and 
 we followed. 
 
 "What did you say your name was?" he asked. 
 
 "Charles Glyn, London University and Bart's. I 
 live at Dinan, in Brittany." 
 
 " Serving for fun, I suppose? Or are you regularly 
 attached?" 
 
 "I wanted the experience, and went out as 
 stretcher-bearer, but after the first day in Metz they 
 promoted us to our proper rank as surgeons." 
 
 [340] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Us?" 
 
 "I had a chum with me from Bart's. I left him 
 behind in charge of a sick man at Dinan. He's com- 
 ing in later." 
 
 " And how did you escape being made into potted 
 spy by the francs-tireurs and the Germans?" 
 
 I told him very briefly, and he laughed. 
 
 "You can generally work on a German if you take 
 him on the sentimental side. Not always, but you 
 seem to have struck a remarkably soft spot. Gad ! 
 they're giving us fits, aren't they ? They may have 
 soft hearts but they've got uncommonly hard heads, 
 and they're altogether a finer breed than we get 
 round here." 
 
 "You're a surgeon?" I asked. 
 
 "Not a bit of it. I'm wheat in Chicago. Elrode 
 Eason Smartte— S-M-A-R-T-T-E, if you please, and 
 don't you forget it ! Smart E E, the boys call me 
 when I catch 'em short on three months ahead wheat 
 and smite 'em on the hip. I spend a good deal of 
 my time over here, you see, and I happened in just 
 when they were putting the shutters up, so I thought 
 I'd stop and see it through. I helped, financially, to 
 rig up this affair," he nodded towards the ambulance 
 in front, "so they let me potter about and feel as if 
 I was bossing the show. But only as regards pick- 
 ing 'em up. When I've turned my cargo over to the 
 medicos, then my part's done, 'cept that now and 
 again I can help smooth things a bit for the poor 
 broken beggars. How long will it last, do you 
 think?" 
 
 "It's hard to say. I imagine it depends on the 
 people inside here." 
 
 "They're a set of congenital idiots," he said 
 briskly. "Most all pulling different ways and 
 16 [ 241 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 most with a keen eye to the main chance. There 
 isn't ballast enough in the whole country to run a 
 decent one-horse circus. Your old man Lyons has 
 coiled up his tail and gone, by the way, and Russia 
 and Austria have bolted. The Pope's old neuter 
 gender is here still, I believe, but the only man with 
 any grit in him is our old man Washburne. He's 
 sticking like an old trump. I guess he and I'll walk 
 the deck till the ship sinks." 
 
 We had halted under shelter of the fort while he 
 rattled on, and were standing now watching the 
 beaten troops stream past towards the city. 
 
 "Play's over for to-day," he said. "As soon as 
 they clear a bit we'll wander out and gather up the 
 fragments that remain. They're little beasts, many 
 of 'em, but I'm always sorry for them when they 
 get broken. Ready, Frank? I think we can get 
 along now. Those three vans all empty? Right! 
 Go ahead, boy, and we'll romp 'em in in time for 
 breakfast. You'll come, Mr. Glyn?" 
 
 "Certainly. I'm going to hang on to your coat- 
 tails as tight as I know how till I'm safe inside 
 Paris." 
 
 "That's your line. And after too, I hope. We 
 don't meet like this on the bloody field to part as 
 soon as we get stamping asphalt once more. Nessy 
 paw?" 
 
 "I hope not," I said. "I count myself very lucky 
 to have met you." 
 
 "I'll be mighty glad to have a sensible man to 
 talk to occasionally, more especially if he don't 
 smell too strong of carbolic. I'm inclined to believe 
 I'll smell hospital for the rest of my natural life. 
 I've got a pretty strong stomach as a rule," he said, 
 as we tramped back towards the battle-field, " and I 
 
 [242] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 was with little Phil Sheridan on the Shenandoah and 
 at Cedar Creek and Five Forks, and I take my beef- 
 steak rare; but somehow I never seem to get used 
 to seeing my brother man broken in bits. Now if I 
 had my way — make straight for that little church 
 first, Frank, the Dutchies won't touch us — if I had 
 my way I'd just have put this poor old Louis Nap. — 
 Badinguet we call him now — and old Father William 
 — the Mystic Drunkard we call him, Heaven only 
 knows why. I never heard that he drank more'n 
 was good for him — I'd just have put 'em inside a 
 ring fence and handed them in anything they wanted 
 and let 'em fight it out. Best man to take the belt 
 and the loser to pay the reckoning. God ! man, 
 just think what it would have saved in the way of 
 human life and broken hearts. Forty thousand 
 killed and wounded ! I tell you what, Glyn, that's 
 H-E-L-L!" 
 
 "What's this?" he asked, stopping at De Quer- 
 hoal's body. "He seems to have had it pretty hot. 
 All in the back too." 
 
 "He was shot from behind by his own men," I 
 said. "I saw it all from the church tower there." 
 
 "The devil! That's bad. Are these cusses we're 
 going for the ones that did it?" 
 
 " No. The ones that did it went on and drove the 
 Germans back, and captured a gun and fought like 
 men." 
 
 "Well, well! They're the damndest, queerest peo- 
 ple I ever had to do with, and that's a fact." 
 
 "I'd like to bury him, if it was possible," I said. 
 
 "Why? Know him?" 
 
 "Yes, I know him, and I doubt if he's got any 
 worse than he deserved, though it doesn't sound nice 
 to say so." 
 
 [243] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Bad lot, was he?" 
 
 "A bad lot," I said, "and made much mischief in 
 his time." 
 
 "The Germans will bury him all right," he said. 
 "Let's go in and load up the vans." 
 
 So we went on to the church, leaving Raoul de 
 Querhoal lying on his face with the shameful story 
 of his death written large all over his back. 
 
 [244] 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 The man with the shattered head was sitting dead 
 where I had placed him. The rest were mostly as I 
 left them and we carried them quickly to the wag- 
 ons. Outside, the German stretcher-bearers and 
 burial parties were already busily at work, and be- 
 fore our cargo was complete a tall blue officer came 
 striding along from group to group, notebook and 
 pencil in hand, apparently taking tally of casualties. 
 He came up to the church and I saw it was Cap- 
 tain von Marcius. His face was stem and hard set. 
 
 "Hola, Mr. Glyn! We meet again. Have you 
 seen anything of my little brother round here?" He 
 spoke lightly, but I could perceive the great anxiety 
 that was in him. 
 
 "No; not hurt, is he?" I asked, with a pang of 
 pain on the bright boy's account. 
 
 "Don't know. He hasn't answered the roll. Afraid 
 he's down somewhere. No more in there, are there?" 
 
 "No, we've got them all." And he strode away. 
 
 Here there came a sudden shout from the tower. 
 
 "Say, Glyn, there's a wounded Dutchman up here. 
 Shall we take him along?" and as I ran up the stair 
 I heard : 
 
 "Here, you brown billy cock! don't you call me 
 names. I'm a Pomeranian Prussian, and no more 
 a Dutchman than you're a Frenchman. Just call 
 my carriage, if you please, it's somewhere outside 
 there, — Private von Marcius's carriage." 
 
 "Well, I'll be hanged!" said Smartte. 
 [245] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DU ST 
 
 "Call that carriage first and you can go and be 
 shot if you like. Got a match on you? My right 
 arm's gone on strike." 
 
 I shouted with delight at sight of the boy sitting 
 there among the spent cartridges, with his back to 
 the wall and a pool of blood at his side, and one 
 of his brother's big cigars in his mouth a good deal 
 chewed. His face was very pale now, and the little 
 white mustache made it look rather ghastly. His 
 right arm hung limp, and he had evidently lost a 
 good deal of blood. Smartte was holding a lighted 
 match to the cigar as I burst in. 
 
 "Hello, Glyn— that you?" said Heinrich, with an 
 effort at continued cheerfulness. 
 
 "Yon Marcius," I shouted, through the openings 
 under the eaves. "He's up here. Wounded, but 
 lively." And the elder brother, with a face full of 
 concern, was kneeling by him almost before I had 
 ascertained that the upper bone of the right arm 
 was badly shattered. 
 
 "It will have to come off," I whispered to the 
 Captain. 
 
 "Damn!" said Heinrich faintly. Then the cigar 
 fell from his lips and sizzled in the pool of blood, 
 and he lay limp and white. 
 
 Smartte, after looking at us all for a moment, 
 had run down to call a German stretcher party. 
 I twisted my handkerchief tightly round the upper 
 part of the arm to stop the waste as far as possible, 
 and we carried him gently down the stair. 
 
 "Get him attended to as quickly as possible," I 
 said. "He'll be all right as soon as the arm is off 
 and the flow stopped." 
 
 The Captain pressed my hand, and Private von 
 Marcius's carriage moved quickly away. 
 
 [246] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Fine boys," said Smartte. "Fine breed. Now 
 we'll go home to breakfast. I'm beginning to feel 
 empty." 
 
 The wagons were already moving slowly towards 
 the city and we followed in their wake. As we 
 passed within the enceinte, among the vociferous 
 crowds of sightseers, I felt, most gratefully, that 
 matters had turned out infinitely better than they 
 might have done, and that now at last I was really 
 within arm's reach of my prize. 
 
 As we turned up the Boulevard de I'HSpital, our 
 wagons were stopped for a moment by a tall dark 
 figure in priestly soutane and wide-brimmed hat, 
 who glanced in at the wounded men and passed 
 swiftly on towards the outside. His face was stren- 
 uously set and I had an idea that I knew what he 
 was looking for. I turned and looked after him, hes- 
 itating for a moment whether I should go and tell 
 him. But he was out of sight in a moment among 
 the throng. 
 
 "Know him?" asked Smartte. 
 
 "Yes. He is looking for the man we saw shot in 
 the back." 
 
 "Well, he won't find him. I saw them burying 
 him before we left," and we followed the wagons. 
 
 We deposited our cargo in a wing of the Salpe- 
 triere, and then my new friend insisted on my ac- 
 companying him to his rooms "in the next block" to 
 get something to eat, a suggestion which my inner 
 man received with acclamation, for the last few 
 hours had been fairly wasteful. 
 
 He took my arm in friendly fashion and led me up 
 a street nearly opposite the hospital, to a little 
 hotel, the Lion d'Or, which lay between the Horse 
 Market and the Jardin des Plantes. In the beaming 
 
 [247] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 smiles with which his return was greeted by Madame 
 the proprietress, it was easy to read the principal 
 guest of the house, and indeed in those dismal times 
 he must have been a godsend to the little hostelry. 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur who returns," smiled Madame's 
 white teeth and black eyes. "Any good fortune this 
 morning. Monsieur?" 
 
 "Nop ! We did very well, but they were too many 
 for us, Madame, — as usual." 
 
 "Ah, the sacrds Prussiens ! It is always the same. 
 And Monsieur is famished, I can see it in his face." 
 
 "And I can feel it somewhere else. Send up every- 
 thing you have in the house, my dear Madame, and 
 if we are still hungry we will ask you to cook Lotte 
 there for us," as a smart, rosy-cheeked chambermaid 
 came fluttering round. 
 
 "Ant, — say! — kuk me rare, n'est-ce pas. Mon- 
 sieur?" giggled Lotte, with an obvious knowledge of 
 the American's tastes and a repetition of an often- 
 used formula. 
 
 " That's right ! There's something in that pretty 
 little head of yours after all, Lotte. You'll be as 
 smart inside as you are out if you go on like this." 
 
 "Mais oui!" said Lotte, with much pride in 
 her accomplishments. " I — am — smart, Zow — arst — 
 smart, Ve — are — smart, — n'est-ce pas?" 
 
 " Clever girl ! Now, vite with the mangeables, and 
 say ! bring up two bottles of that best Burgundy. 
 I've been drinking blood and smoke all morning." 
 
 "Ah, mon dieu ! what monster ! Voyons, vite vit 
 ze mangeables," and she hurried away on her duties. 
 
 "Now we'll wash off the stains of battle. I al- 
 ways like to eat clean. Come right in here, Glyn, 
 and make yotirself at home. There's water — soap. 
 Here's a clean towel. That's my old mother way 
 
 [248] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 down in Illinois. No, I'm not married or I probably 
 wouldn't be here. The girl I was to have married 
 died while I was fighting down South and I've never 
 cared to pick up with any one else. Funny little 
 crib this, isn't it? But I enjoy it immensely. I dis- 
 covered it three years ago and I've come back each 
 time since. They lay themselves out to do their 
 very best for me, and their cookery licks the Grand 
 into little fits." 
 
 A peremptory tap on the door and Lotte's voice 
 announcing that Monsieur was served brought us 
 promptly to table. We had a most excellent break- 
 fast, seasoned with many lively passages of arms 
 between my host and our saucy attendant, and 
 when she had left us with the coffee and cognac, and 
 Smartte lay back in his chair watching the blue 
 smoke curl up from two of his big cigars, he said : 
 
 "I know you're wanting to get along after the 
 young lady, Glyn. Do you know where to find 
 her?" 
 
 I pulled out my papers and found the telegram 
 which had summoned Marie to Paris, and handed it 
 to him. 
 
 "Rue Duvemois 23. Whereabouts is that? Do 
 you know?" 
 
 "Haven't an idea. I'll have to inquire." 
 
 "We'll ask downstairs. Then if you don't mind 
 we'll just run over to the hospital for a minute, to 
 see how the boys we brought in to-day are getting 
 along, and then I'll go along with you. I'm keen 
 to see the end of this story — if you don't mind?" 
 
 I assured him that not only did I not mind but 
 on the contrary would be very glad of his com- 
 pany, as my own knowledge of the geography of 
 Paris was limited. 
 
 [249] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I know my way about," he said, "but I don't 
 tMnk I was ever in the Rue Duvemois. Madame or 
 Lotte may know." 
 
 Madame and Lotte both knew the Rue Duvemois. 
 Madame said it was down Grenelle way, while Lotte 
 asserted that it was in La Villette, both of which 
 districts are at exactly opposite sides of the city. 
 So we went over to the hospital and inspected our 
 morning's salvage, and Smartte made a brisk tour 
 of the older residents, with a word of cheer and en- 
 couragement for every one of them, delivered in the 
 heartiest of tones and the most broken French I ever 
 heard. They were all delighted to see him and 
 brightened up as soon as he came near them, and 
 for nearly every one he had some small reinem- 
 brance, — ^for the most convalescent, cigarettes; and 
 for the others, sweetmeats and chocolates, which 
 were eagerly welcomed. 
 
 "They're just like a lot of children," he said, "and 
 it does me good to make 'em smile and forget their 
 breakages for a minute or two. They're very grate- 
 ful for very little." 
 
 He chatted with the doctors and assistants about 
 some of the cases, and everywhere his coming was 
 welcomed with a smile. It was good to see him, 
 and his own enjoyment in his simple ministry was 
 evident and very delightful. 
 
 Then we chartered a fiacre and told the driver to 
 take us to Rue Duvemois 23, and he drove us along 
 the Quais and over the river by the Pont St. Mi- 
 chel, and along the Rue de Rivoli— where the shops 
 were open but there seemed very few people about,— 
 past the Tuileries Gardens, which were full of soldiers 
 under canvas — and mighty odd they looked there, as 
 Smartte did not fail to remark,— and up the Rue 
 
 [250] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Royale, — past the Madeleine, — and so to the neigh- 
 borhood of St. Lazare. 
 
 "They were pretty bad shots, both of 'em," said 
 my friend, "but Uttle Lotte came nearer bull's eye 
 than Madame. She hit the right side of the river 
 anyhow, which is perhaps as much as you could ex- 
 pect from a woman." 
 
 My heart beat high as our carriage drew up be- 
 fore a tall dark house, in spite of its aspect, which 
 was distinctly forbidding. It frowned upon us be- 
 fore ever we touched the knocker. 
 
 "Sure this is 23 Duvernois?" said Smartte to the 
 driver. 
 
 "But yes, M'sieur, assuredly this is Rue Duvernois 
 23. There is no other." 
 
 "Sure?" 
 
 "Quite sure, M'sieur, unless it has been named 
 since the cursed Prussians came," said the driver 
 with a grin. 
 
 "Well, you'd better wait," and we attacked the 
 gloomy mansion. 
 
 It seemed at first as if there was no one inside, 
 but by dint of continued knocking the door opened 
 grudgingly at last, and an old woman appeared in 
 the cavernous hallway and looked angrily out at 
 us. 
 
 "Well, what's the matter now?" she asked, in a 
 surly voice. 
 
 "Is Mademoiselle de Kerhuel stopping here, 
 Madame?" I asked. 
 
 "There is no one here but me." 
 
 "Can you tell me where she has gone to?" 
 
 "I know nothing about her." 
 
 "But she was stopping here with her brother who 
 was wounded." 
 
 [251] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 But she shook her head and said, "No, there has 
 been no one stopping here." 
 
 Smartte, with a national belief in the power of the 
 almighty dollar, pulled out a five-franc piece and 
 handed it to her. 
 
 " Come, old lady," he said, "just tell us all you can 
 and perhaps there may be more cartwheels for you." 
 
 She pocketed the money and said, "But I have 
 already told Messieurs all there is to tell. There is 
 no one here. There has been no one here, — que 
 voulez-YOus?" 
 
 "This is Rue Duvernois 23, is it not?" 
 
 "But yes." 
 
 "M. Taillou?" 
 
 "Si, si." 
 
 "And you have not had a wounded soldier here 
 and his sister nursing him?" 
 
 "I have already told Monsieur so." 
 
 We looked at one another, nonplussed, and the 
 old woman regarded us discouragingly. 
 
 We went down the steps and stood on the pave- 
 ment, in doubt what to do next. 
 
 "Well, Jehu, what would you do?" said Smartte 
 to the driver, who had been listening to the col- 
 loquy. 
 
 "For me, I should go to the police," said he, in 
 a matter-of-fact tone of absolute reliance on the 
 higher powers. 
 
 "Go to the devil," said the old lady up above. 
 
 "She is lying, I can see it in her eyes," said cocher 
 with a grin. 
 
 "We will go to the police," said Smartte, and we 
 got into the carriage again and drove away, leaving 
 the old woman shaking her fist at us. 
 
 This was very disconcerting. A search for Marie 
 [252] 
 
LOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 in Paris would be much like searching for the pro- 
 verbial needle in the haystack. 
 
 I was in the near side back seat of the carriage, 
 and consequently had my back to the pavement 
 when I turned to Smartte. I was just saying, "Now 
 I wonder what the deuce is the meaning of all that?" 
 when suddenly he laid his hand on my arm, and 
 said quietly to the driver, "Turn and walk back, 
 but don't pass the house." And to me, "Isn't that 
 your black-coated friend of this morning?" I sprang 
 to my feet and looked over the driver's seat. 
 
 M. le Cure was walking rapidly along the street 
 and we both stood up and watched him. He passed 
 up the steps of No. 23, knocked, and was in- 
 stantly admitted. 
 
 "Turn, cocher, and drive to the nearest poUce 
 station," said Smartte. "It's no good getting out, 
 Glyn. You can do nothing there," as I was turning 
 to jump down. 
 
 "Ah-ha! the black crow," chuckled the driver. 
 "For me I do not like those gentlemen of the long 
 robe either. But no, name of a dog ! not the least 
 little bit." 
 
 We were politely received by the Commissary of 
 Police. He heard our story, examined the telegram, 
 and stated that his appointment was of such recent 
 date that he had no personal knowledge of anything 
 that transpired in the district fourteen days ago. 
 He ventured the opinion that No. 23 Rue Duvernois 
 was probably no better than it should be, but as 
 yet he was only beginning to learn his district, and 
 promised to make inquiries. 
 
 Smartte asked him to communicate with us at 
 the Lion d'Or, and as we went down the steps to 
 the fiacre, said emphatically, 
 
 [253] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "That's no good. He's not cut his eye-teeth yet. 
 You see, they had to rig up a new system when we 
 revolutionized about a month ago, and the new 
 brooms are a bit afraid of tackling the mudheaps. 
 We'll try a private agency. They'll find out all 
 there is to know about 23 Duvernbis inside twenty- 
 four hours." 
 
 But I was too much troubled in my mind at 
 thought of the connection of the Jesuit with the 
 house where I expected to find Marie, and where 
 all knowledge of her was denied, to wait quietly 
 doing nothing while the detectives nosed the matter 
 out. 
 
 "I must go back to that house," I said. 
 
 "Right! We'll go, but you'll get nothing out of 
 that old witch," he said good-naturedly. "I know 
 the kind of old lady she is. Back to 23 Duvernois, 
 cocher !" 
 
 "Yoyons!" and cocher whipped up his steed and 
 thanked his stars for so profitable a job. 
 
 We hammered on the big door again. But either 
 the old woman had seen us coming or suspected 
 who it was, for we got nothing for our pains. A 
 few of the neighbors collected and encouraged us to 
 further exertions with remarks of a humorous char- 
 acter. 
 
 "Monsieur makes much more noise than the forts," 
 said one, with the air of a connoisseur. "It is al- 
 most as good as a mitrailleuse in the street." 
 
 "If Monsieur would go and hammer the Prus- 
 sians that way now " suggested another. 
 
 "That house is closed for repairs. Messieurs," 
 said a. third. "It was in a truly shocking condi- 
 tion inside,— Prussians, I believe." 
 
 "Monsieur will find much better accommodation 
 [254] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 elsewhere. Try the Tuileries, par exemple " and so 
 
 on, till at last, since we could not force an entrance, 
 we got into the carriage and drove away, — fdr my- 
 self, in a furious tumult of feeling. 
 
 Smartte gave the driver an address in the Rue 
 Vivienne. 
 
 "I know a man there who will find out if the 
 young lady has ever been there," he said. "A 
 mighty smart fellow. A man in Buffalo swindled 
 me out of $200,000 and slipped over here. I got 
 wind of it and followed him by next boat. It 
 wasn't so much the money, but I didn't like 
 that a man like that should think he could do me 
 just in that way. I set this man Svolski to find 
 him, and three days later I slipped into the chair 
 next my man at breakfast at his hotel, and said, 
 'Young man, I'll just trouble you for that $200,000 
 plus $500 more that it's cost me to find you, 
 and we'll call it square,' and he was the most sur- 
 prised man ever I set eyes on. He turned whiter'n 
 the table-cloth and slipped his hand round to his 
 hip. But I said, ' Look here, sonny, I'm not going 
 to have you making any mess and spoiling folk's 
 breakfasts. If it's my brains you want to investigate 
 they're mine, same as the money you've got up- 
 stairs, and if it's your own it's waste of time, for 
 you ain't got any worth speaking of. Just you 
 take it quiet and finish your breakfast, and then 
 we'll go up to your room and talk it over.' But 
 somehow he didn't seem to have much appetite, and 
 I had to do all the eating and the talking too. 
 But he shelled out upstairs and I let him go. Srol- 
 ski's a Pole and as sharp as they make .'em. I 
 call him 'Points' because he's all abristle with 'em. 
 He'll find your young lady for us. At all events, 
 
 [255] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 he'll find out all there is to find out about 23 Du- 
 vernois, which may give us something to work 
 on." 
 
 M. Svolski was at home and received us with em- 
 pressement. Business was slack, and the prospect 
 of it was pleasing. 
 
 He was the typical French detective. Sharpness 
 and blackness were his chief characteristics. His 
 eyes were black and as sharp as needles. His mus- 
 tache was black and waxed out to pin points. His 
 beard was black and pointed. His voice was sharp 
 and piercing. 
 
 I gave him the points of the story and he picked 
 them up like a magnet. 
 
 "I say nothing," he said. "In two days I will 
 tell you all I have learned. The times are some- 
 what awkward for investigations. The old ma- 
 chinery is thrown aside and the new is not yet ia 
 working order. But everything that can be done I 
 will do. Messieurs. Count upon me. In two days 
 I will call upon you at " 
 
 "Lion d'Or, near the Horse Market," saidSmartte. 
 
 "I know it. Is la petite demoiselle Lotte still 
 there? Yes? Ah, a truly smart girl that. Do not 
 say I asked after her. Messieurs, it would only re- 
 call sad memories to her, and nature intended her 
 to be gay." 
 
 "Why, how did you meet Lotte?" asked Smartte 
 with interest. 
 
 "I can trust Monsieur not to speak of it. It was 
 in the Belleville case— the old miser who was found 
 cut up in sections in a trunk. Ma'm'selle was his 
 housekeeper, and the pig-headed ones arrested her 
 for the crime. It needed me to set them right and 
 Ma'm'selle free. She had nothing whatever to do 
 
 [256] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 with it or with those who did it. She is a good 
 girl and very cheerful. I would have made her 
 Madame Svolski but — there were obstacles in the 
 way." 
 
 "Not objections on Mile. Lotte's part surely," 
 smiled Smartte, in his good-humored way. 
 
 "No — o," said Svolski, with a gleaming black and 
 white smile. "To tell the truth there was already a 
 Madame Svolski, and the too strict laws of France 
 forbade it, and Ma'm'selle's own good sense would 
 not permit a morganatic alliance. I have royal 
 blood, oh, yes, though it is some time back. Per- 
 haps I shall try again now I am free." 
 
 "Not till the siege is over, I hope," said Smartte. 
 
 "No, I think I will wait till the siege is over. 
 Enfin, it won't be long." 
 
 "Perhaps for Lotte's sake it would be as well if 
 you did not come to the Lion d'Or," suggested 
 Smartte. 
 
 "Oh, not at all. Monsieur. To hear that old 
 affair spoken of by any one else would trouble her. 
 But the sight of me will make her happy. Till the 
 day after to-morrow, then. Messieurs. Adieu and 
 au revoir," and he bowed us out most royally. 
 
 "We can count on Svolski," said Smartte, as we 
 drove home, "and I'm going to see this thing 
 through. You're going to stop with me till we find 
 Ma'm'selle, Glyn— Now don't, my dear boy," as 
 I opened my mouth to object. "It's a godsend to 
 me to have you to talk to and to be of some use 
 to. You see, I've absolutely no tastes. I don't 
 paint or write or read or fish or shoot or anything 
 of that kind. I've done nothing all my life except 
 make money and spend it, and when I've spent all 
 I can making myself comfortable, I get heaps more 
 17 [ 257 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 fun spending it on making other folks comfortable 
 than any other thing I've ever struck." 
 
 It was as impossible as it would have been ill- 
 mannered to resist him, and so I fell in with his 
 humor. 
 
 "If every rich man thought as you do, the world 
 would be a very much pleasanter place for the rest," 
 I said. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. The world's much as people 
 make it for themselves, I think, but most of 'em 
 are fools. That's where the trouble is." 
 
 [258] 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 I WOULD not dare to say that Elrode Smartte en- 
 joyed the siege. There was in it the possibihty, 
 though not perhaps up to that time the actuality, 
 of such dreadful suffering for those who had least 
 to do with it and nothing at all to gain by it, that 
 it would be a libel on a very fine nature to say that 
 he enjoyed it. 
 
 But that he enjoyed to the very utmost the new 
 interest it brought into his life, and the innumerable 
 opportunities it afforded of smoothing the ways for 
 those who could not help themselves, was undoubted. 
 
 To the broken men in hospital he was a special 
 providence, with an ever-smiling face, an ever-open 
 hand, and a cheery word of hope at all times. Sal- 
 low-faced Linesmen, fresh-faced Mobiles and marines, 
 grizzly Zouaves, and thick-lipped Turcos, whatever 
 their complexions or conditions, they all broke into 
 welcoming smiles at sight of him. Profuse as were 
 their spoken thanks, and nothing on earth is more 
 grateful for kindness than a wounded Frenchman, 
 his richest harvest was in the thanks that were 
 never put into words, but which glowed in the long 
 prostrate rows of eyes and faces as soon as his 
 voice was heard in the ward. 
 
 Of skill or understanding of their hurts he had 
 none, but of that infinitely greater knowledge which 
 taught him how to cheer their hearts he knew much. 
 And when they felt themselves slipping away — and 
 
 1 259 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 very many died in spite of the most careful nursing 
 — it was to the cheery foreigner, with his uncouth 
 words of hope and comfort, that they turned rather 
 than to the cut and dried, black and white, stereo- 
 typed consolations of the priest or the nursing sister. 
 How many rough hands he held in his big cool ones, 
 as the feeble grip slackened and the fevered pulses 
 slowed and died, and left the hard fingers colder 
 than his own, it would be impossible to say. 
 
 "Seems to me," he said in his quiet, grim way 
 one day, " I'm Parson-Undertaker to this section. I 
 believe some of 'em hang on a bit longer than they 
 would do in the ordinary course of things just 'cause 
 they want me to be by 'em and give 'em the last 
 good-by. It's natural too. I know if it was me 
 I'd sooner have a friend by me at the last minute 
 than one of those blue-jowled gentlemen in black, 
 or any of those women in black and white. Mind 
 you, I'm not saying a word against them. I've no 
 doubt they're as good as anything outside heaven 
 can be, but they don't show their best stock in the 
 windows and they're not sympathetic. The boys 
 feel I'm a plain man just like themselves, and I've 
 fought and been wounded just like themselves, and 
 I understand 'em — at least, partly. And they like 
 it." 
 
 I knew he had some formula which he adminis- 
 tered to the dying, and I have seen the faces of 
 case-hardened elderly troopers soften strangely under 
 his whispered words as the sands ran out. I often 
 wondered what he said to them, but he and they 
 liked to be alone at the last, and as a rule they got 
 their way in spite of priest or sister. 
 
 I was sitting by the side of a young sailor from 
 Plougastel one afternoon. He had been hit by a 
 
 [260] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 shell while serving his gun in Bicetre. He was so 
 typically Breton that I had taken a great fancy to 
 him. We had had more than one cheerful chat about 
 Brittany, and Brest, and the great strawberry 
 grounds, and he had longingly declared that if he 
 could get back there all would be well with him. 
 But that was impossible and he was going another 
 way, and he knew it. 
 
 Smartte happened to pass the bed, and after one 
 glance came and sat down by it, saying to me, " He's 
 going." And then I heard his simple formula. It 
 was rendered in his own peculiar French, but no one 
 could mistake its practical simplicity. 
 
 "Mon gars!" he said gently, taking the brown 
 hairy hand in his, "Le Bon Dieu est tres bon, et il 
 pense ce moment a vous. II est comme votre pere 
 et Yotre mere. Pensez a lui, mon cher, et il vous 
 recevra chez lui. II a besoin de vous " 
 
 "De moi?" murmured the dying boy. 
 
 "Mais oui, je vous I'assure." 
 
 "Mon dieu, — bon dieu — " and another soul slipped 
 its moorings and was gone, and gone comforted. 
 
 It was very simple. To me, who had always been 
 terribly tongue-tied on such matters, it was very 
 beautiful. 
 
 Meanwhile my own heart was greatly troubled 
 about Marie. 
 
 In the evening of the second day, just in time for 
 dinner, which had probably not escaped his fore- 
 thought, M. Svolski appeared at the Lion d'Or, and 
 was announced by Lotte with a somewhat heightened 
 color and a slightly conscious manner. Smartte 
 begged him to join us at table, and "Points" made 
 no pretence of hesitation. A good dinner was, he 
 frankly stated, a thing not to be despised in these 
 
 [261] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 times, and he displayed a more excellent appetite 
 than either of us. 
 
 He gave us his news at once, and it was not of 
 a nature to raise my spirits. 
 
 "I routed out with some difficulty," he said, "the 
 several agents de police who used to have that beat, 
 and one of them informed me that about fourteen 
 days ago, he could not be certain to a day or two, 
 a young lady with an old attendant came to the 
 house Rue Duvernois No. 23, with luggage. The 
 house does not bear a good reputation. Taillou is 
 a returned convict. The old woman is his mother. 
 Enfin, you understand they are a bad lot and would 
 lend themselves to any-thing. The young lady and 
 the bonne, however, were not there more than a few 
 hours. A gentleman came and took them away in 
 a hired carriage " 
 
 "What kind of a gentleman? Could he say?" I 
 asked in much anxiety 
 
 "An officer of dragoons — a captain." 
 
 "A captain of dragoons!" and my heart kicked 
 furiously within me. " Is he quite certain of that?" 
 
 "Quite certain. Monsieur." 
 
 "Did he know him?" 
 
 "He did not. Monsieur." 
 
 "Did he know if there was any sick man being 
 nur»ed at No. 23?" 
 
 "He is quite sure there was nothing of the kind. 
 In the first place, it is the last place any sick man 
 would go to to be nursed, and in the next it could 
 not have happened without the knowledge of him- 
 self or his colleagues, and he heard no word of any 
 such thing." 
 
 "And the priest?" 
 
 "The priest is from the country, and came to the 
 [262] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 house some days after Ma'm'selle left it. He has 
 rooms there apparently, but is much abroad." 
 
 "There is some damnable rascality at the bottom 
 of all this," I said hotly, and under the pressure of 
 my excitement and fears I told them the whole story 
 of the Kerhuels and Querhoals, down to the last 
 episode of the fire at the Ch&teau and the strange 
 home-coming of M. de Kerhuel. 
 
 Smartte was intensely interested. "Why, it's a 
 regular three-decker novel," he said. "At least it 
 will be by the time we're through with it. Don't 
 you go into the dumps, Glyn. We'll find Miss Marie 
 and turn the whole matter inside out, including the 
 gentleman in the long coat, if, it costs us a hundred 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 " The priest is at the bottom of it all, I should 
 say," said Svolski, thoughtfully . "Though why 
 they should keep the father locked up all these 
 years is beyond me. There may be deeper reasons 
 than any we know of. On the face of it I should 
 say the telegram which brought Ma'm'selle to Paris 
 was simply a trap. Probably the Captain induced 
 her to go to some other address in the belief that 
 her brother had been removed there." 
 
 "But why entrap her so? He could not make 
 her marry him." 
 
 At that he shrugged his shoulders significantly. 
 "It has been done," he said. "I had a similar case 
 a couple of years ago. The young lady was com- 
 promised in much the same way. To save her 
 reputation she married the man. She poisoned him 
 six months later. But you say this M. de Querhoal 
 is dead, Monsieur?" 
 
 "Yes, I saw him shot in the last sortie." 
 
 "Then at the very worst Ma'm'selle is quit of him 
 [263] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 now, and the only question is, where is she? Ordi- 
 narily that would present no very great difficulty, 
 but now, voyez-vous, and thanks to the revolution, 
 the machinery is all in pieces and there has been a 
 lapse in the surveillance." 
 
 "The priest may know," suggested Smartte. 
 
 "I will have him watched," said Svolski. 
 
 At the very worst ! How my heart was tortured 
 by the thought of what my dear girl might have 
 suffered. If I had come across M. le Cur6 at that 
 time I would have taken him by the throat in the 
 street and endeavored to wrest the truth from him. 
 But it was some time before I saw him again and 
 then my hands were tied. 
 
 Svolski reported next day that the priest, ap- 
 prised evidently of the inquiries that were on foot, 
 had quitted No. 23 Rue Duvemois, and he was now 
 endeavoring to get on his track again. 
 
 The days ran on, however, and brought no news. 
 Ceaseless outpost encounters kept us busy and our 
 beds and hands full, and in all my friend's labors 
 I was permitted to share and was grateful for the 
 privilege. Cheerier or kinder comrade no man ever 
 had. He was probably twice my age in actual 
 years; but in companionableness and the keen in- 
 terest he took in all my affairs, no brother could 
 have surpassed, and few would have equalled him. 
 
 "We'll find her for you in time, old man," was 
 his constant word. He had very soon kicked on 
 patronymics, called me by my first name, or sonny, 
 or old man, or anything of the kind that came first, 
 and insisted on me addressing him as "Rode"— 
 "Sounds homely, and minds me of the old lady in 
 Illinois," he said. "We'll find her all right if she's 
 anywhere in this muddled old village, and then you 
 
 [264.] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 shall marry her off-hand and all will be hunk-a- 
 dory." 
 
 But the days passed and I seemed no nearer to 
 my heart's desire than the day I walked in behind 
 the ambulance from Choisy. 
 
 Just as the missing sailor's wife haunts the sea- 
 shore, so I spent much time wandering aimlessly 
 about the streets, fully aware of the utter futility of 
 it, yet hoping always that Providence might reach 
 out the long arm and bring us together. The wide- 
 rolling sea has swallowed the sailor, and the heart- 
 broken woman watches the tumbling waves if per- 
 chance they might roll his dead body at her feet. 
 Paris had swallowed my sweetheart, and I moved 
 among its slow currents with the wild hope in my 
 heart that the moment might come when my eyes 
 would Ught on the beloved face, and with a shout I 
 would clasp her in my arms again. 
 
 The people were very quiet and subdued at this 
 time. For a while after the fall of the Empire, 
 Smartte told me, they were inclined to be boisterous 
 and rowdy. But the installation of a people's gov- 
 ernment had satisfied them for the moment, and 
 there were days and nights when I could more easily 
 have fancied myself wandering in the city of London 
 on a Sunday than in Paris on a weekday, — except, 
 indeed, for the dull booming of the forts outside, 
 which at times, when the wind blew our way, sounded 
 startlingly close. 
 
 The idea occurred to me that it was possible that 
 M. Renel had mentioned his friend M. Dellieu to 
 Marie before she left. Perhaps, even, he had given 
 her a letter to him as he had done to us. So I 
 hopefully made my way to the Rue St. Dominique 
 and was so fortunate as to find M. Dellieu at home. 
 
 [265] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 The worthy pastor was keenly interested in all our 
 doings since he parted from us at the Gare de Stras- 
 bourg the day we set out for Metz. He inquired at 
 once for Myrtle, and I told him he had promised to 
 follow me in and that we were to meet at his house, 
 though whether he would manage it was doubtful, 
 as my own successful entry had been due simply to 
 a series of lucky chances. I told him, too, of Marie's 
 being in Paris, and asked anxiously if he knew 
 anything about her. But beyond her name he 
 knew nothing and was greatly distressed at my 
 story. 
 
 "I do not see that we can do anything more than 
 you are doing, M. Glyn," he said thoughtfully. "A 
 good detective and Providence are the only hopes, 
 and those you seem to have provided yourself with. 
 
 Those Jesuits ! They stick at nothing. They 
 
 have been proscribed and proscribed, but you can- 
 not stamp out a creed by law, and their craving for 
 power is the mainspring of their creed." 
 
 He told me he had very little faith in the men at 
 the head of affairs accomplishing anything substan- 
 tial in the way of stopping the debacle. 
 
 "Gambetta, Rochefort, Louis Blanc!" he said, 
 with a shrug. "They talk much, but words won't 
 alter facts. As for M. Trochu," — he smiled a dry 
 smile, "I also am from Brittany. He is honest, but 
 he will never beat the Prussians. No, we are soundly 
 beaten, and more with the rods of our own mak- 
 ing than by the enemy. The chastisement of our 
 sins is upon us. May it do us good !" 
 
 And in reply to my query as to how long he 
 thought the siege would last, he said, "Just as long 
 as the provisions last, I should imagine. When their 
 stomachs collapse I doubt if there'll be much cour- 
 
 [266] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 age left. I am bound to say I have been surprised 
 at their equanimity so far. We have had no ris- 
 ings, no trouble. But of course up to now it is the 
 middle class only who suffer and they chiefly in their 
 pockets. The lower classes are rationed and fed and 
 are quite happy. Something to eat, if not all they 
 would like, and nothing to do, — they want nothing 
 more at present." 
 
 We fared extremely well at the Lion d'Or, and so 
 far had personally suffered not at all from the 
 state of siege. What our faring cost it was not, 
 under the circumstances, my place to inquire. And 
 so far nothing very abnormal had appeared on our 
 table. Once or twice, indeed, Smartte submitted 
 Lotte to inquisition as to the composition of some 
 dish or other. But that frivolous young lady's 
 invariable reply, with a snap of the sparkling eyes, 
 was, "Eat in confidence. Monsieur, eat in confi- 
 dence. The Lion d'Or will never poison so good a 
 guest as M. Smartte." 
 
 "Well, tell us when it's cat or rat, Lotte. That's 
 aU I ask. I don't mind trying 'em, but I'd Uke to 
 know when I am trying 'em. I'm sure we've had 
 horse. I nearly jumped off the pavement the other 
 day because a horse neighed in my ear. And I find 
 myself looking at dogs and cats with quite a new 
 set of feelings, and I'm bound to say they seem to 
 reciprocate them." 
 
 Twice a day at least, and oftener when a new 
 batch of wounded had come in, we were over at the 
 hospital, and we never went without our pockets 
 full of remembrances for "the boys" and never 
 brought a thing back with us. Chocolates and 
 cigarettes were in greatest demand and an unfailing 
 comfort to them. Smartte' s custom in those days 
 
 [ 267] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 must have gone far towards keeping the shops he 
 patronized on their legs. 
 
 So the days passed, and no news came, and my 
 heart was wrung and twisted with its fears. 
 
 And then came trouble and loss, which, neverthe- 
 less, in fullness of time worked out, as they have 
 a way of doing, into great gain. 
 
 One night we were privately apprised that the 
 ambulances would be required on the morrow. We 
 were to be outside the Luxembourg at 5 A. M. No 
 indication was given as to our later destination. 
 
 "Another sortie," said Smartte. "March out so 
 many, bring back so many, and we and the others 
 pick up the rest. So many Frenchmen bowled out, 
 so many Germans bowled out, and — as you were ! 
 And no one one bit the better off." 
 
 "Except the fellows who come into our hands," 
 I suggested. 
 
 "Some of them," he corrected. 
 
 Five o'clock found us shivering outside the iron 
 railings of the Luxembourg Gardens in a damp 
 white fog. There was a considerable muster of 
 troops there already, and presently the order was 
 given to march, and we went off along the Rue 
 d'Enfer, which Smartte remarked was the most ap- 
 propriate route that could have been chosen. 
 
 Where the roads from Chatillon and Orleans meet 
 at a point our force divided. We were told to fol- 
 low the Chatillon detachment. Outside the walls 
 still larger bodies of troops joined us, and the forts 
 set up a thunderous roar, as they always did when a 
 sortie was attempted. Leopold von Marcius has 
 assured me that whenever the Paris forts were un- 
 usually noisy in any one direction, they, outside, im- 
 mediately began massing troops along that front. 
 
 [ 268] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 And though it might take time to make their thin 
 extended Une strong enough at any one point to 
 withstand the wedge that came against it, they 
 were always able to do so sooner or later because 
 of the forewarning of the forts. 
 
 We had tramped slowly along for half-an-hour or 
 so after passing the enceinte, with the forts bellow- 
 ing angrily on each side — Montrouge and Vanves, 
 Smartte said they were — when of a sudden they fell 
 silent, and in their place we heard sharp rolling vol- 
 leys of musketry to right and left. Then our own 
 field artillery began to speak, and then the fighting 
 men went forward, and we edged up foot by foot to 
 see, if we might, what was going on. 
 
 The sun had come palely through the fog and gave 
 promise of a fine, bright day. In front we made out 
 a village of considerable size, which seemed to be 
 the centre of the hottest fighting. It was wreathed 
 in soft, woolly, white smoke, shot down below with 
 venomous yellow-white spits of fire, while the tumult 
 that rose out of it was one loud angry roar of men 
 in deadly conflict — shots and shouts and yells. 
 
 "Rue d'Enfer was right," said Smartte, " and some 
 of 'em have got there and are getting it hot. 
 They're at close grips. Wonder who's on top?" 
 
 That presently became evident. There came a loud 
 burst of cheering on the left of the village. The tu- 
 mult waxed louder than ever in the village itself and 
 then rolled away beyond it. The Germans had 
 fallen back. The French artillery, which had ceased 
 firing while the hand-to-hand fight was going on, 
 dashed forward, a regiment of Mobiles came up at 
 the double behind us, and we went forward to pick 
 up the wounded. 
 
 The streets were full of French dead. The houses 
 [ 269 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 were shattered by shot, and ragged and broken by 
 the strenuous entry of the sappers. The reserves 
 were already throwing up rough barricades in the 
 streets against the expected return of the enemy. 
 In their haste they were flinging the dead and 
 wounded into heaps to clear the ground, and we 
 found wounded men half suffocated by the piled-up 
 bodies on top of them. Every window of every 
 house in the main street we were in was shivered, 
 frames and all, and when I entered one house I 
 found it full of Bavarian linesmen, all dead, with 
 their tufted helmets dented and battered as though 
 the fury of the incomers had vented itself even upon 
 them. The house was a shambles. I was glad to 
 get back into the street. 
 
 We carried our wounded through the sweating 
 barricade builders, filled van after van, and sent 
 them off home. We were loading the last when the 
 bugles pealed an urgent summons round us. We 
 heard the field guns crashing on the further side of 
 the village and shells came whizzing along the street, 
 ricochetting from the houses, thudding in among 
 the piles of dead and crowds of living, and blasting 
 life into shapeless heaps and fragments of death. 
 
 " Charles, my son, this is H-E-L-L !" said Smartte, 
 in his usual expressive fashion. "Let's get out of 
 
 it. Damnation!" as a shell rolled under our last 
 
 wagon and lay there hissing and spitting like a 
 venomous imp. 
 
 He did not hesitate one second. He ran forward, 
 seized the vicious thing, carried it half-a-dozen steps 
 while my heart stood still and the blood foamed in 
 my head. Then he hurled it away, and as it left his 
 hand it burst and he sank in a heap. I ran to him 
 with a sob in my mouth and cold fear at my heart. 
 
 [ 270] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 He lay quite still. I could not hope to find life in 
 him. And why he was not dead I do not know to 
 this day, except indeed that shells are unaccountable 
 machines at best and full of surprises. 
 
 But he was not dead, though very badly shat- 
 tered, and my heart groaned for him. As far as I 
 could see, his right arm was gone, the whole of his 
 right side from crown to heel was more or less dam- 
 aged, and his right leg badly hurt. 
 
 There is something peculiarly ghastly in a broken 
 man, when the break is absolute and new and raw, 
 when the man appears suddenly before one minus a 
 part that we look upon as essentially part of him- 
 self. I had seen many wounded men and had be- 
 come to an extent case-hardened, but the sight of 
 my friend l3ring there with the fragments of his up- 
 per arm protruding from a fringe of ragged sleeve 
 turned me suddenly sick. 
 
 The driver of the ambulance was killed, the nearest 
 horse was down. Twice it struggled frantically to 
 rise, then its head banged heavily on the ground 
 and it lay still. The other horse was badly gashed 
 on the back and flanks with flying splinters, and 
 the ambulance itself was riddled as though a volley 
 had been fired into it. 
 
 But, sick or no sick, there was no time to lose. 
 The viUage was boiling hell again and I knew the 
 broth would come out this side this time. I twisted 
 my handkerchief round the stump of his right arm 
 and screwed it tight. There were men already hur- 
 r3dng past me towards the city. I called to one of 
 them. He hesitated and came. We lifted the broken 
 body and carried it to the ambulance and got it in. 
 I thanked the man and he hurried off. I cut the 
 reins and traces of the dead horse and backed the 
 
 [ 371] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 van off his legs and slewed it round, and started 
 slowly along the road we had come, leading the 
 horse by the head to encourage him, because he was 
 shaking so badly. There were no more shells. They 
 were fighting at the barricades in the village. A 
 few high-aimed bullets came along and I bent round 
 to the left and presently we were out of range. 
 
 We made but slow progress with only one horse 
 and that one wounded, and I stopped and went to 
 look in at my cargo to see if perchance the load 
 could be Hghtened. The two men on the left, the 
 side where the shell had burst, were dead. I drew 
 them out and laid them by the roadside and we 
 made better weather of it. Fresh troops passed us 
 hurrjring to the front. Away to the left as we drew 
 near the fortifications I caught a glimpse of dense 
 black clouds of smoke rolling up into the blue sky. 
 Afterwards I knew that it was St. Cloud burning. 
 
 [ 272] 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 I LED my wagon slowly in by the road we had 
 come that morning, through the crowds of expectant 
 waiters of the event. 
 
 Many voices cried to me for news of the battle. 
 I replied that we had driven them out of Chatillon 
 but they were coming on again when I left, and 
 they gave my news a rousing cheer and shook 
 hands with one another. They saw the state of my 
 horse and half-a-dozen blue blouses volunteered help, 
 which I very gladly accepted. 
 
 "Where to, Monsieur?" 
 
 " Salpfetriere," and they set their hands behind 
 the van and bent their heads and pushed like good 
 souls. We turned down the Boulevard St. Jacques 
 and so into the Boulevard de I'HQpital, and so I 
 brought my friend home. 
 
 A couple of infirmiers came out to assist. 
 
 "It is M. Smartte himself, Jules, and in bad 
 case. Beg Dr. Morin to come out to me for a mo- 
 ment." 
 
 "Oh, mon dieu, mon dieu!" said Jules, and ran 
 quickly. 
 
 Dr. Morin, our head surgeon, was by my side in a 
 moment, in shirt sleeves, rosy fingers from which 
 the red water still dripped, and a face of very great 
 concern. 
 
 "Serious, M. Glyn?" 
 
 "Very serious, I fear. Doctor. He picked up a 
 18 [ 273] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 shell that rolled under the wagon and it burst as 
 he flung it." 
 
 "Oh, mon dieu ! Very gently, boys ! Have care ! 
 Have care !" — to the men who were lifting him out. 
 
 "Can you give him a private room?" 
 
 " But certainly. Take him to my bed, Jules. Phi- 
 lippe, bid Doctors Celle and Devaux attend me there 
 instantly. The others must wait. We cannot lose 
 M. Smartte." 
 
 He ran into the ward he had quitted to get some 
 necessaries, and was in his own room with the other 
 doctors by the time we arrived there. We laid the 
 shattered body on the bed and all gathered round 
 it while the doctors made a hasty examination. 
 The exclamations of pity that broke from them, as 
 one after another the injuries were revealed, bore 
 eloquent witness to the severity of the wounds and 
 the love they all bore him. 
 
 I followed their examination with close attention, 
 for in those days of over-pressure many a limb had 
 I seen sacrificed that might have been saved. 
 
 "Trim the arm at once and stop that drain," said 
 Morin to his assistants. "Your tourniquet has 
 probably saved his life, M. Glyn. The head and face 
 
 wounds are not dangerous, painful, though, and 
 
 disfiguring, the side a nasty rip and wasteful, 
 
 ^the leg " he pondered some time over the leg 
 
 with twisted face. "I'm afraid it must go too," he 
 said at last. "Celle, the chloroform, he is coming 
 to." 
 
 They administered the chloroform and he went 
 over again. 
 
 "M. le Docteur," I said, "that leg must be saved 
 if it is at all possible. Pray try resection." 
 
 At which he only shrugged his shoulders. 
 [ 274] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "It is too far gone," he said, after another careful 
 survey. 
 
 But I detected, or thought I did, which came to 
 the same thing, a tinge of doubt in his tone. 
 
 "We must save it," I urged. "With leg and arm 
 gone he would not care to live." 
 
 "But look at it yourself. Monsieur. How is it 
 possible to reconstruct that?" 
 
 "M. le Docteur, you wUl pardon me, but sooner 
 than sacrifice it I will try it myself." 
 
 "Comment done! You! Have you ever done 
 it?" 
 
 "Yes, in Metz, several times. But I would prefer 
 getting the assistance of one of the surgeons from 
 the American Ambulance. They practise it there all 
 the time." 
 
 He hesitated still. " I fear it is only waste of time, 
 and there is, as you see, no time to waste." 
 
 "We owe it to him to try at all events. I assure 
 you it would be his wish." 
 
 "Eh bien, soit! but go quick, quick!" and I ran 
 down the stairs and jumped into a fiacre and sped 
 in hot haste to the American Ambulance in the 
 Champs Elysfees. 
 
 I had no difficulty there in enlisting their sympa- 
 thy and assistance. Smartte was well known and 
 liked there as everywhere. They put their best man 
 at my disposal and we returned to the SalpdtriSre as 
 fast as I had come. 
 
 I had some slight acquaintance with Dr. Marion 
 Ray from having seen him at the American Hospital 
 Tents when I went there with Smartte. He ques- 
 tioned me fully as we drove along as to the nature 
 and origin of our friend's injuries. 
 
 "It was a mighty plucky and 9, mighty foolish 
 [ 275] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 thing to do," he said, "and it was just Smartte all 
 over. He's North and I'm South, but he's a white 
 man all through and I'd give my left hand to help 
 him." 
 
 He scrutinized closely the work of the French sur- 
 geons, but had no fault to find with it. 
 
 " Nasty rips those in the head and face, I can see," 
 he said, "but they've no doubt joined them better 
 than I could have done. They're dabs at tinkering 
 of that kind, but they haven't had the experience of 
 shelled bones that we have. What's wrong with the 
 side?" 
 
 "Splinter rips all down. Not serious, I think." 
 
 He was working at the leg all the time deftly and 
 tenderly. Dr. Celle had remained with the patient 
 and Morin came back to overlook and learn what 
 he could from the resection. 
 
 "It will do," said Ray. "It's bad enough, but 
 I've had worse and seen them through aU right." 
 
 Dr. Morin with true French courtesy expressed his 
 admiration at the operation. "You gentlemen from 
 America," he said, "beat us here. It is beautiful, 
 very beautiful, and very clever." 
 
 "We bought our experience in a dear school, M. 
 le Docteur," said Ray. "We had as many years of 
 it as you have had months, and I can tell you it 
 braced us up to top-notch. There's thousands of 
 legs padding about the States to-day that under the 
 old system would have been cut off as useless." 
 
 Dr. Morin observed closely and asked many tech- 
 nical questions, and Ray gave him of the fullness of 
 his knowledge, and evidently delighted in the giving. 
 
 "You won't mind my coming in regularly to see 
 him?" he asked, as he straightened up at last. 
 
 "But no, assuredly, my dear sir. He will owe 
 [ 276] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 that leg entirely to you — and to M. Glyn, who in- 
 sisted on saving it." 
 
 "Friend Smartte will live to thank us all," said 
 Ray; "and now I must run, Doctor. We've got a 
 heap of sick men up there and they need a lot of 
 looking after." 
 
 " Pray accept my own thanks for your kindness in 
 coming," said Morin. 
 
 And, " Pray don't mention it. We all like Smartte 
 much too well to lose a bit more of him than is 
 necessary," said Ray, and shook hands all round 
 and rushed away. 
 
 "What men of business they are, those Americans," 
 said Dr. Morin. "If our men in high places had 
 been more like that we should not be where we are 
 now. Non, pardie!" 
 
 When my friend's left eye opened slowly and with 
 apparent reluctance a little later, it rested vaguely 
 on me for a moment. The right side of his face was 
 swathed in bandages. He tried to move himself and 
 seemed much annoyed that he could not do so. 
 
 "Damn!" he said feebly, and closed his eye and 
 lay still again. 
 
 "Is that you, Charley?" he whispered presently, 
 with a puzzled frown. " Or is it nightmare? What's 
 happened?" 
 
 "You had a bad wrestle with a shell. Rode, and 
 the shell came out on top." 
 
 He pondered this for a minute and then said, "I 
 remember. It was under our wagon. Any of the 
 boys hurt?" 
 
 "It killed two of them, and Antoine, the driver, 
 and one of the horses." 
 
 "Sorry!" he said quaintly, as if the fault were 
 his. 
 
 [ 377] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Then he tried to move his head so as to see his 
 right arm. 
 
 "Arm's numb," he whispered. "Is it damaged?" 
 
 "Rode, dear friend, it's gone. The shell smashed 
 it all to pieces." 
 
 " Damn ! " he whispered quietly, and lay still think- 
 ing it over. 
 
 He was weak with loss of blood, and presently he 
 dozed off and I left an infirmier in charge of him while 
 I ran across to the hotel to get something to eat. 
 
 Madame and Lotte were, in their way, almost as 
 much cut up at Smartte's disaster as he was him- 
 self. They both instantly proposed going over to 
 nurse him, in which case I presume the hotel would 
 have had to look after itself. 
 
 I promised they should help if the need arose, but 
 assured them he was better at present in the hands 
 of men accustomed to cases of the kind. "And 
 every one there likes him so much that yon may 
 be sure he won't be neglected." 
 
 "I'm sure of it," said Madame, "but all the same, 
 Monsieur, " 
 
 But I prevailed on her to give me my breakfast, 
 and promised Lotte the privilege of carrjdng some 
 special soup across to him if Madame would have 
 it got ready, and she went down to the kitchen at 
 once to prepare it with her own hands. 
 
 Lotte' s pretty face went very white when she saw 
 him lying there, fragmentary and tied together with 
 cotton bandages. She very nearly screamed and let 
 the soup fall. He had not moved since I left, the 
 infirmier said, but he opened his one eye while we 
 stood there looking at him. 
 
 He looked at Lotte and the soup and then winked 
 feebly and whispered : 
 
 [ 278] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Soup, Lotte? Just ready for it." 
 
 "Oh, my poor, poor Monsieur Smartte!" cried 
 Lotte, with her eyes full of tears, "Madame made it 
 herself and she will continue to make it and every- 
 thing else of the best for Monsieur, and I shall bring 
 it across." 
 
 "What's it made of?" he whispered jocularly. 
 
 "Faut manger en confiance, Monsieur," replied 
 Lotte in the usual formula, with a sniEF that was 
 nearly a sob. 
 
 "Many thanks— both you and Madame. Feed me, 
 Lotte," and she knelt down by the bed and dropped 
 the soup slowly into the left side of his mouth, for 
 the right side was too painful to move. 
 
 The soup did him good, but he suffered much pain, 
 and during the afternoon Dr. Morin administered 
 morphia, which gave him a long rest and a conse- 
 quent increase of strength when he woke up. 
 
 I was sitting by the bedside when he came to, and 
 the first thing he asked was, "Seen after the boys 
 to-day, Charley?" 
 
 "No, I've been seeing after you to-day. Rode." 
 
 "Mustn't neglect 'em. I'm all right," and nothing 
 would satisfy him but my going out there and then 
 and buying the usual supplies and making the usual 
 rounds. 
 
 Every man in the hospital who was capable of 
 speaking asked after him, and they all expressed 
 their deep concern at his injuries and sent him heaps 
 of good wishes. And then I went back and gave 
 him all their messages, and posted him as to the 
 various cases, and it seemed to do him a world of 
 good. 
 
 Considering all his damages he picked up in a 
 wonderful way. Marion Ray came in twice a day 
 [ 279] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 to see him, and Dr. Morin and the rest were unre- 
 mitting in their attentions. Lotte and Madame saw 
 to his feeding, and provided him with tempting 
 dishes which, under all the circumstances of the case, 
 could only be described as marvellous. And I re- 
 lieved his anxiety as to "the boys," and acted as 
 his almoner, and as constant bearer of their in- 
 quiries and messages, and his thanks. 
 
 And during all these days no trace of Marie, and 
 I seemed as far from finding her as on the first day 
 I entered the city. 
 
 Smartte pleased us all by the progress he was 
 making, but I knew it must be a very long time be- 
 fore he would be good for anything requiring any 
 bodily exertion. 
 
 About ten days after the catastrophe Dr. Marion 
 Ray came in one day on his usual visit, and after 
 his examination he said : 
 
 "Smartte, old man, if you'll take my advice you'll 
 get out of this city, and you'll get out now." 
 
 "Yes? Where to? The moon? No balloons for 
 me, my boy. Shells and Uttle things of that kind 
 I don't mind. But balloons — ^not me." 
 
 "Who's talking of balloons? Washburne is send- 
 ing all the Americans out in a day or two — ^that is, 
 all that want to go. It would take more even than 
 the Minister of the United States" — and there was 
 just a sly hint of Southern sarcasm in his intona- 
 tion — "to make 'em go if they didn't want to." 
 
 "Well, I don't want to go. I'm very well here." 
 
 " So far you've done capitally, my boy. But here's 
 the case. These blamed fools are going to let them- 
 selves be starved to death sooner than give in. 
 That's all right. That's their own business. Only 
 when they starve we've got to starve too, and 
 
 [ 280] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 starving's not good for a sick man. You want the 
 very best of fresh country feeding. I tell you frankly 
 you take a very heavy responsibility if you stop 
 here. There'll be no difficulty in you going, and it's 
 the last chance you'll get. K you will take my ad- 
 vice you'll go. Find some quiet country place and 
 just go to grass there for a few months." 
 
 "I don't know any quiet country place. And then, 
 to go among strangers " 
 
 "Glyn'll go with you and look after you," said 
 Ray. 
 
 "No, he can't," said Smartte quickly. "Glyn has 
 greater interests here than myself " 
 
 "I shouldn't have thought it by the way he's 
 looked after you. No man ever was better cared 
 for." 
 
 " He's been neglecting matters still nearer his heart 
 on my account," said Smartte. 
 
 "What's your opinion, Glyn?" asked Ray. 
 
 "I think he ought to go. But we shall miss him 
 terribly here. If you will take Marion Ray's advice, 
 Rode, why not go to my mother at Dinan? I'll 
 promise you the very best of care and attention." 
 
 "Dinan— Brittany?" said Ray. "That's it. That's 
 the very place for you, Smartte. The Prussians 
 won't get there and you'll be among friends, and 
 if Glyn's faculty for nursing is in any way inherited 
 you'll have the best of good times and be a man 
 again in three months. If you don't go, — seeing 
 what's coming, I won't guarantee that you'll keep 
 this side of the sod. Sorry to say so, old chap, but 
 that's simple truth. My own idea is that we'll have 
 a devil of a time here before we get through. Wash- 
 bume thinks the same. He's a Northerner, but he's 
 straight, and about as shrewd as they make 'em," 
 [ 281] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Let me think it over," said Smartte. "It hits 
 me hard to think of leaving, even if the ship is sink- 
 ing." 
 
 "I'll send in your name, anyhow," said Ray. 
 "Then if yon decide to commit suicide it'll be your 
 own look-out." 
 
 By dint of much thinking and much urging on my 
 part he brought himself to it, though up to the very 
 last, until, indeed, with the rest of the American con- 
 voy, the Creteil gate had closed irrevocably upon 
 them, he was very loath to go, and kept suddenly de- 
 ciding that he would stop on and see things through. 
 
 In the interval, however, he "fixed things so's 
 they'd run without him if he did bring his mind to 
 quit," and this consisted chiefly in installing me in 
 his place, to carry on the work he had set his hand 
 to and in which his heart was so much wrapped 
 up. 
 
 ".I'll leave you 40,000 francs, Charley," he said. 
 " That, I think, will see you through. Spend it any 
 way you think I'd like it spent, — on your own busi- 
 ness and for these poor devils, either the broken 
 boys or the women and children, if the feeding gets 
 tighter, as it will, I'm afraid. Do whatever you 
 think right and I want no accounts. Better let it 
 remain at the Embassy as I have done, and Wash- 
 burne will give it you as you want it. There's folks 
 in Paris would cut your throat and burn the hotel 
 down for a good deal less than 40,000 francs,though 
 it don't amount to much when you put it into dol- 
 lars." 
 
 Mr. Washburne came in to see him the following 
 day, and Smartte introduced me to him, and pain- 
 fully produced with his left hand a signature to a 
 document authorizing him to hand me the money 
 
 [ 282] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 as I wanted it. The Minister expressed his own 
 intention of sticking to his post whatever happened. 
 As long as any citizens of the United States re- 
 mained he considered it his duty to remain also, 
 and in addition he looked upon it as an interesting 
 experience and had no intention of missing any scrap 
 of it. "Since it had to be," he said, "I'm mighty 
 glad I'm here to see it, and I intend to see it 
 through." • 
 
 He was an exceedingly genial and kindly man, and 
 shrewd to the extremities of his warmly-gripping 
 fingers. I met him frequently afterwards and con- 
 ceived a very great admiration and liking for him. 
 How gallantly he, — alone, I think, of all the ambas- 
 sadors, — stuck to his post through those dark days, 
 and through the still more terrible days that fol- 
 lowed, even to the very bitter end, when all Paris 
 seemed Hke to perish in a cataclysm of blood and 
 fire, all the world knows, and some of us had reason 
 to be profoundly thankful for. 
 
 I furnished my friend with a warm introduction to 
 my mother, and when I wished him the final good- 
 by at the Creteil gate, and stood aside in the rain 
 to let the rest of the convoy and the escort pass, I 
 was both glad and sorry. For myself and for all his 
 other friends inside, sorry, for we would miss him 
 much. But for his sake'glad that he had yielded to 
 our entreaties, for it gave him a better chance of 
 thorough recovery than he could possibly have had 
 if he had stopped. 
 
 Has my pen run away with me concerning my 
 friend? I loved him dearly, and that chance meeting 
 on the field of Choisy made for greater things in my 
 life than I knew. 
 
 [ 283] 
 
CHAPTER XXIY 
 
 I CARRIED on Smartte's ministry exactly as I knew 
 he would have had me do it, and did my very best 
 to fill his place. I was at best but an inadequate 
 substitute, I fear, for my birthright carried with it 
 its national hmitations, and the airy camaraderie 
 which made every heart his instant and wilhng cap- 
 tive were sadly wanting in me. And, in addition to 
 my natural diffidence, my heart was tortured and 
 my life sorely burdened by the utter failure of my 
 quest for Marie. How we two were playing at hide 
 and seek all this time you will see. Still, in my work 
 at the hospitals I did my best, and in the more 
 material matter of the dispensation of his largesse I 
 took good care that the boys did not suffer. 
 
 It was characteristic of him that he should have 
 paid in advance for both my own and his board and 
 lodging for the next three months, and that at siege 
 rates. Madame of the Lion d'Or had treated him 
 well. She was not to suffer because, as he expressed 
 it "he had made a mess of himself." Madame and 
 Lotte were of course desolated at parting with him. 
 I reaped the benefit, — until such time as it was no 
 longer available, — until, in fact, the Lion d'Or and its 
 warm-hearted mistress came to a sudden and violent 
 end one black day in January. 
 
 But that was a couple of months ahead, and much 
 had happened before then, and meanwhile I lived 
 
 [ 284] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 there in much comfort and, within certain slowly 
 contracting bounds, in plenty. 
 
 All my spare time was spent in aimless, hopeless 
 wanderings about the city, with one object in view 
 but never in sight. It was useless to attempt any 
 definite search. The field was too vast, thelabyrinth 
 too full of mazy twists and turnings. Any house in 
 that whole vast hive might shelter her I sought. 
 Even Svolski confessed himself utterly at fault, but 
 laid it down to the dislocation of the times. And 
 with reason, for under the old regime, with its close 
 surveillance and its myriad watchful eyes, the hidden 
 secrets of the chambers were known if they were not 
 proclaimed from the housetops. And so my only 
 hope was in Chance or Providence, and hope long 
 deferred made my heart grow sick. 
 
 Up to this time the people had been wonderfully 
 quiescent. There were growlings and grumblings of 
 course. When the broken men came pouring back 
 into the city after the usual fruitless sortie, the 
 growlings broke out into anathemas against the 
 powers who sent them forth and accomplished noth- 
 ing. With 400,000 fighting men inside and only 
 250,000 outside to keep them in, why, in the name 
 of heaven, asked the hungry sufferers, was nothing 
 done? Were they all to starve to death while the 
 legal and military gentlemen of the Hotel de Ville 
 squabbled among themselves as to the best way to 
 cut the knot? Then they were given another enter- 
 tainment in the shape of another sortie, and always 
 the valiant troops won the day, yet found them- 
 selves back in their old quarters by night-time, less 
 those who remained behind or came in in the ambu- 
 lances. 
 
 In my wanderings I began to be painfully im- 
 [ 285] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 pressed by the hungry rows of people waiting for 
 doles of food outside the ration bureaus. Hour after 
 hour they stood there, women and children, pa- 
 tiently waiting for the morsels that might just keep 
 soul and body together. In the better quarters were 
 similar rows waiting to purchase their tardy supplies 
 of meat and bread. They had their money in their 
 hands and were by no means of the destitute classes, 
 but all the same the food trickled slowly through 
 official fingers and they had to wait their turn. 
 
 On the evening of the day Smartte left, the city 
 was ablaze with excitement over the taking of Le 
 Bourget. The tide had turned. The francs-tireurs 
 of the Presse, who had rushed the position in the 
 morning, were the idols of the hour. Reinforcements 
 were poured out to assist them. All night long there 
 was furious firing going on to the northeast. The 
 northern sky was filled with vivid streamers, and 
 the excited crowds, who surged about the streets in 
 the sure belief that at last deliverance was at hand, 
 cried to one another that the great heart of the 
 universe palpitated in sympathy with the chosen 
 people of Paris. All next day the fighting continued 
 and the crowds exulted in spite of the rain. The 
 following day the same, and half the city swarmed 
 toward La Yillette to morally encourage the men at 
 the front, and to get the first news of the veritable 
 smashing of the cordon. We had broken one link, 
 and held it in spite of all the enemy's efforts to re- 
 gain it. The rest was only a question of time. 
 Paris was as good as free. The Germans were as 
 sick of the war as we were. Were they not rotting in 
 their trenches and dying like sheep ? Had not one of 
 their wounded at Le Bourget on Friday cursed the 
 authors of the war — meaning William of Prussia and 
 
 [ 286] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Count Bismarck, of course? And on Monday morn- 
 ing, in a dense fog, the broken battalions came 
 tumbling back along the Lille road, mud-stained, 
 blood-stained, starving, and weary. The iron girdle 
 was rivetted afresh in the shambles at Le Bourget, 
 and the heart of Paris spat itself out in curses. 
 
 Next day, before we had had time to recover from 
 this blow, ominous little printed notices were stuck 
 up outside the doors of the various mairies an- 
 nouncing the fall of Metz. 
 
 Then Paris flamed out, and I came within an ace 
 of sudden death. 
 
 I was passing through the Place VendSme that 
 afternoon, and found it more crowded than usual. 
 The men hung about in knots discussing the news. 
 Stones were flung at the great iron column. One of 
 a squad of National Guards returning from duty on 
 the ramparts put up his gun and fired at the figure 
 on top. The crowd applauded. A small dark man 
 at the corner of the Rue Castiglione was haranguing 
 the bystanders with much vehemence. Behind him 
 on the wall of a house was a proclamation signed 
 "Rochefort," begging all good citizens to unite 
 against the common enemy, and above all, not to 
 construct private barricades on their own account, 
 as it only led to confusion. The orator foamed out 
 the usual stock phrases of his kind. The country 
 had been betrayed. Sedan, Metz, Le Bourget. It 
 was everywhere the same story. What was the use 
 of them, the sovereign people, spending their blood 
 and their treasure — ^from the looks of him it was 
 difficult to imagine the gentleman having contributed 
 much of either — when every man in authority was 
 either a traitor or an imbecile, like those addle- 
 headed lawyers at the Hotel de Ville. 
 [ 287] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "A I'Hotel de Ville!" shrieked the mob. 
 
 "A I'Hotel de Ville!" shouted the orator, and 
 pointed dramatically towards the obvious way 
 thither, which was by the street where I happened 
 to be standing, with no shadow of ill intent in my 
 heart, and never an idea how near I was to death 
 at that moment. 
 
 Perhaps I had smiled at the incongruity between 
 the speaker's appearance and his flaming words. I 
 will grant the mob that possible smile. It is abso- 
 lutely the only concession I can make them. Per- 
 haps the fiery speaker caught that possible smile 
 and was cut to the quick by it. Possibly he wanted 
 a practical tag by way of peroration. 
 
 " Traitors and spies ! The city is full of them ! 
 They are with us in every guise. There stands one !" 
 and he pointed a vindictive and dirty finger straight 
 at me. 
 
 Before I could open my mouth rough hands 
 grabbed me on all sides. I was pushed and pulled 
 and hustled in half-a-dozen directions at once, while 
 the crowd roared, "Down with the spy ! Down with 
 the Prussian! Kill him! Shoot him! To the water!" 
 
 I tried to wrench free, and shouted at top of my 
 voice, " I am no spy. Messieurs. I am engaged nurs- 
 ing your wounded. I am an EngUshman." 
 
 "Same thing ! " cried one, and aimed a blow at my 
 head, while others shouted to a gang of passing 
 Nationals to come and make an end of a sacr^ rat 
 of a Prussian spy. 
 
 Things were looking very nasty. It seemed to me 
 that in another minute my life might end, as many 
 another innocent man's ended, on the Paris pave- 
 ments during the siege. 
 
 Then, as the crowd opened to let the Nationals 
 [ 288] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 through, my eye lighted on a face I knew, a broad- 
 brimmed flat beaver above it, and below, a long 
 black soutane, and for once in my life my heart beat 
 hopefully at sight of a Jesuit priest. 
 
 "There is one who knows me," I gasped, still 
 struggling with my captors, "M. leCurfe there. He 
 will tell you I am no Prussian." 
 
 "Voyons done!" said a huge fellow in a blouse, 
 whose big hand alone in my collar went far towards 
 choking me. "Father, come here and identify your 
 wandering sheep." And M. le Curfe was hustled 
 through the crowd towards us with no great cere- 
 mony. 
 
 ' ' Now, ' ' shouted the big man, " do you know him ? ' ' 
 
 "Mon dieu ! no. I never set eyes on him before," 
 said M. le Curfe, and the big man aimed a blow at 
 me with his other hand which would have settled the 
 question forever so far as I was concerned. But I 
 dropped suddenly and we swung round together. 
 
 "Stay!" I shouted, with all the vehemence that 
 was in me. "He is lying or else he does not recog- 
 nize me yet. M. Lesieur, I am Charles Glyn " 
 
 "I know nothing of the man," said M. le Curfe 
 coldly. "He is probably a Prussian spy," and the 
 crowd roared angrily. 
 
 "Ah, liar!" I shouted once more. "And what of 
 M. de Kerhuel, whom you have had locked up at 
 Querhoal for twenty years?" and he started, and my 
 captor noticed it. "And shall I tell you where 
 Raoul is, and why he avoids you?" I cried once 
 more. And once more the priest started. 
 
 "Yes, he is Ijdng," said the big man. "He knows 
 you, but that doesn't prove you^re not a spy." 
 
 And then suddenly the crowd that filled the road- 
 way surged back on to the pavement to give way to 
 19 [ 389 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 a regiment of Mobiles who came pressing urgently 
 through toward the Rue Rivoli, scattering the people 
 and the Nationals like chaff before them. And 
 striding at their head in gold-braided kfepi and cap- 
 tain's uniform, was— George de Kerhuel. 
 
 "George! George! De Kerhuel! A moi!" I 
 yelled at the top of my lungs, and he looked around. 
 
 "It is I, Charles Glyn," I cried, and he halted his 
 men and pushed roughly through the crowd. 
 
 "Now then, what's all this?" he asked harshly, 
 and the big man released the remains of my collar. 
 
 "But, M. le Capitaine, they say he is a spy." 
 
 " You damned silly fools ! You've got spy on the 
 brain. If some of you would fight instead of loaf 
 and shout at street comers, we should not be where 
 we are. This gentleman is my brother-in-law." 
 
 "He may be a spy all the same," shouted a Na- 
 tional Guard with a red face and watery eyes. 
 
 "Ready! men, — ^present! — " cried George to his 
 Mobiles, and as the guns flew up to their shoulders 
 the crowd disappeared from our immediate neigh- 
 borhood. Nationals and all, like dust before a 
 March gale, and we stood quite alone. 
 
 "Better come with us, Charles," said George. 
 "There's trouble afoot." And, too full for speech, 
 and trembling in every limb, I walked away with 
 him and his men down the Rue Castiglione. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" he asked, as we 
 turned into the Rue Rivoli. 
 
 The streets were full of people. The crowds in- 
 creased as we proceeded. 
 
 "It's a long story," I said. "In the first place, 
 I'm looking for Marie." 
 
 "For Marie?" he almost shouted, and came to a 
 full stop to look at me, whereby the whole regiment 
 
 [290] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 was checked, and those behind looked inquiringly 
 ahead to see what was in the way, hoping, no doubt, 
 that it was a body of Nationals to be made into 
 mincemeat, for they hated the very sight of their 
 uniforms. 
 
 "For Marie?" said George once more, depressing 
 his men's hopes by resuming his march. "Is Marie 
 in Paris?" 
 
 "We fear so. She left Dinan on the 10th of Sep- 
 tember to come and nurse you " 
 
 "Nurse me?" he cried, almost stopping again in 
 his amazement. 
 
 "You have not been wounded?" 
 
 "I? No, never a scratch. What's the meaning of 
 it all, Charles? Tell me quickly." 
 
 "They received a telegram at Kerhuel begging 
 Marie to come up and nurse you, as you had been 
 wounded. It was signed with your name. I have it 
 at my hotel." 
 
 "Great God in heaven! And she came?" 
 
 "Yes, she set off at once." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 "No, old Henriette came with her." 
 
 "And you, Charles, why not you?" 
 
 "I was in Metz." 
 
 "In Metz— you?" 
 
 "Yes, I was there till the middle of September, 
 surgeon with Frossard's corps. I swam out, found 
 Marie had left for Paris a few days before I reached 
 Dinan, and came on at once to look after her. I 
 came in here September 30." 
 
 "And you have not found her?" 
 
 "Not a trace of her." 
 
 "Oh, mon dieu ! My poor little Marie!" he 
 groaned, 
 
 [ 291] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I have had detectives on the matter and done 
 everything, but so far without result." 
 
 "And who " he asked, and hesitated. 
 
 "Raoul de Querhoal," I said. 
 
 "I might have guessed that. He is dead." 
 
 "I know that. I saw him die." 
 
 "You did?" he said quickly. 
 
 "Yes, near the old church this side the Fontaine- 
 bleau road, during the fight at Choisy." 
 
 "Yes," he said, and walked on in silence for a 
 time. 
 
 "Where are we going?" I asked at last. 
 
 "To the Hotel de Villa. Flourens and his Reds 
 have locked Trochu and the rest in a back room. 
 We are going to get them out." 
 
 "When will you be off duty? I want a talk with 
 you." 
 
 "God knows," he said. "Everything may be in a 
 cocked hat before morning if those gabbling idiots 
 get the upper hand." 
 
 The courtyard of the Louvre was fall of soldiel's, 
 all Mobiles or of the Line. An officer inside signalled 
 to George, who halted his men and went up to the 
 railings, through which he and the other had an 
 energetic conversation. Then he came back and we 
 went on again at a quickstep. 
 
 "He wanted me to stop with the rest," he said 
 to me. "Afraid my men may pitch in with the 
 Nationals when they see how many of them there 
 are down there. I told him they'd sooner eat them, 
 they hate them so. These fellows are all Bretons, 
 you see, and I'm Breton too, and we've taken to 
 one another. I've only had them a fortnight, but 
 they'd do anything for me." 
 
 "I'd like to hear all your news over a decent din- 
 [ 293] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 ner," I said. "I've got heaps to tell you, and you 
 must have plenty to tell me." 
 
 "I haven't had a decent dinner for months," he 
 said. "They give us the salt meat and keep all the 
 fresh for those damned Nationals and the butchers' 
 shops, and this is all they get by it." 
 
 "You've been going ahead since I saw you," I 
 said. 
 
 "Yes," and he laughed a harsh little laugh with 
 no mirth in it; "commission and three grades in- 
 side a month." 
 
 "That's smart work." 
 
 "A case of extremity and opportunity," he said. 
 "They were short of officers with brains, and my 
 being able to speak to these men in their own 
 tongue got me the position. They're very fine fel- 
 lows and will make splendid soldiers in time." 
 
 Instead of going straight on through the increas- 
 ing crowds, he turned down the Rue St. Denis to the 
 Quais; and we crossed the Place du Chttelet, and 
 saw that the great square of the Hotel de Yille was 
 black with people, and the air was filled with their 
 roaring. We worked round to the rear of the great 
 building and entered by a gate into the courtyard. 
 There George halted his men again, called a lieiu- 
 tenant and gave him some instructions, and said 
 a few words in guttural Breton to the nearer men, 
 who repeated them along the line. He turned to 
 me and said : 
 
 "K you take my advice, Charles, you will stay 
 here with the boys. I'm going inside to bring out 
 Trochu, and I'll get him if I have to fire the build- 
 ing and fight my way out. There's no need for you 
 to be mixed up in it." 
 
 "All right, my boy. I'll wait here for you." 
 [ 293] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 He gave a sharp word of command and marched 
 in at a back door with about a hundred of his 
 men at his heels. The patriots in front were much 
 too busy demonstrating to notice him. 
 
 We waited a very long time and I chatted with 
 the lieutenant. He expressed a fervent wish for 
 half an hour in the Square and a free hand for 
 himself and his men. 
 
 "We'd take it out of those Nationals, I warrant 
 you, Monsieur," he said with much yearning. 
 
 "I'd no idea there was such strong feeling be- 
 tween you," I said. "My time has been spent in 
 the hospitals." 
 
 ''Ah, and have you ever in your life seen a Na- 
 tional there. Monsieur? If there was one I'll bet he 
 was wounded in the back." 
 
 "They've certainly mostly been of the Line or 
 Mobiles." 
 
 "Of course. These others do nothing but brag 
 and bluster and swagger about, and drink and 
 skulk out of sight when there's any chance of get- 
 ting hurt." 
 
 Possibly he was prejudiced, but there was no pos- 
 sible doubt as to his feelings in the matter. 
 
 We waited a very long time, so long that I asked 
 the lieutenant if he thought anything could have 
 happened to the Captain. 
 
 "Not at all," he said. " If anything had happened 
 we should hear something of it and I should go in 
 with the rest of the men. Possibly they have found 
 something to eat in there. I wish I was inside, too. 
 I have every confidence in M. de Kerhuel. He can 
 take care of himself, and the men would follow him 
 to the devil." 
 
 George came out at last, and with him, in a state 
 [ 294] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 of great excitement, came a tall man, at sight of 
 whom my friend the lieutenant said briskly, 
 
 "Trochu. He has got him. Very good, very 
 good." 
 
 My recollection of General Trochu is of a sol- 
 dierly man with a rather good-looking face, well- 
 trimmed mustache and imperial, and his brows at 
 the moment pinched into an expression of excited 
 determination. When he took off his k6pi and waved 
 it to the men his forehead seemed expansive by 
 reason of a very bald head. 
 
 We set off at a quick walk, with the General se- 
 curely safeguarded on either side and front and rear, 
 and, going this time all the way by the Quais, got 
 safely to the Louvre, where he had his headquarters. 
 
 That was how I involuntarily assisted at the 
 abortive revolution of the 31st of October. 
 
 [ 295] 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 George sent me home under escort, while the 
 drums were beating wildly all over the city; and he 
 promised to come to the hotel the following night 
 for dinner if he could possibly get away. 
 
 " Don't trouble if I don't turn up," he said. "As 
 things are just now one cannot tell what an hour 
 may bring forth, but I'll come if possible." 
 
 Madame and Lotte were voluble in their expres- 
 sions of concern and indignation at the treatment 
 I had been subjected to. 
 
 "God knows what we're all coming to," said 
 Lotte, "but it's all the fault of those cursed Prus- 
 sians. Ach-r-r-r !" with a tigerish display of pretty 
 white teeth, "if I had that miserable here"— mean- 
 ing King William of Prussia — "I'd scratch his old 
 face for him. He is of the devil, but yes, mon 
 dieu!" 
 
 Dr. Morin, at the hospital, as soon as he heard of 
 it, gave me a written appointment as surgeon on 
 the staff, which he said might come in useful in the 
 present disturbed state of affairs. And when George 
 put in an appearance on the following night with 
 a big appetite both for food and news, he had 
 thoughtfully brought with him a permit signed by 
 General Trochu himself, authorizing me to circulate 
 freely in the city. What might be the exact effect 
 of such a document on the tempers and understand- 
 ings of the opposing faction if I should fall into 
 
 [ 296] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 their hands again, I could not quite say, but I was 
 glad to have the document all the same, and I have 
 it yet. 
 
 I let George finish the best dinner the Lion d'Or 
 could furnish, before getting to my weightier news, 
 and I must say he enjoyed his novel faring very 
 heartily. 
 
 He was greatly altered in every way since last I 
 saw him. He seemed at least ten years older, and 
 his face was grave to gloominess. He rarely even 
 smiled. A hard, intent, aggressive look seemed to 
 have become natural to it. It was the face of a man 
 engaged on a forlorn hope from which he has no 
 expectation of coming out alive; not despondent, 
 full of determination, but somehow hopeless and 
 careless of hfe. 
 
 When we sat at last smoking over our coffee, I 
 said : 
 
 "I have got some very strange news for you, 
 George." 
 
 "You are full of strange news, Charles." 
 
 "Yes. Listen! The day before I left Kerhuel 
 your father came home " 
 
 He looked at me with a look that expressed doubt 
 of his own sanity or soberness, or mine, the smoke 
 curling slowly out of his open mouth. 
 
 "My— father, Charles ! Are you quite mad or am 
 I?" 
 
 "Neither. I am telling you sober truth. If the 
 simple telling is so startling you can imagine what 
 the actual happening v/as to your mother and 
 Godefroi and myself." 
 
 "But— he is buried at Dinan." 
 
 "So every one supposed, but it is not he who is 
 buried there. Do you remember Jean's story of a 
 [ 297] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 strange wild man who was kept confined in the 
 corner room at Querhoal?" 
 
 "At Querhoal?" he gasped, staring wildly at me. 
 
 "That was your father, and for close on twenty 
 years he had been kept there. There is no possible 
 doubt about it, but what it all means, we have not 
 yet found out. He has been out of his mind and 
 remembers nothing. Now he is restored whole. An 
 accident similar to the one that darkened his mind 
 twenty years ago went some way towards restoring 
 it. We assisted the tendency with an operation, 
 and I have every hope that he will be himself again." 
 
 I told him the whole story and he Ustened in 
 silence, broken only by ejaculations of the most 
 profound amazement. 
 
 "But what does it all mean, Charles? I am lost." 
 
 "It means a very black story of some kind, and 
 the man who holds the key and could tell us all 
 about it is here in Paris." 
 
 "Who?" he snapped violently. 
 
 "M. le Curg,— M. Lesieur." 
 
 "He? Why do you think that?" he asked 
 hoarsely. 
 
 I told him of what I saw in the wood that day, 
 and he became greatly excited. 
 
 "Where is he? I will tear it out of him." 
 
 "Did you not see him in the crowd yesterday 
 when you came to my help ? I have been searching 
 for him for a month past in hopes of finding Marie 
 through him. He was living at the house to which 
 that telegram called her. But he got wind of our 
 inquiries and disappeared, and my detectives have 
 utterly failed to find him. I never saw him again 
 till yesterday. Then, seeing him in the crowd, I 
 cried to him to come and tell them I was no spy." 
 
 [ 298] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "And he- 
 
 "He denied all knowledge of me, and condemned 
 me to death. If you had been a minute later we 
 would not be sitting here together now." 
 
 "The cur ! The devil ! I'll find him and tear his 
 heart out. And you think he knows where Marie 
 is?" 
 
 "That I cannot say. He was living in that 
 house — " and I handed him the telegram giving the 
 address for Marie to go to — "but my own idea is 
 that Raoul was playing him false also. On the day 
 of Choisy I saw M. le Cur^ hastening to the field — 
 I imagined to look for Raoul. But he did not find 
 him." 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 "Because he was buried before M. le Curfe got 
 there." 
 
 "Did you bury him?" 
 
 "No. The Prussians." 
 
 "You said you were there, Charles. Tell me what 
 you saw." 
 
 "I was up in the tower of the little church. I 
 saw a company of soldiers come rushing towards 
 the church with an officer in front, and another on a 
 brown horse cheering them on at the side. The 
 ofiicer fell and a man leaped out and caught him, 
 and then rushed on ahead of the rest and drove 
 the Prussians back. When I went down I found the 
 ofiicer was Raoul de Querhoal." 
 
 "Yes," he said grimly, "and the man who caught 
 him was myself. I shot him through the back and 
 I wanted to tell him so." 
 
 "You, George?" I said, horrified. "But " 
 
 "Yes, I shot him, but I found when I had hold 
 of him that a dozen others had done the same. 
 [ 299] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 There were just about a dozen of the old regiment 
 sprinkled in among the Mobiles as backbone, and 
 every man of them hated him like the devil. He 
 was dead when I picked him up. I dropped him 
 and rushed at the Prussians in the hope of dying 
 there. I had no wish to live, and that I suppose 
 was why I came out without a scratch. The man 
 on the brown horse was Yinoy himself. He was 
 good enough to notice my intrepidity, as he was 
 pleased to call it," — he laughed his grim short laugh, 
 which grated like a file — "and he named me for a 
 commission that same night. They were short of 
 trained officers, you see, especially for the Breton 
 Mobiles, many of whom barely understand ordinary 
 French. It amused me to think that I should step 
 into a commission over Raoul's dead body. Since 
 then I have tried on every possible occasion to 
 throw away my life. But the bullets turn aside, 
 and with men falling all round me I have not been 
 touched. Perhaps I have been spared to tear M. le 
 Cure's black heart out, and, by God ! I'll do it the 
 first time I lay hands on him. The hound !" 
 
 He examined the telegram. "I do not even know 
 where the Rue Duvernois is," he said. "We must 
 find her, Charles. What can we do?" 
 
 "If you can suggest anything I'll do it. I have 
 thought and thought till my head splits and my 
 heart has grown sick." 
 
 "She may be in the direst want. In fact, I don't 
 see how she can help being so. I don't suppose she 
 brought much money with her. She may be starv- 
 ing -" 
 
 "It is maddening to think of, and to have to sit 
 with folded hands waiting for something to turn 
 up; but what can we do?" 
 
 [300] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 He had to confess, as I had long since, that there 
 was nothing to be done but trust to Providence. 
 
 "Wherever she is, she need not absolutely starve 
 if she knows how to keep from it," he said. "They 
 are making a daily distribution of food to all who 
 ask for it now. It is not much, but always some- 
 thing, and the one-sou soup at the city cantines is 
 not bad. I tried it the other day, and I swear it's 
 better than we get, horse or no horse." 
 
 The cost of the dinner we had just partaken of 
 would probably have furnished between two and 
 three hundred of such meals as we were hopefully 
 discussing the possibility of Marie's procuring, and 
 neither of us but would have gone fasting for a 
 week and starved for a month to give her the more. 
 It was an ironical situation, and we had no more 
 means of improving it than a summer fly has of 
 stopping a thunder shower. 
 
 We went along to Svolski's together to see if that 
 astute gentleman had discovered anything. But he 
 had not, and he expressed himself as greatly grieved 
 that I had not stuck tight to M. le Cure when I had 
 him at arm's length. He convinced George that 
 under the new system, or rather, since the upsetting 
 of the old, the tracing of any person in Paris was 
 now next to impossible, and George had to acknowl- 
 edge that it was so. 
 
 One idea was evolved from our talk, and I acted 
 on it at once. And that was to visit in turn every 
 one of the new public cantines throughout Paris, 
 and also the ration bureaus where the bread tickets 
 were given out, to see if Marie or Henriette fre- 
 quented either one or the other. 
 
 This took much time and some extended jour- 
 neys. Fortunately there was a lull in the fighting 
 
 [301] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 just then, and my time was more my own. Trochu 
 had got the upper hand of the Reds, for the time be- 
 ing, and a new lease of life pending trial of his great 
 plan which folks had begun to lose. faith in. There 
 had been talk too of an armistice and a revictual- 
 ling of the city. It came to nothing, but it gave 
 the people something to talk about. 
 
 I visited one of the cantines &onomiques each 
 day, and hung about it watching the frequenters, 
 to the great distress and humiliation of many who 
 were forced thither by the pangs of hunger much 
 against their will. I haunted the bread-ticket bu- 
 reaus; but it was all haphazard work at best, and 
 nothing came of it. 
 
 George dropped in to dine with me two or three 
 times a week, just as often, in fact, as he could man- 
 age it. And I had no compunction in his enjoying 
 the dinners which Smartte paid for, but was not 
 there to eat. For myself, indeed, I began to feel no 
 little distaste at living thus in comparative luxury 
 while misery was increasing all round. But if I 
 did not eat what my friend had provided for me, 
 Madame of the Lion d'Or would be the sole benefi- 
 ciary, and Madame's remuneration was already 
 munificent. The sights I saw in my daily visita- 
 tions, however, decided me to make a change, and 
 Madame and I came near to having a pitched bat- 
 tle on the subject. 
 
 She held, as from her point of view she had an 
 absolute right to do, that, since our dear Mon- 
 sieur Smartte had paid her in advance a certain 
 pre-arranged tariff, all she had to do was to fulfill 
 her side of the bargain to the utmost extent of her 
 power, and I am bound to say she did it admirably 
 and marvellously. George and I tried in vain to 
 
 [ 302 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 extract information from Lotte as to the compo- 
 nents of some of the exquisitely-sauced dishes which 
 were set before us. But our questions were always 
 skillfully fenced, and her very last line of defence 
 was always, — 
 
 "But, it is not good, then?" 
 
 "Oh, it is most excellent." 
 
 "Eh bien, Messieurs, mangez en confiance alors," 
 and we never got beyond that. 
 
 But when one day, in my own district, I saw a 
 little old lady, nicely but quietly dressed in black, 
 and wearing a veil over her face, tottering to the 
 public cantine with a little tin can under her cloak, 
 something impelled me to follow her home, to her 
 very great annoyance and distress. I think she 
 took me for one of M. de Keratry's new policemen. 
 She hobbled up the stair of her house and slammed 
 her door in my face. 
 
 However, I persisted, and finally, in dread of worse 
 happening if she did not, she opened it and con- 
 fronted me. 
 
 "Well, sir, what do you want?" she demanded 
 tremulously, and I went inside and closed the door. 
 
 "I trust you will pardon my intrusion, Madame," 
 I said, "I have come to be of service to you, if I 
 may." 
 
 "I have asked nothing of you, sir." 
 
 "Not in words, Madame, truly. But I have a 
 mother of my own in La Bretagne, and if she needed 
 help and a stranger tendered it I should be grateful 
 to him." 
 
 To that she only bowed, but relaxed slightly in her 
 manner, leaving the onus of further suggestion to me. 
 
 "The times are sadly out of joint, Madame. I 
 have been left in the city by a wealthy friend, an 
 
 [303] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 American, who was sorely hurt picking up your 
 wounded at Chatillon. It was necessary for his re- 
 covery that he should leave Paris, and he begged 
 me to carry on his work, and left with me funds for 
 that purpose." 
 
 "And how does this concern me, Monsieur?" 
 
 "My friend's great desire was to lessen the suf- 
 fering of the war wherever he could. I have thought, 
 Madame, that perhaps you could assist me. Are 
 any of your neighbors feeling the pinch of the 
 times?" 
 
 "Mon dieu ! Monsieur, what a question! Are we 
 not all suffering? But they would most of them 
 sooner starve outright than let it be known. The 
 times are very sad!" 
 
 A door behind us opened suddenly. 
 
 "Dites done, Grandmere, hast thou got the good 
 soup?" and a dark-eyed small boy of some seven or 
 eight years of age bounced into the passage. He 
 was pale and thin but not lacking in energy. He 
 stopped at sight of me and then ran up to his 
 grandmother and drew the tin can from under her 
 cloak. " The little Marie is crying because her stom- 
 ach aches," he said, "but it is only that she needs 
 some soup. This will make her all right," and with 
 all the proud happiness of a relieving general who 
 succeeds in throwing food into the beleaguered city, 
 he carried the little tin triumphantly into the next 
 room. 
 
 My dear old lady's eyes were full of tears. "Their 
 father died at Woerth," she said. "I do my best 
 for them, but it is difficult." 
 
 "You will permit me, my dear Madame, on be- 
 half of my friend, to help with the burden. It will 
 
 not be long before the good times come again " 
 
 [304] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Never, never," she murmured quietly but quite 
 uncomplainingly, and I knew that for very many 
 the times never could be again as they had been. 
 
 "In ten minutes I will return, Madame, and we 
 will have a little chat." And I went out quickly 
 and bought food and a supply of chocolates and 
 little fancy cakes, of which, strangely enough, there 
 was never any lack, though the prices had risen. 
 
 The look in the old lady's eyes, and the delighted 
 clap of little Marie's hands at sight of the deUca- 
 cies she had been so long without, were better than 
 a full meal, and I took shame to myself at thought 
 of the many full meals I had eaten while little ones 
 like these were scraping along with sore, empty 
 stomachs, all round me. 
 
 That night I tackled Madame of the Lion d'Or. 
 For a long while she would hear of nothing but 
 fulfilling her contract with M. Smartte according to 
 his declared wishes, and it was only when I stated 
 my intention of quitting the hotel then and there 
 unless she fell in with my ideas, that she gave way. 
 
 After that my meals consisted of soup and one 
 dish of meat; and the remaining value of the con- 
 tract, made up into plain wholesome soup mostly, 
 was distributed, as far as it would go, among the 
 needy whom Madame Joux, my first old lady, in- 
 dicated to me as sorely needing it, — that is, as far 
 as they would accept it. Some absolutely refused to 
 do so, though the old lady, with the tears in her 
 eyes, said she knew they were starving. Strangely 
 enough, many who at first declined to have any 
 dealings with me accepted the proffered help with 
 gratitude when they heard it came from an Ameri- 
 can source. 
 
 "But yes," said they, "the Americans are good. 
 20 [305] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 They have done much for us and we do not hate 
 them." 
 
 My new friends were all of the decent lower middle 
 class, whose wage-earners had disappeared in chaos. 
 And these throughout the siege were undoubtedly 
 the greatest sufferers. The lower classes insisted on 
 being provided for and were in comparative clover. 
 And the better classes who had money could still 
 buy suiEcient to live on. It was upon such as 
 these, who could earn nothing, since there was no 
 work for them even if they could have done it, and 
 who were ashamed to beg, that the grim claw of 
 hunger fell sharpest. It was these who suffered the 
 bitterest miseries throughout that bitter time. 
 
 [306] 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 The winter darkened down on us and my heart 
 grew ever sicker and still more sick, at thought of 
 what my dear girl might, almost certainly must, be 
 suffering. And, God help me ! I was as helpless in 
 the matter as the most sorely wounded man in the 
 Salpetriere. 
 
 They were sober, despondent meals George de Ker- 
 huel and I ate together in those dark November days 
 of 1870, and the thought of our dear Marie, starving 
 in loneliness and misery, was very bitter to us. 
 
 From George I heard most of what was going 
 on, — of Trochu's endless vacillations ; of his avowed 
 lack of faith in his men, of the men's openly ex- 
 pressed failure of confidence, not in his good faith 
 but in his power to accomplish anything; of the dis- 
 sensions at Headquarters; of Trochu's barefaced at- 
 tempt to advance his friend Ducrot at the expense 
 of Vinoy, the soldiers' general. 
 
 "Mon dieu!" I can hear George saying, "con- 
 ceive, my friend, I had a return to make to M. le 
 General only this morning. It was eleven o'clock, 
 and he was in his dressing-gown and slippers still. 
 And he talked — mon dieu ! how he talked ! I could 
 not get in a single word and I left without delivering 
 my report. And of all that he said I remember 
 nothing but the fact that the end is near. But 
 whether that means he's going to cut the cordon or 
 throw up the sponge I don't know, and, between 
 [307] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 you and me, I don't believe he knows himself. It is 
 very depressing." 
 
 And so we came, by comparatively quiet, if 
 gloomy, ways to the last days of November, and 
 then matters took a turn and things began to hap- 
 pen. 
 
 All day long on the 28th the forts at our end of 
 the city kept up a terrific bombardment. Madame 
 and Lotte were certain the Prussians were coming in, 
 and forthwith commenced secreting provisions and 
 everjrthing of value in the cellars. But I remembered 
 Von Marcius's declaration that the forts always an- 
 nounced a sortie in this way, and I knew that the 
 Prussians would get all they wanted, and at very 
 much smaller cost, by sitting still and letting the 
 grisly enemy inside the city do their work for them. 
 So I set down the disturbance to a sortie, and if 
 noise was anything to go by I judged it would be on 
 an unusually large scale. 
 
 All that day the streets of our quarter were echo- 
 ing with the roll of gun-carriages and the tramp of 
 vast bodies of troops. Some went east towards Vin- 
 cennes, and some southeast towards Bicetre and our 
 old battle-field of Choisy, which I knew so well. Our 
 ambulances were ordered to be at the Chtteau de 
 Vincennes that afternoon by five o'clock. We duly 
 arrived there, and shivered through a bitter cold 
 night with nothing to do but listen to the pounding 
 of the forts out beyond us. In the morning we were 
 told to go home again. The attack was postponed 
 for twenty-four hours. We were to be back by five 
 o'clock that afternoon. Later on we heard there 
 had been a shortage of pontoons for the bridges 
 across the river. 
 
 This time they came fully provided, and befoce 
 [308] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 daylight the troops were pouring across to the tune 
 of such deafening xnusic from the big guns of the 
 forts as was like to crack our ear-drums. As the 
 light grew we could see the great loop of the Mame 
 like a coil of dull lead piping under the gray sky, 
 and inside the loop there was the sound of heavy 
 fighting, though little of it could we see. 
 
 All day long the battle waxed and waned, now 
 apparently dying down and then after a breathing 
 space bursting out with renewed vigor. Bit by bit 
 we had followed the troops, over the shaky bridges, 
 along a road that ran parallel with the southern 
 bend of the river, to a village which I was told 
 was Champigny, and there we began picking up the 
 wounded. Rendering such services as were possible 
 on the field, I sent off wagon after wagon, and 
 saw nothing of the fighting, which was going on 
 hotly on some wooded slopes about a mile and a 
 half away. 
 
 Soon after midday it came rolling back our way, 
 and the village was filled with a disorderly mob of 
 Mobiles. They were about falling back still further 
 when a frantic general came galloping up and rein- 
 forcements appeared. Some one said it was Ducrot. 
 The position was held, and nightfall found me still 
 there awaiting the return of the wagons, for the 
 dead and wounded lay in vast heaps; and how all 
 the latter were to be conveyed back to the city, I 
 could not imagine. Even by the shortest road, by 
 Charenton, we were a good seven miles from the 
 hospitals, and it took not far short of three hours 
 to make the double journey. 
 
 The night was bitterly cold. As many as possible 
 I got into the houses of Champigny, but the harvest 
 was too full for the gleaners, and in spite of all our 
 [309] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 labors very many lay out in the frost all night and 
 were stiff and stark in the morning. 
 
 Load after load we sent off to the city all night 
 long with fresh relays of horses, and those for whom 
 there was not room in the wagons we wrapped in 
 blankets and served with hot wine, but it was a very 
 miserable night for all of us. 
 
 There was a brilliant moon, and by its light the 
 search parties nibbled away at the silent heaps scat- 
 tered like wind-swept leaves over all the countryside. 
 Dead and wounded together there were supposed to 
 be some 4,000 French alone. At first it was easy to 
 discriminate between dead and living. But as the 
 night grew older it became next to impossible. For 
 the cold was so intense that it came near freezing 
 our marrows, and in the wounded it induced a 
 lethargy so like death that in many cases a hasty 
 examination passed them as dead. And dead to all 
 intents and purposes they then were, for they never 
 woke up from their stupor. Their sufferings, at all 
 events, were small compared with those who lay help- 
 less but still in possession of their senses, waiting 
 for the slow relief, while the frost rime gathered on 
 beard and eyelid, and death clutched feet and fingers 
 and stole slowly up towards the failing heart. 
 
 I toiled among the fragments till my back felt 
 broken, and heart and body were alike sick of the 
 gruesome business. I had been hard at work since 
 midday, and at midnight I knocked off to get a 
 couple of hours' sleep, leaving some of the later 
 arrivals still at it. 
 
 The village was crammed with troops and pro- 
 vision trains. Our line of outposts stretched north- 
 ward out of sight. Away to the left, down by the 
 river, were numerous watchfires. To the east, about 
 
 [310] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 half a mile away, the moonbeams glinted now and 
 again on helmet or gun-barrel where the Prussian 
 outposts faced the French. The night had drawn a 
 truce, for the fighting had been of the fiercest and both 
 sides were exhausted, but the terrible game was not 
 yet either won or lost. It had still to be played out. 
 
 I had made a rapid round of the wounded we had 
 gathered into some of the outlying houses, adjusting 
 a temporary bandage here and tightening a tourni- 
 quet there, and had worked my way to the furthest 
 house on the north side of the village, where I in- 
 tended to drop into a vacant corner if good luck 
 should discover me one. 
 
 Just as I was entering the door I thought I heard 
 a faint cry away out under the cold moonlight, and 
 I stood listening. But the silence of death hung over 
 the stark waste, and, setting it down to jangled 
 nerves, I turned to enter the cottage. Paint and 
 thin, like the mew of a week-old kitten, it came again, 
 and I walked towards the quarter from which it 
 seemed to come. I came to a sentry and asked him 
 if he had heard a wounded man crying out. 
 
 "But yes truly. Monsieur," he said. "I have 
 heard him for an hour or more." 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "God knows. Over there, it seemed to me," point- 
 ing back the way I had come, and we both stood 
 straining our ears to catch the cry again. 
 
 It was a very long time of coming. It seemed as 
 if it would never come, — as if the last cry we had 
 heard was the final one. But it canie at last, a tiny 
 pipe, and apparently very far away. 
 
 "He's not dead anyhow," said the sentry. "It's 
 over there. Monsieur," and he pointed in quite a 
 different direction. 
 
 [311] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "No, over yonder, I think." 
 
 "Voyons, it's hard to say. Have we won the 
 fight, Monsieur?" 
 
 "I fear it's not finished yet." 
 
 "All the same, we are here where they were before." 
 
 "That is so far good. Now I must seek that man 
 who cried for help," and I left him and went in my 
 own direction, stepping softly lest I should lose the 
 next sound. 
 
 I must have walked quite ten minutes when I 
 heard it close at hand, and pushing on up rising 
 ground, found myself on the brink of a yawning hol- 
 low, the half of which lay black in the moonlight. 
 
 "Any one down there?" I shouted. 
 
 "A moi, a moi!" came the response, and I cast 
 round till I came upon an opening which led into the 
 quarry or gravel pit. 
 
 "A moi, a moi !" 
 
 The place was full of holes and strewn thick with 
 dead. I stepped carefully among them, slipped once 
 in spite of all my care and came down on hands and 
 knees on a piece of ice, and the thin ice broke and gave 
 forth blood, and my hands were red when I got up. 
 
 "A moi, a moi!" and at last I found him, and a 
 very strange sight he was. 
 
 He was a small artilleryman, — of Faron's Division, 
 he told me later on, — and he lay wedged in tight 
 between two big Wurtemburgers who lay face down- 
 wards almost on top of him, and his head was pil- 
 lowed on a third. Whatever was wrong below, his 
 arms were all right, and he had used them to excel- 
 lent purpose. He had unstrapped the Germans' 
 rolled-up overcoats and drawn them over him like a 
 coverlet. He had even opened their knapsacks and 
 helped himself to their rations. 
 
 [312] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 He looked up anxiously at me as I bent over him, 
 and sighed a fervent "Dieu merci!" when he was 
 satisfied I was a man a!nd not a ghoul. 
 
 "What's wrong?" I asked. 
 
 "My leg was broken in the morning," he said 
 feebly, "and these two fell on me." 
 
 "Take a pull of this," and I handed him my flask. 
 
 He drank and brightened up. 
 
 "You've made good use of them," I said. 
 
 "They were dead and I was alive," he said. 
 
 "Lie quiet and I'll get a stretcher. You're all 
 right now. I'll have you under cover in no time." 
 
 "You'll come back. Monsieur?" he asked anx- 
 iously. 
 
 "I'll be back in a few minutes," and I stepped back 
 across the dead and ran across to the line of out- 
 posts, and found a stretcher party. And inside 
 twenty minutes I had my latest find safe in a room 
 where a fire glimmered on twenty other groaning 
 men, and where there was not room to stand, but 
 where, nevertheless, we found room for him. 
 
 And little idea indeed had I of the magnitude of 
 my find, as I temporarily bound up his leg, and gave 
 him his drink of hot spiced wine. 
 
 He was only a common artilleryman, by name 
 Lepine, a decent quiet lad. Nevertheless, that night's 
 work was to profit me later on, in a time when 
 safety seemed impossible and all hope and thought 
 of it had fled. 
 
 So one sows and reaps. 
 
 Next day to my surprise there was no fighting. 
 We worked hard from morning till night and got all 
 our wounded into the city. Lepine I sent in one of 
 our own ambulances to the Salpgtridre. The follow- 
 ing day was another hot time — ^for the men on the 
 
 [313] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 field. Until they cooled down it was cold work for 
 the rest of us; but as soon as the fighting ceased 
 and the bugles sounded the retreat, we had our 
 hands full. 
 
 Twenty-four hours later found most of us back 
 within the city lines. Ten thousand Frenchmen, less 
 such salvage as we had managed to retrieve in the 
 ambulances, remained in that deadly loop of the 
 Marne, and General Ducrot, having vowed a foolish 
 vow never to re-enter the city save as a victor, 
 stayed outside the walls till such time as he could 
 find some adequate loophole by which he might creep 
 in again. And so ended the Great Sortie. Net re- 
 sult — a few thousand less on the ration list, a few 
 thousand more in the hospitals. For the rest,— as 
 you were ! only more so, for no greater attempt to 
 break the iron band was possible, and hope began to 
 fail.. 
 
 I crawled back to the Lion d' Or more dead than 
 alive, from sheer weariness, craving nothing more for 
 the moment in this world than a hot bath, a good 
 dinner, and twenty-four hours' sleep. I was simply 
 dead beat, but there was to be no sleep for me just 
 yet. 
 
 " There is a gentleman waiting for you upstairs," 
 said Lotte, as soon as she had recovered from the 
 first sight of me. 
 
 "Captain de Kerhuel?" I asked. 
 
 "Dieu! non," and in a discreet whisper, which 
 somehow managed to convey a hint of apology to 
 the world at large for my possession of such an 
 acquaintance, "It is a mulatto— a Turco." 
 
 I climbed slowly up the stairs, wondering who the 
 deuce my visitor could be, for I had certainly no 
 acquaintance among Turcos unless at the hospital. 
 
 [314 J 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 But sure enough a Turco as large as life sat by the 
 fire smoking a cigar, and as I entered he gave a 
 shout of delight, and jumped at me. 
 
 "Hurrah, my boy! Here you are at last. That 
 exceedingly pretty girl downstairs said you'd be sure 
 to turn up sometime unless you'd gone and got 
 killed." 
 
 "Good Heavens! Hugh Myrtle? Or is it only 
 Hugh Myrtle's spirit in its natural colors?" I cried. 
 
 "Very much in the flesh, old man, and as empty 
 as a drum. Feel that hand — color's fast. Shall I 
 ring for dinner? I can see you're starving too," and 
 he rang the bell without waiting for an answer. 
 
 "And how did you manage it, Hugh? I'd about 
 given you up." 
 
 "I came in with the ruck this morning," he said 
 gayly, "and I got into these things to escape awk- 
 ward questions." 
 
 "You shall tell me all about it as we eat. I've 
 had nothing to speak of for three days " 
 
 "Same here." 
 
 "I must have a wash first. I've been handUng 
 bodies till I'm sick of them." 
 
 " Cut away ! I've been using your soap already, 
 but this stuff won't come off. Don't be long or I'll 
 clear the table." 
 
 He was prowling hungrily round, chewing a piece 
 of bread and eyeing the soup, when I got back, and 
 we sat down at once. 
 
 " One question before you begin, Myrtle. How has 
 M. de Kerhuel gone on?" 
 
 "He had a very tough time; and old Daly chose to 
 go and be ill also, and that's what kept me. The 
 operation was all right and his brain is clear. Blank 
 of course as to the last twenty years, and he finds 
 
 [315] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 it difficult to fit present and past. But, curiously 
 enough, his bodily health seemed to weaken as his 
 brain strengthened, and I dared not leave him till 
 fourteen days ago. Have you found Mademoiselle? 
 Her mother is in great distress about her. But I 
 told her you were sure to be with her, only it was 
 impossible to send any news." 
 
 "I have never set eyes on her. Myrtle" — and he 
 whistled. "The telegram that brought her here was 
 all a trick. Her brother has never been wounded. 
 She was not at the address given. I have employed 
 detectives. I have done all possible. However, we'll 
 go into that later. One other thing — more soup?" 
 
 "Thanks ! This is the first square meal I've had 
 for fourteen days, as old Smartte would say " 
 
 "Smartte? That was what I was going to ask 
 you. Did he get to Dinan all right?" 
 
 "Did he? Did he not? Dinan is alive for the first 
 time in its life." 
 
 "That's all right then. He's a splendid fellow. 
 Now go ahead with your story. More soup ? You'll 
 burst, old chap." 
 
 "Fourteen days' vacuum to fill, my boy, against 
 your three." 
 
 So over our dinner, which Madame had thought- 
 fully made an unusually good one to make up for 
 those I had lost, he told me his story. 
 
 By Smartte's advice he had taken the northern 
 route, as the Orleans district was in chaos through 
 continued fighting. 
 
 He had fallen in with francs-tireurs just as I had, 
 but most fortunately fell into the hands of an Irish 
 leader of the ignoble snipers, one Ryan, from Tip- 
 perary,— "a regular broth of a boy," said Myrtle, 
 "who was fighting just from pure love of it. He 
 
 [316] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 took me in hand and brought me round here to the 
 east, and a devil of a time we had of it. Why, my 
 boy, what on earth would you have done if you had 
 broken out? The country for fifty miles behind the 
 Germans is scraped as clean as a bone. You couldn't 
 feed a pig on it. However, Ryan got me within 
 sight of their outposts and then commended me to 
 all the saints and said good-by, and I wriggled on 
 alone. Then you people were good enough to create 
 a diversion in front. I took it you'd got wind of my 
 coming and wanted to help me all you could. And 
 I tell you you rattled 'em all along the line. If 
 you'd pushed on without any stop you'd have got 
 through, though what you'd have done when you 
 had got through rather beats me. I crept up in 
 the rear to a place where a canal opens out of the 
 river. That was night before last, and a beastly 
 cold night it was. I stood a couple of hours in the 
 water and nearly died. I had heard the firing all day 
 and knew that heavy fighting was afoot. I jogged 
 up against a pontoon bridge and crawled ashore 
 about pumped out. I found this gentleman" — 
 pointing to his clothes — "lying alongside the bridge. 
 He had no need of his clothes. I had. We ex- 
 changed. That is, I took his things and he took to 
 the water. He had been shot through the lungs and 
 I knew just how he would feel, so I adopted his 
 wound too, to the extent of coughing horribly and 
 choking and gasping and declining to talk if any one 
 came near me. There were a lot of stragglers and I 
 coughed along among them. At one of the bridges 
 there were a lot of ornamentally dressed gentlemen 
 on guard. An officer tried to stop us and drove 
 some of us back to the field where fighting was still 
 going on. But when he saw me and heard me cotigh 
 
 [317] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 he only said, ' Poor devil ! ' and let me pass, and I 
 got in without any trouble. That's all the story, 
 my boy. It was simple as a. b. c." 
 
 "And how did you find me out?" 
 
 " Went straight to M. Dellieu and he told me you 
 were here, and I'm bound to say you seem pretty 
 well fixed. If this is siege fare it strikes me I could 
 stand quite a lot of it." 
 
 "This is three days' dinners rolled into one; but 
 really, so far there has been no very great suffering 
 except among certain classes," and I explained the 
 general situation to him. 
 
 "Well, now, what can you find for me to do?" he 
 asked. "I've come in to work. Can I help you in 
 your search for Mademoiselle?" 
 
 "I don't see that you can, Hugh. I've done every- 
 thing man can do. I'm going round the ration 
 offices one by one now in hopes of coming across 
 her that way. But it's the merest chance if anything 
 comes of it, and it's terribly slow work." 
 
 "I can halve your work in that, at all events." 
 
 "Unfortunately you can't, or I'd ask you to. You 
 see, old Henriette Dobain is with Marie, and the 
 chances are it would be Henriette who would go out 
 for food, and you don't know her." 
 
 "Well, then, hospital work." 
 
 "Yes, there I can place you. Our chief. Dr. Morin, 
 is short-handed. Two of his assistants have gone 
 stale and I don't wonder at it. If you'll give him 
 a hand he'll be grateful." 
 
 "That'll suit me. Can I five here with you?" 
 
 "Yes, you'll take Smartte's place. He paid board 
 and lodging till the end of January. He's picking 
 up, you say?" 
 
 "Picking up? Well, I should smile, as he would 
 [318] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 say himself. He's quite the liveliest person in Dinan. 
 He always refers to his right leg as 'Charley's leg' 
 and takes it out for rides in a carriage, and toasts it, 
 and treats it generally as if it were the honored 
 member of some other body. Oh, I can tell you he 
 gets lots of fun out of that leg." 
 
 "That's all right. I'm very glad he went, though 
 we all missed him here. The fellows in the wards 
 used to brighten up as soon as they set eyes on 
 him. He was as good as a tonic." 
 
 So I resumed my rounds of the public cantines 
 and bread-ticket offices, and my heart told itself 
 that it was all time thrown away, that my love 
 was lost in the mighty maze and would never be 
 found again, that she was dead and that our only 
 meeting would be in the hereafter. 
 
 It was a sad and bitter time. George de Kerhuel 
 dropped in occasionally, and his drooping spirits 
 were as a barometer by which I could gauge the 
 state of the political and military atmosphere out- 
 side. He was greatly surprised at Myrtle's arrival. 
 He questioned him keenly respecting his father and 
 mother, and all that had happened at Kerhuel since 
 I left, and pondered the answers with much grave 
 consideration. 
 
 He had never come across M. le Cur6 yet, and al- 
 ways when he came in his first inquiry was, "Any 
 news of Marie?" and his next "Any news of that 
 devil Lesieur?" And his usual reply to our ques- 
 tions as to how matters were going was a shrug of 
 disgust and a terse, "To the devil." 
 
 "There is only one man could do us any good," 
 
 he said once, " and I'm afraid it's too late even for 
 
 him. And that is Vinoy. He's a man and a soldier. 
 
 The others are gabblers. If Yinoy had a free hand 
 
 [319] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 he wouldn't let us sit still and rot, but the others 
 are afraid of him. It is pitiable. And meanwhile 
 France is bleeding to death, bleeding white." 
 
 I remember, too, how he told us that one General 
 Clement Thomas, whose name I had not heard be- 
 fore, had been placed in command of the National 
 Guards and was licking them into shape with an 
 iron hand, to their own very great disgust and dis- 
 content. "He'll do them a world of good," said 
 George grimly, "if they don't turn on him and rend 
 him in pieces. Trochu's afraid to hurt their feel- 
 ings. Thomas stands no nonsense, and they hate 
 him worse than the Prussians." 
 
 A few months afterwards I remembered his words. 
 
 I had worked round the nearer cantines with no 
 better result than I had dared to expect. For I 
 could not hide from myself that it was chancy work 
 at best. Even if Marie and her old attendant were 
 in the habit of drawing their supplies from any one 
 of those I had visited, it was quite within the 
 bounds of possibility — nay, even of probability, since 
 the errand was an unpleasant one — that they might 
 not visit it every day. And that being so my pros- 
 pects of success were infinitely reduced. 
 
 When I started out in the morning I said to my- 
 self that it was all labor in vain. When I returned 
 dispirited to make my rounds at the hospital I dis- 
 ingenuously told myself that I had looked for no 
 success and so was not disappointed. But I knew 
 that deep down in my heart there was always the 
 hope that the face of either Marie or old Henrietta 
 would break suddenly upon me like a flash of 
 heavenly light, at any unexpected moment, and my 
 sorely bruised heart would find its peace and all 
 would be well. 
 
 [320] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 And so, day after day, I stuck doggedly to my 
 task and refused to be beaten. It was weary and 
 dispiriting work, but practical experience told me 
 that there was no royal road to success in a quest 
 of this kind. My treasure might come suddenly to 
 light in the most unexpected quarter, and there was 
 nothing for it but to plod steadily on and trust in 
 Providence to lead me to it before it was too late. 
 The agonies I suffered at thought of what my love 
 might be suffering were almost unendurable. 
 
 Christmas came and passed. We kept it vicari- 
 ously, thereby approaching perhaps the more nearly 
 to the intention of the Founder of the Festival. 
 For in such times and circumstances it was not 
 possible, — or, at all events, it was neither seemly nor 
 in accordance with our feelings, — to attempt any 
 jovial celebration. I speak for myself, but I know 
 that my dear Hugh Myrtle shared my feelings to 
 the full. So, wearing our own particular cypress as 
 lightly as possible, we did our best by increased 
 doles and added attentions, and an assumption of 
 cheerful hope which was but skin deep, to lighten 
 the gloom around us. 
 
 A sad and bitter time. No family gatherings, no 
 joyful greetings, no presents for the little ones. The 
 tiny shoes might stand on the desolate hearths, but 
 there were no good fairies to fill them this year. It 
 was the Year Terrible, and those who passed it in 
 the desolation of the beleaguered city, with the big 
 guns booming bass and the shrill shells screaming 
 treble in their most unchristian Christmas carols, 
 will never forget it. We did our best, but even 
 among those we could reach there were depths of 
 suffering and agonies of loss far beyond all human 
 efforts to mitigate or assuage. 
 21 [ 321 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 We doubled the usual gifts to those in the hos- 
 pitals, and we did our best to insure no lack of 
 food, for that day at all events, to those still greater 
 sufferers with whom we were in touch outside. But 
 the little we could do only served to impress us 
 with the appalling amount that had to be left un- 
 done. I never want to spend another Christmas like 
 that one. 
 
 [322] 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 The New Year passed and found me apparently 
 as near the end of my search as I was the first day 
 I set foot in Paris. But there was no rest possible 
 for hez^rt or foot, and I trudged on, in a state of 
 half-hopeless expectancy, from quarter to quarter 
 and from cantine to bread-bureau. 
 
 The nearer depots had yielded nothing. I would 
 go to the outer faubourgs and try there. When one 
 draws a bow at a venture it does not greatly mat- 
 ter into which part of the press one aims. 
 
 I saw some terrible sights in those outer districts. 
 Women and children, barely clad, shivering in the 
 falling sleet and snow, and showing at last the un- 
 mistakable signs of semi-starvation. Whole districts 
 of them wilting visibly like autumn flowers after the 
 first frost of winter, rousing one's pity that they 
 had remained so long. 
 
 One Sunday morning I went up to Montmartre — 
 the turbulent centre of the Reds. The city had 
 been so deadly quiet since the attempted revolution 
 at the Hotel de Yille that it was a novelty to 
 find Montmartre buzzing with excitement. But then 
 they generally were buzzing in Montmartre. It was 
 a hive where the drones, at all events, were rarely 
 quiet, in fact — Montmartre. But positively, when I 
 crossed the Rue des Dames and made for the higher 
 quarter, there came a crowd surging along the nar- 
 row street with angry shouts, and waving sticks and 
 fists, and I stepped back into an open door to avoid 
 beinsj overrun. 
 
 [ 323 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "What is it then?" I asked of a woman with a 
 dirty yellow kerchief tied over her head, who came 
 to look out. 
 
 ' ' Mais, Monsieur, it is the bread, ' ' she said. ' ' They 
 have closed the bread shops before we have got our 
 bread. It is not polite, to say the least of it. Men 
 dieu ! it is not much we get at most, and now they 
 would have us hve on nothing, those coquins of the 
 Hotel de Ville ! But we shall get there all the same, 
 but yes, nom de dieu !" 
 
 She was good enough to tell me where the public 
 soup cantine was, and when the turbulent crowd 
 had passed I went on in the opposite direction. 
 
 In front I saw a little knot of blowsy women 
 gathered in the street, arms akimbo, vociferous. As 
 I drew near I saw they surrounded some object on 
 the ground. Nearer still and I saw that it was a 
 woman. I joined the group — ^great strapping women 
 all of them, with coarse black hair and swarthy, ener- 
 getic faces — to see if I could offer any assistance. I 
 felt small beside them, but in a moment I forgot 
 everything else. 
 
 The woman on the ground was old Henriette Do- 
 bain. Thin and worn and white as I had never 
 seen her in the good old days in Brittany, but old 
 Henriette beyond a doubt, and clasped tightly in her 
 parchmenty fingers was the broken handle of a jug. 
 I pushed through and lifted her head. She was 
 insensible. 
 
 "What has happened?" I asked, with my heart 
 jumping furiously. "I am a doctor." 
 
 "A la bonheur!" said one. "Those noisy ones 
 knocked the poor old thing over in their hurry, 
 Monsieur. They meant no harm, but she got in the 
 crowd and she went down." 
 
 [324] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 She had gone down indeed, and further than they 
 thought. Her face was already the color of lead, 
 and her hands were cold and clammy. 
 
 "She is dying," I said. "Can we take her in 
 there?" 
 
 "Surely. The poor unfortunate! But she must 
 have been weak to die so easily." 
 
 She was breathing heavily and with extremest 
 labor as we bore her into the wine-shop, and her 
 pulse was almost imperceptible. She was past all 
 earthly help and I knew it. Concussion of the 
 brain to that poor wasted anaemic body was as 
 fatal as a bullet through the head, and the end 
 came very quickly. 
 
 I did what I had no right to do, what revolted 
 my soul in the doing. But my heart was like to 
 burst, and it forced me to it. 
 
 "Henriette! Henriette Dobain ! " I cried in her ear. 
 
 "Tiens! Monsieur knows her?" said one of the 
 bystanding viragos. 
 
 It was sheer brutality. But think ! Here lay Hen- 
 riette, and Marie must be within arm's length some- 
 where, and yet in that rookery she might as well 
 be a thousand miles away, unless I could learn from 
 this fleeting soul where she was. 
 
 "Henriette !" and in my fear I shook her by the 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Si, si !" sputtered thickly from the white lips, as 
 though the deep waters were already welling round 
 them. 
 
 "Where is Mademoiselle?" I cried into her closing 
 ear. 
 
 For one moment she opened her eyes drowsily. 
 Then she gave one great sigh, straightened her limbs 
 along the floor, settled down into sleep and was 
 [325] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 gone. And I bent over her, sicker at heart than if 
 I had not seen her. 
 
 But that did not last long. Marie was in the im- 
 mediate neighborhood, in what evil case I dreaded 
 to think. She might be sick, starving, at the very 
 best lonely and desolate, waiting anxiously for her 
 old servant's return with their pitiful rations. And 
 when Henriette did not come despair would seize her, 
 and yes — surely then she would come out to seek 
 her, or to seek food for herself. 
 
 If she were able. It might be that she was too 
 ill to move, and there she would lie and starve and 
 die and be no more heard of. 
 
 My heart was racked with a thousand fears, but 
 my mind was made up not to leave the district for 
 a single moment till I had either found her or had 
 no possible hope left of finding her. 
 
 "Does any one know where she lived?" I asked 
 anxiously of the women. 
 
 "Dites done, Josephine," called my special lady 
 friend to the woman of the wine-shop, who was lean- 
 ing on her elbows looking down over the counter at 
 Henriette, "dost thou know where the old one hung 
 out?" 
 
 "But no, I never set eyes on the poor thing be- 
 fore." 
 
 "I've seen her at the cantine," said another, "but 
 God knows where she came from." 
 
 "Monsieur knew her?" from a third. 
 
 "Yes, I knew her, and have been searching all ovel 
 the city for her." 
 
 " And she goes and dies just as Monsieur finds her. 
 Sapristi, that's rough!" 
 
 "She was in attendance on a young lady whom 1 
 
 am anxious to find " 
 
 [326] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Ah-ha!" said my virago, with a knowing nod. 
 
 " I will give five hundred francs to any one who can 
 find out where she is." 
 
 "Dame! Monsieur! Five hundred francs ! There 
 are gentlemen round here would cut your throat for 
 five hundred francs." 
 
 "What art thou saying then, my little one?" said 
 Jos&phine, in a tone of righteous indignation. 
 
 " Oh, bah ! Thou knowest it is true, Josephine, 
 and Monsieur is bien gentil and I wish him no harm. 
 Monsieur has been tending our wounded, is it not 
 so?" 
 
 "Yes, both here and in Metz," I said, anxious to 
 create a good impression with a view to future con- 
 tingencies. 
 
 " Voila !" said my patronne. "I was sure of it." 
 
 "Take my advice. Monsieur," said the mollified 
 Josephine, "don't wander about here in a kepi. We 
 don't like kepis in this neighborhood, and some- 
 times it happens that they get cracked — crick-crack — 
 with whatever is inside them." 
 
 "I thank you, Madame. The advice is good. 
 What about my coat? Will that pass?" It was a 
 trooper's overcoat, with a big hood and a band at 
 the back. I had bought it second-hand when the 
 cold weather came. 
 
 "But yes. The coat will do. There are plenty 
 such about, and"— with a chuckle— " they did not 
 cost much." 
 
 " Eh b'en ! I must go and see what mischief my 
 man is getting into," said my original friend. 
 "What a nuisance the men are!" 
 
 "Well, it's you should know, Celestine. Won't you 
 take anything to fortify yourself before you go?" 
 and she glanced meaningly at me. 
 [327] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Pardon, Mesdames ! This," I said, indicating 
 the poor old Henriette, "has made me forget my 
 manners. Pray help yourselves at my charge." 
 
 There was no undue show of modesty on their part 
 in accepting the invitation. Cognac fine was the 
 name they gave to it when the charge was not 
 theirs, and they would not hear of my being left out. 
 Three times the glasses were filled and three times 
 clinked with mine, which was assiduously filled up 
 and counted in though I only sipped at it. To my 
 surprise, however, I found it an extremely good 
 liquor, and said so with a view always to propitiat- 
 ing mine hostess. 
 
 "And why not. Monsieur?" she asked, with a ruffle. 
 
 "It does you infinite credit, Madame. I could not 
 get better for the hospital, and we endeavor to 
 give them of the very best," and she was appeased. 
 
 The others wiped their mouths on their aprons and 
 trooped out with friendly nods to me, and an "Eh 
 b'en, salut !" to the lady of the house. 
 
 "Do you think I can get a messenger to go to the 
 Salpetridre, Madame?" I asked her. 
 
 "Assuredly, Monsieur. I will find you one." 
 
 I scribbled a hasty note to Myrtle asking him, if 
 he could possibly so arrange his work, to come to 
 me at once and to come prepared to stop. I handed 
 it to Mdre Josephine with two francs, which she 
 slipped into her pocket, and begged her to send it on 
 at once. 
 
 "I am going to wait the answer here," I said. 
 
 "With pleasure, Monsieur." Then at the inner 
 door she called loudly, "Alphonse, mon p'tit, here, 
 quick !" and presently a small, grizzly, beetle-browed, 
 black-eyed man came in. He started at sight of the 
 body on the floor and looked keenly at me. 
 
 [328 J 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "It is nothing," said the woman. "She was 
 knocked down by the crowd. Monsieur is a doctor. 
 Take this to the Salp^triere and bring the answer. 
 Quick!" 
 
 Alphonse glanced at all the little glasses on the 
 zinc counter and sniifed wistfully. Madame said 
 brieiiy, "Afterwards!" and he went out with my 
 letter. 
 
 "And that one down there?" inquired Madame, 
 fixing her black eyes on me. 
 
 "Yes, what is to be done with the poor thing?" 
 
 Madame gave a non-committal shrug. 
 
 "If Monsieur says so I will have her taken away." 
 
 "Yes. How much?" 
 
 "Shall we say twenty francs?" 
 
 "They will bury her?" I asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes, they'll bury her right enough." 
 
 "Suppose I wished to stop in the neighborhood, 
 Madame, where could I find a room?" 
 
 "I will accommodate Monsieur. It is not usual 
 with me, but I am willing to make an exception in 
 Monsieur's favor." 
 
 " That is very good of you, Madame. I will stop. 
 Will you do me the additional favor of buying me 
 a cap such as you spoke of. In fact, while you are 
 at it, will you oblige me by buying two?" 
 
 "Two caps, par exemple?" 
 
 "I have sent for a friend to come and assist me 
 in my search." 
 
 "Ah, I see. Well, I will go and prepare the room 
 for Monsieur. Will Monsieur have the kindness to 
 knock on the counter if any one comes in?" and she 
 left Henriette Dobain and me in full charge of the 
 premises and disappeared into the interior. 
 At that time of day, however, business was slack 
 [329] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 and my post was a sinecure. I stood in the door- 
 way and kept an anxious lookout along the street, 
 in the hope that when Henriette did not return 
 Marie might come out to search for her. 
 
 In course of time Hugh Myrtle came swinging up 
 the street and nearly fell over me in a blaze of ex- 
 citement. 
 
 "You have found her?" 
 
 "Not yet. But she cannot be very far away, 
 Hugh. This is poor old Henriette Dobain — " and I 
 explained how she came to be lying there. 
 
 " Poor old Joseph," said Hugh. "He's a good old 
 soul, though he would be the better for a muzzle at 
 times. What's your plan, Charles?" 
 
 "Will they be able to do without you for a couple 
 of days?" 
 
 "They'll have to. I told old Morin you wanted 
 me and he said he'd arrange it all right. There are 
 very few new cases nowadays, and the rest are go- 
 ing on well. Now, what's the idea?" 
 
 "There is nothing for it but to watch without 
 ceasing the places she is likely to come to for food. 
 I could not do it singlehanded, you see." 
 
 "Right, my boy. We'll watch like a pair of cats, 
 and we'll snap up the dear little mouse as soon as 
 she emerges. I consider she is as good as found. 
 How many soup places are there round here?" 
 
 "There's one just up the street, the one Henriette 
 came to. Like old Madame Joux, however, they 
 may have preferred not to frequent the one nearest 
 to them. The next is in the Rue Pepin." 
 
 "You take this beat," he said, "as it is most 
 likely Mademoiselle would come here, and I'll go up- 
 to Pepin." 
 
 "I've taken a room here so as to have a meeting- 
 [330] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 place. And I've sent out for two Montmartre caps. 
 Madame here says we might get our heads cracked 
 if we wore kepis. They're not the fashion here. 
 Have you got identification papers on you in case 
 of trouble?" 
 
 "Never stir out without them. I've got old Can- 
 not's certificate and one from the Salpetriere people." 
 
 "Then as soon as we get our villain's caps we'll 
 get to work. Suppose we meet here again at eight 
 o'clock. I do not think Marie would venture out 
 after that in a district like this. What on earth 
 brought them here I cannot imagine." 
 
 A boy of sixteen or thereabouts came in to the 
 shop from the house carrying two fiat caps. He 
 wore a similar one himself on the back of his head, 
 with the rounded neb flat on top of it, so we wore 
 ours in the same fashion. I am bound to say it 
 knocked fifty per cent, off the respectability of Hugh's 
 appearance and I have no doubt it did the same 
 for myself. 
 
 "Three francs," said the boy, and I handed him 
 the money. 
 
 His left arm was inside his coat, the sleeve of 
 which hung loose. 
 
 "What's wrong?" I asked. 
 
 "Nothing," he said curtly. 
 
 "How then, you young cub! You answer M. le 
 Docteur like that?" asked Madame,, who entered 
 at the moment. "Good day, Monsieur," she added 
 to Myrtle. 
 
 "How should I know he was a doctor?" growled 
 the boy. 
 
 " Nom-de-chien, mon gars ! if you answer me that 
 way I'll knock your head off," snorted Madame. 
 "He's a young limb, Messieurs, and if any mis- 
 
 [331] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 chief's afoot he must be in it. He got a knife 
 through the arm two nights ago. That's what's 
 the matter." 
 
 "Eh b'en, my knife went into his ribs," said 
 young hopeful. 
 
 "Little devil, you fought the day you were bom 
 and you've never stopped since." 
 
 "Let me see the arm," said Myrtle. "Gljm, you 
 keep your eye on the street." 
 
 The boy reluctantly displayed the wound, which 
 a side glance showed me was dangerously red and 
 angry. 
 
 "If you don't take care of that, my boy, you'll 
 lose your arm," said Myrtle. "The knife was proba- 
 bly dirty." 
 
 "Without doubt," said the boy. "He's a dirty 
 pig. I told him so and he struck me. This proves it." 
 
 "If you will get me hot water, Madame, and cot- 
 ton bandages I will dress it properly. Bathe it well 
 and renew the hot bandage every quarter of an hour 
 till that inflammation goes down. It only needs 
 attention." 
 
 "But Monsieur is too good," said Madame, as 
 she hurried off to get the necessaries. "Mon dieu! 
 what with the boys and the men a woman's life is 
 not worth living." 
 
 The dressing took but a few minutes. They were 
 minutes well spent and I could not grudge them. 
 They won us Madame's friendship. 
 
 "What are you going to do then, Monsieur," she 
 asked, as she stood watching Myrtle, "about the 
 demoiselle? How comes she to be hiding herself?" 
 
 I told her the bare fact that Marie had been sent 
 for to nurse her brother and since then had been 
 lost sight of. 
 
 [332] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Ma foi ! As if there were not plenty of nurses I 
 Was all well with her, Monsieur?" 
 
 "How do you mean, Madame? All was well with 
 her when she left home. Since then we have no 
 news." 
 
 "C'est 5a! But why is she hiding herself? That 
 is what I do not understand." 
 
 "At first I have reason to believe she hid herself 
 for fear of annoyance from a gentleman of her own 
 district who had desired to marry her. He is dead, 
 but she is probably not aware of that." 
 
 "I see. And you are quite sure she would wish to 
 be found? Voyez-vous, Monsieur, as a rule when a 
 girl hides herself she has her own very good reasons, 
 and for me — I would respect them. But if Monsieur 
 is quite sure " 
 
 " I am quite sure, Madame. Mademoiselle de Ker- 
 huel is betrothed to me, and we love one another 
 dearly." 
 
 "Ah then ! I will do what I can. If you attempt 
 a search you will get killed. You cannot go to her. 
 You must wait till she comes out, unless I can get 
 news of her for you. If you get into any difficulties 
 refer them to MSre Josephine of the Bonnet Rouge. 
 I am known, — ma foi, yes." 
 
 We thanked her and went out on our quest. 
 
 All the long afternoon, with the big guns of Vale- 
 rien booming heavily at intervals, I paced the dreary 
 street in the neighborhood of the cantine until its 
 doors were closed. And when the night shut down, 
 grim and gray with slow-falling snow, and a cold 
 that tortured, I patrolled every street that led to it, 
 never daring to go far away lest the oversight of a 
 moment should lead to disaster. I do not think a 
 single female figure appeared on any one of those 
 [333] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 streets without running the gauntlet of my anxious 
 gaze, though indeed most of them were disqualified 
 at a glance by reason of their sizes and shapes. 
 
 When night fell my anxiety deepened as the diffi- 
 culties of my task increased. There were no Ughts in 
 the streets, and in the wine-shops only feeble oil 
 lamps which scarce sufficed to whiten the snow- 
 flakes as they dropped silently past the windows. 
 And the women who passed now were mostly muffled 
 against the cold, and the core of the fruit might be 
 very different from its outer husk. Still nothing 
 passed me which I could in any way reconcile with 
 Marie de Kerhuel. 
 
 Intent as I was on my own quest I could not fail 
 to hear and see many strange things in that strange 
 neighborhood that afternoon. I caught snatches 
 of strenuous conversation between dark, keen-faced 
 men, whose eyes spoke quicker even than their 
 tongues, as they passed me, too intent on their own 
 business, and too secure within their own bounda- 
 ries, to feel the need for any precautions. And many 
 grim jibes I heard as to the present state of mat- 
 ters, and infinitely grimmer jests which kemelled 
 many a true word concerning the times that were 
 coming. 
 
 Tired out and cold and hungry I made my way 
 back to the Bonnet Rouge at last and met Myrtle at 
 the doorway. He gave me a dispirited shake of 
 the head, which I answered with another, and we 
 went in together. 
 
 Madame's black brows questioned us as we entered 
 the crowded shop. 
 
 " Nothing yet, Messieurs ? " she asked, as we passed 
 through her counter. " Eh b'en, courage ! We shall 
 get there in time. I am working too. A small glass 
 
 [334] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 of vermouth and I will send up the soup imme- 
 diately. You are starved and hungry." 
 
 The vermouth was acceptable and the soup still 
 more so. Perhaps our empty stomachs had some- 
 thing to do with it. The ragout that followed was 
 excellently made, whatever its basis, and we ate and 
 asked no questions. Below, the wine-shop rumbled 
 like a volcano through the thin crust of the flooring. 
 Later on, as we know, the volcano burst forth in 
 flames and fury, and turned Paris into a charnel- 
 house and deluged it with fire. Had Pietri still 
 reigned at the Prefecture, his wolves in sheep's cloth- 
 ing would doubtless have had many strange stories 
 to take to their master, and the chances are that 
 those strange stories would never have hatched out 
 into deeds. But Keratry's sheep, clothed in author- 
 ity though they might be, stuck mostly to the inner 
 boulevards and looked upon Montmartre as an un- 
 healthy district for their labors. 
 
 Myrtle had had much the same experience as my- 
 self. "It's a deuce of a hole-and-corner place, is 
 this," he said, over dinner, "and they all seem 
 mighty busy at something. Mischief of some kind I 
 should say, by the looks of them." 
 
 But we were both too tired for much talk, and 
 after a smoke we rolled ourselves up in our cloaks 
 and the coverlet of the bed and slept hke tops, and 
 in the morning we rumpled the bed till it looked as 
 if it had been slept in, for fear of wounding Madame's 
 feelings. 
 
 That day passed hke the last, in ceaseless watch- 
 ings for one who never came, than which no more 
 depressing task is possible to a man. And my heart 
 sank ever lower and lower, so that towards night I 
 came near dreading what it would be we should find 
 [335] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 if we found her at all. Still, in doubt there is always 
 room for hope. It is your certainty that makes or 
 mars. 
 
 A woman sped past me as I turned my steps 
 wearily towards the wine-shop. She was young and 
 lithe and went swiftly over the snow. I had not 
 seen her face, as she came up behind me. I followed 
 her. She turned into Mere Josephine's and I went in 
 too. She was leaning over the counter speaking 
 eagerly with Madame, and the moment I entered 
 Madame raised her finger and her gleaming red-black 
 face had a halo in it and round it. The face of an 
 angel shone through it and refined it suddenly, and 
 her fiery eyes glowed with a new soft light. 
 
 "Enfin, mon cher," she said, "we have found 
 her. Courage, Monsieur ! and— a little glass of 
 cognac fine," — it was in my hand as she spoke. 
 
 "How? Where?" I gasped, for the sudden realiza- 
 tion of all my longings shook me. 
 
 But Madame was already busied on my behalf. 
 She went into the back room and returned in a 
 moment. 
 
 "Attention, Monsieur! She is ill and starving. 
 Lizette will take you to her. Here is warm soup"— 
 she had it in a tin can— "bread — a bottle of cognac 
 —a spoon— feed her slowly, you understand. Tenez ! 
 a candle also. Now go, and God bless you ! Liz- 
 ette, thou hast done well, my girl. I will send the 
 other gentleman after you. No. 45, did'st say, 
 Lizette? B'en ! , AUez— vite ! " and Lizette and I 
 sped away up the street and round the comer and 
 along till we came to No. 45 in another street, and 
 Lizette led the way up the gloomy staircase. 
 
 "Wait one moment. Monsieur," she said, as we 
 panted on a high landing, which opened with un- 
 
 [336] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 glazed windows into the well of the house. "I will 
 announce you." 
 
 She stopped and lit the candle. Then she tapped 
 on a dark door and went in. She was back in a 
 moment and beckoned me in. 
 
 Down in my heart was the fear lest it should all 
 be a mistake. It was too good to be true. Was 
 Marie really here — after all these months of anxiety 
 and searching? 
 
 But one look at the sweet face on the pillow 
 under the , dingy white tilt of the bed was enough, 
 and I was down on my knees by her side, and she 
 was striving to raise herself on her elbow. The white 
 sleeve fell back showing her white arm, transparently 
 thin and blue-veined. Her long bright hair fell all 
 about her as though she had not had strength to 
 coil it. Her white neck rose slenderlj-^ out of her 
 white gown, which hung loosely. The sweet face had 
 lost its rounded softness and had a chiselled, sharp- 
 ened look about it, with haunting hollows in the 
 flickering light. She was like a frail white lily droop- 
 ing for lack of nourishment. 
 
 "Marie!" My heart was full to bursting — ^with 
 love and gratitude and pain — ^but I could say no 
 more. 
 
 " My beloved ! " she said softly. " God be thanked ! 
 —I greatly desired to see you once again." And 
 then she sank back, faint and white. 
 
 I poured a few drops of cognac into the spoon 
 and dropped them between the pale lips. She opened 
 her eyes and smiled faintly. I put my arm round 
 her and raised her. 
 
 "Here is soup, dearest," I said. "You are starv- 
 ing. Lizette, just one spoonful to begin with," and 
 Marie swallowed it eagerly. 
 22 [ 337 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Now a crumb of bread, — and another spoonful 
 of soup, — and now two drops of cognac. — More 
 soup? — ^You shall have all you can take, dearest, 
 but we must go slowly. All is well now that I 
 have found you. You shall have everything you 
 want and I shall not leave you again." 
 
 She drank soup and ate crumbs of bread as fast 
 as I would give them to her, and it seemed to me, 
 though it may only have been my own wistful 
 fancy, that I could feel the new hfe growing in her 
 and throbbing against my arm that was round her. 
 
 Lizette had stood at one side doling drops of 
 brandy and soup into the spoon as I held it out, 
 and regarding us with vast enjoyment. She was a 
 bright-eyed, dark creature, with all the natural 
 vivacity which the privations of the siege had left 
 to her doubled for the moment by the business she 
 was engaged upon. 
 
 " Nom-de-dieu ! " she said. "It is as good as a 
 feuilleton in the P'tit Journal," and could evidently 
 get no higher than that. 
 
 The room was very bare and very cold. There 
 were sparse white ashes on the hearthstone. The 
 fire had died probably very soon after old Hen- 
 riette had lighted it. The bed and a table and 
 three rush-bottomed chairs and a few dishes com- 
 pleted the furniture. 
 
 I thought I felt a shiver in the slight body inside 
 my arm. I drew it out for a moment and slipped 
 off my trooper's coat, which never looked to rise to 
 so high a dignity, and placed it over her shoulders. 
 
 "We must have a fire," I said, for I saw it would 
 be quite impossible to move her that night. 
 "Can you light one, Lizette?" 
 
 But before she could answer there came a tap on 
 
 [338] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 the door and Lizette flew guardingly to it, and I 
 heard Myrtle's voice. 
 
 "Are you here, Glyn? Is all well?" 
 
 "Come in, Hugh. Here she is, all safe and sound, 
 drinking soup and cognac like a trooper." 
 
 He came in hesitatingly and. Marie gave him a 
 thin little hand which he raised to his lips in true 
 French fashion, and, I am quite sure, because he did 
 not dare to shake it lest it should break. 
 
 "I never was so glad of anything in all my life," 
 he said. "This is some more hot soup Madame gave 
 me. She will come along herself as soon as she 
 closes the shop. She says if she comes now Al- 
 phonse and the rest will drink the place to pieces, 
 and business is business, after all." 
 
 At which Lizette grinned, as though the little fail- 
 ings of M. Alphonse and his friends were not un- 
 known to her. 
 
 "We want a fire, Hugh. See if you and Lizette can 
 manage one between you." 
 
 Lizette looked quietly in the places where instinct 
 told her wood was likely to be found. 
 
 "I'm afraid there is none," Marie said quietly. 
 "My poor Henriette went out to try and get a 
 little. But she never came back, and I fear she is 
 dead." 
 
 "These chairs will bum famously," said Myrtle, 
 "and they're easily paid for," and he had a chair in 
 pieces and piled scientifically above its rush bottom 
 on the hearth in no time, and the quick flames 
 leaped up and the room looked more homelike at 
 once. 
 
 "Those other chairs and the table will keep us 
 going all night if necessary," he said cheerfully. 
 
 "And to-morrow we'll get a carriage and take you 
 
 [339] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 away to the Lion d'Or," I said, " and Madame and 
 Lotte will delight to nurse you back to life again." 
 
 She smiled on us all but she had very little to say. 
 It was days before I knew all the horrors she had 
 suffered lying there alone, famished and thirsty, in 
 the dark and cold— waiting only for death, which 
 seemed so slow in coming. She had had nothing to 
 eat or drink for thirty hours before we found her. 
 A little while longer and we should only have found 
 what I had feared to think of. But, thank God and 
 Lizette Calle's good-hearted pertinacity, that last 
 tragic possibility had been spared us. 
 
 Certain women of the neighborhood, — at the insti- 
 gation of Madame of the Bonnet Rouge, who bore 
 great weight among them, by reason of her position 
 and her sharp tongue and her physical strength,— 
 had started on a house-to-house search such as 
 would have been utterly impossible for us. And so 
 it came that Marie, lying patiently in darkness and 
 misery, was suddenly startled by the opening of the 
 door of her room, and Lizette Calle's quick, "Is 
 there any one here?" And when Marie had answered 
 her, she was astounded by the girl's next question, 
 " Are you Ma'm'selle de Kerhuel?" her reply to which 
 sent Lizette flying down the black stairs, while Marie 
 lay waiting in terror lest it should be Raoul de 
 Querhoal who had succeeded in tracing her, but in 
 truth so far spent that she cared little, since little 
 worse could befall her. 
 
 And now a heavy foot came up the stair, and 
 with a tap on the door Madame Mdre Jos&phine of 
 the Bonnet Rouge came in with the face of a benefi- 
 cent Juno, and stood beaming upon us all. 
 
 "So there you are, my little one, and a pretty 
 bird too," she said, eyeing Marie with a keen and 
 
 [340] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 critical but withal kindly look. "And now it is all 
 right, and the past is past, and all you have to do 
 is to eat and get strong again. But truly. Monsieur, 
 I am glad to have had my finger in this pie. It 
 will tell to my credit up above." 
 
 "And down below too, I hope, Madame," I said 
 gratefully. "You and Ma'm'selle Lizette have made 
 me your debtors for life." 
 
 "Ta-ta! Hiked the look of Monsieur as soon as 
 I set eyes on him," said Madame; "and Lizette 
 has done well and doubtless she will reap her re- 
 ward." 
 
 " That she will," I said, never ceasing, through all 
 this talk, to feed my love with soup and bread and 
 an occasional two drops of the cognac, "but my 
 gratitude to you both will go deeper than anjrthing 
 I can do for you." 
 
 " It is natural," said Madame assentingly. "Now, 
 will Monsieur leave us Ma'm'selle to nurse back into 
 life again?" 
 
 "No, dear Madame, not that. I do not want 
 Ma'm'selle ever to go out of my sight again, and 
 my work is down there. I shall take heir to- 
 morrow to the Lion d'Or, where I can watch over 
 her." 
 
 " By the Horse Market? I know it — a good house, 
 and Madame is a famous cook when she cares to put 
 her hand to it. Well, well, no doubt she will be bet- 
 ter there, and one cannot wonder at Monsieur's desir- 
 ing to take no further risks in these times. Now for 
 to-night. You two cannot stop here in Ma'm'selle's 
 room " 
 
 "Then, for me, I sit outside the door," I said, and 
 Lizette flashed a smile of appreciation. 
 
 "After all, we are doctors, Madame," I urged. 
 [341] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Yes, yes, but all the same " she said, and 
 
 looked at us as a housemaster might regard a couple 
 of his juvenile pupils who had told him they had 
 made up their minds to have a midnight orgie in his 
 private study. " It is not quite the thing, you know. 
 And besides, it will embarrass Ma'm'selle." 
 
 "They we'll sit on the stairs," I said. 
 
 " Perhaps there is another room," suggested Myr- 
 tle, to whom, possibly, the stairs outside Marie's 
 room did not seem quite so much like the stairs of 
 heaven as they did to me. 
 
 " Voyons ! Lizette, my child, learn at once if there 
 is any place where these gentlemen can wait till 
 morning, and say that Madame Josephine of the 
 Bonnet Rouge requests it," and Lizette sped away. 
 
 "I would stop with Ma'm'selle myself," said 
 Madame, "but things go to rack and ruin when I 
 am not there. My good man is not a man of busi- 
 ness, unfortunately, you see " 
 
 "We have trespassed too much on your goodness 
 already, Madame, and you have done great things 
 for us." 
 
 "The thought of it repays me. Monsieur," said 
 Madame, magnificently. "Eh b'en, Lizette, what 
 hast thou?" 
 
 "The room next to this is empty," said Lizette. 
 "Here is the key. Also the rooms below." 
 
 "One will be enough," said Madame. "I'll be 
 bound Messieurs will not quarrel. Let us see what 
 it is like. Canst thou stop all night with Ma'm'selle, 
 Lizette?" 
 
 "But yes, assuredly," said Lizette, with a vehe- 
 mence that betokened surprise that Madame should 
 ever for a moment have imagined that anjrthing 
 less was her intention. 
 
 [342] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I will send you more soup. Could you eat any- 
 thing else, ma chferie?" 
 
 "It is the best soup I ever tasted, Madame," said 
 Marie, with a wan smile, "and it strengthens me." 
 
 "Then more soup, and I think a little wine, 
 Monsieur, slightly warmed, and then Ma'm'selle 
 will sleep, and the morning will find her much re- 
 covered. Now let us see this other room. And 
 Lizette, you will come and bring back the soup and 
 the wine and some pieces of wood. If you bum all 
 Mere CoUgnot's chairs she will have a fit." 
 
 "Ma'm'selle Lizette has done quite enough run- 
 ning about for one night," said Myrtle. "Madame 
 will permit me to accompany her and bring back 
 the things." 
 
 "Monsieur is very amiable," said Madame and 
 Lizette in a breath, and they all went out to ex- 
 amine the empty room. And I pressed my love to 
 my heart and kissed her eyes and lips and neck, till 
 a tiny flush waved over her face and she put up 
 faint protesting hands, but smiled all the same in 
 great content and happiness. 
 
 "You will not leave me, Charles," she whispered. 
 
 "Never again, dearest, as long as life lasts us," I 
 said vehemently, whereat she smiled again with a 
 touch of amusement. But I had gone further in my 
 views of the immediate future than she had, and it 
 was my intention to marry her the very next day if 
 in any way it could be compassed. 
 
 "God has been good to us," she whispered. "I 
 prayed, oh, so earnestly, my dear, and He has heard 
 and answered me." 
 
 "We will thank Him all our lives, dearest, for His 
 goodness to us this day, and we will never part 
 again." 
 
 [343] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 She pressed my hand and lay back on the pillow 
 sleepily. 
 
 Nevertheless, in spite of the boldness of my prom- 
 ise, time came when we were once more separated, 
 and one of us hung on the knife edge of death and 
 escaped by a very hair's breadth. 
 
 [344] 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 Marie slept soundly, and Lizette's office, except 
 from Madame's high moral standpoint, was no great 
 burden to her. Twice during the night she succeeded 
 in giving our patient a few spoonfuls of soup and 
 sips of warmed wine, and the morning found her 
 decidedly improved, though still very weak. 
 
 Myrtle and I took possession of the empty room 
 alongside. There was not a stick in it until we 
 lighted our fire, but we sat contentedly on the floor 
 with our backs against the side of the fireplace, and 
 for myself that bare room was filled and furnished as 
 no king's palace ever was before. For when a man's 
 heart is bursting with gladness the outward acci- 
 dents of chairs and tables are of very small account 
 indeed. 
 
 Myrtle, with the providence of a six months' cam- 
 paigner, had brought back with him from the Bonnet 
 Rouge a concoction which he said Madame called 
 "Ponch," and a coffee-pot to warm it in. When 
 we set the tin pot in the ashes it distilled ambro- 
 sial odors throughout the empty room. When we 
 sipped it it set the blood tingUng in our veins, and 
 with it and our pipes and the amplitude of our 
 thoughts we knew neither cold nor crawling hours. 
 
 As soon as daylight came Myrtle set oflF for the 
 Lion d'Or, to prepare them for our arrival and to 
 return as soon as possible with a carriage. 
 
 When I tapped on the door of the next room, 
 Lizette, somewhat tired with her vigil but still 
 
 [345] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 sparkling valiantly, opened it cautiously and in- 
 formed me that Ma'm'selle had slept beautifully and 
 was sleeping still. My heart, that had starved so 
 long, craved the sight of her, and I went inside and 
 stood looking down at her — the most beautiful sight 
 in all the world. More than ever in the cold white 
 light of the January dawn she looked like the marble 
 effigy of a saint or a Christian martyr, with the 
 slightly hollowed cheeks and the sweetly curving lips 
 and the meekly lowered veils between herself and the 
 world. So marble white she looked in that spectral 
 glimmer that, for a moment, my heart chilled with 
 the thought that after all she had slipped away in 
 the night, and that I had found her only to lose her. 
 And then, as I gazed at her, the dark eyes in the 
 dark hollows which made them look larger than 
 ever, opened slowly and she lay still looking up at 
 me without speaking. I bent and kissed her, and the 
 marble flushed with rosy life and she whispered, 
 "My dear, my dear, I feared it was only a dream." 
 
 "It is the most beautiful dream that ever was, my 
 love, and we are never going to waken from it 
 again." 
 
 I fed her with soup and bread and then left them 
 while Lizette helped her to dress. 
 
 I made up twenty-five napoleons into a little roll 
 and inscribed my mother's address and Madame de 
 Kerhuel's inside it, and when Lizette came out to tell 
 me that Ma'm'selle was ready I put the packet into 
 her hand and shook it heartily once more and said : 
 
 " That is the money I promised to any one who 
 would find Ma'm'selle for me, Lizette. You will find 
 two addresses inside. If at any time there is any 
 way in which we can be of assistance to you, write to 
 either address and you will find friends there. You 
 
 [346] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 have done me the very greatest service one person 
 can do for another." 
 
 "I am very glad, Monsieur. Ma'm'selle is an 
 angel. She will be quite happy now. What horror 
 if we had not found her !" 
 
 "Indeed yes. One cannot think of it. Will you tell 
 Madame, Lizette, that I will return to-morrow and 
 settle up for everything. She knows how grateful I 
 am for all her kindness also." 
 
 Presently Myrtle and the carriage arrived and we 
 carried our frail lily down the dark stairs, well 
 muffled in the blankets he had had the forethought 
 to bring. Valerien boomed a dull salute on the 
 frosty air as we drove slowly away down the snowy 
 street. So that dark page in our Uves was turned 
 and done with, and though the iron girdle was still 
 tight round us, the future was full of golden lights 
 and hopes. 
 
 There is no warmer welcome in the world — out- 
 wardly at all events — than a middle-class French- 
 woman's when her heart is touched. And the wel- 
 come accorded to Marie by Madame of the Lion 
 d'Or and Lotte, her handmaid, fulfilled to the fullest 
 this high encomium. 
 
 They were waiting under the archway when we 
 drove up with such a fusillade from the whip that 
 the neighbors rushed out in the belief that the Prus- 
 sians had broken in and the last hour was come. 
 
 They fluttered about us with Uttle congratulatory 
 chirpings and twitterings as we carried her carefully 
 upstairs to the room they had prepared for her, 
 where a great fire roared up the chimney, with a 
 rollicking damn-the-expense air which carried us clear 
 away from beleaguered Paris and back to the woody 
 lands of Brittany. There was an old-fashioned 
 [347] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 chintz-covered couch drawn out by the side of the 
 fire, and Marie flatly refused to go to bed, but elected 
 to lie on the couch instead. 
 
 The nourishing food— and whatever Madame Jose- 
 phine's soup was made of, it was beyond question 
 tasty and nourishing — and the relief of mind and 
 body, the slackening of the tension, and the knowl- 
 edge that all she had to do was to leave herself in 
 our willing hands, had already wrought a great 
 change in her, and brought her back to a shadowy 
 resemblance of her former self. It needed only rest 
 and food to complete the cure, and these were hers 
 for the taking. 
 
 Madame and Lotte seemed to be bringing in some 
 tasty dish every few minutes all day long as I sat 
 by her couch. There was evidently to be no doubt 
 about Mademoiselle's speedy recovery if it depended 
 on the tempting of her appetite. Before ever they 
 set eyes on herself they had known of my anxious 
 search for her, in which their "cher Monsieur 
 Smartte" had also interested himself. They knew 
 that Captain George of the gloomy countenance was 
 her brother, and they ascribed his sombreness to 
 anxiety on his sister's account — ^which did not ac- 
 count for it all. And they liked us all and rejoiced 
 now in our happiness. 
 
 Marie and Myrtle and I had coffee and milk and 
 rolls together, and then he hurried off to the hos- 
 pital, and I promised to make my rounds later when 
 he could bear Marie company. 
 
 So I sat by the old couch, holding and caressing 
 the thin, white little hand in mine, and proceeded to 
 unfold my great plan. 
 
 " As soon as Myrtle comes back I shall run over to 
 the Louvre and try to get hold of George, Marie." 
 
 [348] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "George!" she said with a start. "Is he ? 
 
 Oh, Charles, they told me he had died." 
 
 It was no good cursing the dead even mentally, 
 so I made shift to answer quietly, "No, dear, he is 
 alive and well, and has never received a scratch, 
 though he has been in the thick of the fighting and 
 has borne himself gallantly. They gave him his 
 commission for what he did at Choisy and now he 
 is captain." 
 
 "Dear George! That is so strange to think of. 
 His own wishes were so very diEFerent." 
 
 "Yes, this terrible war has altered many things. 
 Raoul de Querhoal is dead. I saw him fall as he led 
 on his men." 
 
 I said it purposely to lead her to speak of all that 
 had befallen her, for I believed it would reheve her 
 mind to talk of it, and I had much to tell her which 
 I dared not yet broach to her. 
 
 "I cannot feel sorry," she said simply. "He was a 
 bad man. The telegram that came asking me to 
 come and nurse George was sent by M. de Querhoal. 
 He was at the address that was given in it, when we 
 got there. He said George had had to be removed 
 and he would take us to him at once. I mistrusted 
 him, but I did not know what else to do. He took 
 us in a carriage to a house some distance away. 
 He said George was upstairs and we followed him 
 up to a room at the back. He left us there, and 
 after we had waited some time I got anxious and 
 tried the door, and found it was locked." 
 
 "The scoundrel!" I said. "However, he is dead." 
 
 "He kept us locked up all day and we were very 
 miserable. The window looked out on to a large 
 garden. There was no one about and we could do 
 nothing." 
 
 [349] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Here there came a discreet tap on the door and 
 Lotte came fluttering noiselessly in with a tiny bowl 
 of milk-white soup with whose quality I was already 
 acquainted, and stood over Marie till the last drop 
 was finished. 
 
 "It is delicious, Lotte. Pray thank Madame for 
 her kindness," said Marie. 
 
 "Madame is already thanked, Ma'm'selle," said 
 Lotte gracefully, and retired. 
 
 "When Raoul came in at last," Marie resumed, 
 "he told me plainly that George was dead and that 
 he intended to keep me there till I promised to 
 marry him. I told him I would never marry him if 
 he kept me there till I died, and begged him to let 
 me go. He said I would probably think better of it 
 when I had been there a week. I reminded him that 
 he could not marry me without my mother's consent. 
 He said she also would probably think better of it 
 when she learned that I had been there for a week. 
 Henriette burst out on him, but he only laughed at 
 all we said. An old woman brought us food and 
 he came up at odd times through the next few days 
 to see how we were getting on." 
 
 "Did you see an3rthing of M. le Curfe?" I asked. 
 
 "M. Lesieur? No. Why?" 
 
 "He was living in the house you went to first, 
 when I got here, — the house named in the telegram." 
 
 "M. Lesieur! Why, what could he be doing 
 there?" 
 
 "I can only imagine, dearest, and my idea is that 
 he and Raoul had plotted this thing between them, 
 and that Raoul then threw the Cure over and tried 
 to play the hand out himself. Well— and then?" 
 
 "Then the days passed and he came no more and 
 the old woman was at her wits' end to know what 
 
 [350] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 to do with us. We were frantic to get out, and one 
 night when she brought our dinner in we jumped on 
 her and threw her down and took her keys and got 
 away. It was quite simple as long as we knew that 
 Raoul was not down below. We hurried away, leav- 
 ing all our things behind, and we walked and walked, 
 not knowing where we were going or indeed where to 
 go. We saw a notice of a furnished room to let in 
 that house where you found me, and we took it and 
 it was like heaven to be free again. 
 
 "We had only a small sum of money and had to 
 economize. Dear old Henriette did everything, for 
 the anxiety had made me ill. We could not buy very 
 much food and we suffered greatly from the cold. 
 Henriette went to the public soup places and got 
 tickets for bread and we managed to keep alive. 
 Then one day she went out and never came back, 
 and it was dreadful alone in the dark, with no fire 
 and nothing to eat. I felt very weak and ill and I 
 was afraid all the time that some one would come up. 
 But there seemed almost no one in the house and no 
 one came, and I began to wish sonae one would 
 come, for I was afraid I would starve to death. I 
 tried to get up and dress to go out for food, but it 
 was too much for me, and I lay through a day and 
 a night and another whole day wishing I could 
 die " 
 
 Another discreet tap and Lotte entered again, 
 bringing this time some dehcate slices of white meat 
 on a plate, with bread sauce and rich gravy and a 
 tiny slice of bread. 
 
 "Lotte, you will kill me with kindness. You are 
 all too good," said Marie. 
 
 "Not possible," beamed Lotte. "If Ma'm'selle's 
 life depended on me it would be very long and very 
 
 [351] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 happy. Monsieur"— sternly to me,— " Madame says 
 you are not to weary Ma'm'selle by talking too 
 much to her." 
 
 " But I am not talking, Lotte. I've hardly opened 
 my mouth." 
 
 "But, mon dieu ! then that is worse still. You are 
 making Ma'm'selle talk, and Madame says you are 
 not to." 
 
 "All right, Lotte, we'll be as quiet as mice," and 
 with a reprehensive shake of the finger Lotte with- 
 drew to concoct further dainties with Madame. 
 
 "The pains of hunger were dreadful the first 
 night," said Marie continuing, "but they passed 
 away and only came back at times afterwards, and 
 I lay half asleep, thinking of you and my mother 
 and Kerhuel, and my dear Jean and George both 
 gone, and that I would soon be with them. And at 
 first I prayed that I might see you once again, 
 though I did not see how it could be, for I did not 
 know you were in Paris. And then I prayed that 
 those dreadful pains might not come again and that 
 my passing might be easy. And then that dear 
 Lizette came in as I told you, and then I saw you 
 standing there in the candlelight, and I thought it 
 was a dream." 
 
 " The dream that is to last forever, dearest. And 
 now we will put all the black time behind us forever 
 and ever, and think only of the future. Do you 
 know what I am going to do when I see George?" 
 
 "Bring him quickly to see me?" 
 
 "That of course. But very much more. I am 
 going to take no more risks with this elusive little 
 body. I am going to marry you out of hand,— to- 
 day if possible." 
 
 "Oh, Charles!" 
 
 [352] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 " Oh, Marie ! Yes, my sweet. Once married neither 
 Mrs. Grundy nor Madame Josephine can keep my 
 eye off you. I have thought it all out carefully, and 
 I am sure it is the very best thing to do." 
 
 "But— can we?" 
 
 "Who is to hinder? I have your mother's consent 
 and George will represent her. He will wish it, I 
 know. He has been furious at thought of Raoul's 
 trickery. He would have sought him out and killed 
 him but that he was already dead. I will also see 
 M. Dellieu, M. Renel's friend, and he will tell me how 
 to set about it. Everything is in chaos here, just 
 now, and I think there will be no diflSculty — ^unless 
 you object." 
 
 For answer she put her hand trustfully into mine. 
 
 Myrtle came in soon afterwards with good reports 
 of all our patients. 
 
 "They keep on asking after you all the time," he 
 said. 
 
 "I expect it's the chocolates and cigarettes they 
 are anxious about." 
 
 "Not in all cases. That boy you hooked out of 
 the quarry — Lepine, — he's quite in the dumps at 
 seeing nothing of you, and most of the others 
 I think go deeper than chocolates and cigarettes. 
 It would do them all good if you could take a skim 
 through." 
 
 " I'll go there first. They've been on my conscience, 
 but no man ever had better reason for neglecting his 
 duties." 
 
 "That's so," said Myrtle, with an appreciative 
 glance at the sofa and its occupant. "It does one 
 good to see you looking so much better, Ma'm'selle 
 Marie." 
 
 "You are all very good to me," smiled Marie. 
 23 [ 353 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 " Not half as good as we'd like to be," said Myrtle 
 gallantly. 
 
 "We're going to have a wedding here, Hugh, 
 to-day, if possible. If you could get some more of 
 that brown stuff off your face I'd ask you to be 
 best man." 
 
 "No! Really? That's splendid ! I'll take the skin 
 off if necessary." 
 
 "We won't go so far as to require any sacrifice of 
 cuticle. But if you'll stop here till I come back, I'll 
 away and get things arranged. And, I say, Hugh, 
 just try and keep Madame and Lotte within reasona- 
 ble bounds. They're just cramming her with good 
 things. Eat some of them yourseff and say that 
 Mademoiselle enjoyed them exceedingly." 
 
 "All right, my boy, I'll see to it. You cut away 
 and complete those arrangements, and don't forget 
 the boys in the hospital." ' "" 
 
 The boys were really glad to see me for myself, 
 quite apart, I am sure, from what I took to them. 
 They greeted my reappearance with cries of, "En- 
 fin, Monsieur !" "A la bonheur !" "We feared you 
 were dead." "Welcome, Monsieur!" and so on. 
 
 Young Lepine chided me gently for my lapse. 
 
 "We miss you, Monsieur," he said, "and life is 
 not of the most jovial here. We cannot afford to do 
 without one pleasure. This is my father. Monsieur. 
 He desires to thank you for all your goodness to 
 me." 
 
 Lepine pere was a grave-faced man of fifty or so, 
 still wearing an official-looking, grizzled mustache 
 and imperial. 
 
 "But indeed, Monsieur, I know not how to thank 
 you. And his mother says the same. Monsieur's 
 name is written deep on our hearts, I assure him." 
 
 [354] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I but did my duty, M. Lepine. But I am truly 
 glad it saved you so great a loss. The boy will be 
 whole and fit in a couple of months. I am rather 
 proud of that leg, you know. But he has a good 
 sound constitution and that was half the battle." 
 
 "He got that from me," said the father gravely. 
 "I am thankful it has served him well. When can 
 I take him home, Monsieur?" 
 
 "Oh, we can't spare him yet. And you must not 
 take any unnecessary risks with that leg yet. It 
 would be a grievous pity if we lost it after all 
 through a little impatience. Besides, he is quite 
 comfortable here, n'est ce pas, mon beau?" 
 
 "But yes," said the young fellow, "but all the 
 same I would like well to see the old lady. Dame, 
 yes!" 
 
 I went the rounds with a cheery word and some- 
 thing else to each, and had a short chat with Dr. 
 Morin, to whom I confided my good fortune and re- 
 ceived his hearty congratulations. He also favored 
 me with the rather scathing opinion — ^for he was a 
 member of the old regime and regarded the new 
 state of matters with much disfavor — that at the 
 present time I would not experience the slightest 
 official difficulty in marrying half-a-dozen wives if I 
 wanted to. I assured him my aspirations went no 
 further than one, and sped away to the Louvre to 
 find George. 
 
 I was so fortunate as to get him on duty. He 
 had me admitted to the courtyard and we strolled 
 up and down while we talked. 
 
 "You have news?" he said. "I see it in your 
 face." 
 
 "Yes, good news," and I told him how we had 
 found Marie. 
 
 [355] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 " 'thank God it is no worse!" he said, when I had 
 done. "I will run round and see her as soon as I 
 am free here." 
 
 "She is hungering for a sight of you. Now the 
 next thing is this, George. I want to have the 
 fullest right to look after her all the time. It will 
 be best that we get married at once, to-day. What 
 do you say?" 
 
 "Yes," he said promptly. "Jean desired it, the 
 mother desires it, and that devil of a Curfe does not 
 desire it, therefore it must be right. Yes, Charles, 
 marry her at once. Poor child, she has suffered, and 
 for me." 
 
 "Then I will go at once to M. Dellieu and beg his 
 assistance. Can you not join us at dinner? You 
 will represent your mother and can speak for her." 
 
 "Yes, I will arrange it." 
 
 "I have said nothing to Marie about your father, 
 and of course nothing about Raoul's death beyond 
 the fact that he is dead. You understand, she is 
 much run down. The less disturbing news the bet- 
 ter." 
 
 "I quite understand. I will be there all right." 
 
 "Any news? Are we any nearer the end?" 
 
 "Just the number of days since I saw you last. 
 It is inevitable. They are all at sixes and sevens 
 and each for himself, except Vinoy, and they won't 
 give him his hand. Old Thomas is manhandling the 
 Nationals till they don't know which are their heads 
 and which their heels. But it's all too late to be 
 of any use. How are they feeling about things in 
 Montmartre?" 
 
 "Streets quiet, wine-shops full, and a great deal 
 of strenuous talking going on." 
 
 "Yes, they'll bubble over when the chance comes, 
 [356] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 and at present it's nobody's business to bottle them 
 up. Maybe we'll have to call in the Prussians to 
 wipe them out," he said grimly. "And, by the way, 
 Charles, the sooner you find new quarters the bet- 
 ter. It's hardly safe where you are at present." 
 
 "What's wrong?" 
 
 "The Prussians are shelling the bastions on that 
 side and their shells have been coining in pretty 
 freely." 
 
 "Surely they won't reach as far as our place?" 
 
 "I saw one fall in the Rue d'Enfer this morning, 
 and blow a man and woman to pieces." 
 
 "That's getting pretty close. Where can we get 
 to to be out of it?" 
 
 "Anywhere this side of the river between the 
 Western Station and the Place de la Bastille will be 
 safe, I think. I should find another place if I were 
 you." 
 
 "Is it a cut-and-dried bombardment, or only ac- 
 cidentals that pitch high and come over by mis- 
 take?" 
 
 "We've had no notice of bombardment, so it may 
 be only accidentals. But if one hits you the result's 
 about the same. If you take my advice you'll 
 move." 
 
 I went thoughtfully on to M. DelUeu's. He was 
 out. I waited till he came in. He was dehghted at 
 my news and saw no difficulties in the way. 
 
 "Everything's upside down," he said, "but we will 
 do things in as orderly a fashion as the times per- 
 mit. I will find out the registrar of your district 
 and get him to come with me. We will have the 
 marriage properly entered and if there are any little 
 irregularities you must correct them afterwards. 
 Now you want to get back to Mademoiselle. I will 
 
 [357] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 be there as soon as possible. If I am too soon you 
 shall give me something to eat," and away I sped 
 through the gloomy streets, first to a certain shop 
 in the Rue de la Paix and then back to my dear 
 one, the happiest man in Paris that day. And cold 
 and misery, and hunger and desolation, and even pos- 
 sible shells from the Prussian batteries were naught 
 to me that day, for my heart was all aflame with 
 the thought of her who awaited me in the little 
 hotel by the Horse Market, and whose life, by God's 
 great mercy and her own sweet will, was at last to 
 be joined to mine. 
 
 [368] 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 We were in the tight grip of the iron girdle, you 
 must remember. Fuel was becoming scarce, genuine 
 deUcacies were out of the question, but there was no 
 braver show in all Paris than our room in the 
 Lion d'Or made that January afternoon. 
 
 It was a bitterly cold day outside, but inside the 
 fire roared up the chimney as if all the trees that 
 had disappeared from the Bois de Boulogne and the 
 Tuileries gardens lay waiting in Madame's cellars to 
 feed its majesty. And as for delicacies, — ^if you had 
 the common-sense to eat in confidence, and judge 
 only by the gratification of your sense of taste, 
 and to put an absolute stopper on your imagina- 
 tion as to the possible source and origin of some of 
 Madame's creations, — you found yourself, metaphori- 
 cally speaking, in clover. With a truly Parisian per- 
 ception of the fitness of things and of the require- 
 ments of the moment, Madame had spread a table 
 at one side of the room with tempting httle cold 
 dishes as a foretaste of joys to come. For at that 
 time, when hunger was the rule and satisfaction the 
 exception, no higher honor could one proffer to a 
 guest than the offer of something to eat. If it was 
 something out of the common, and therefore re- 
 motely reminiscent of former times, the greater the 
 honor. 
 
 And if you were wise you spoke Kttle but appUed 
 yourself to the dishes on the table, and confined 
 your discussion of them to silent and toothsome 
 
 [359] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 enjoyment, and marvelled much, and thanked your 
 stars, and wished for a wedding every day in the 
 week. 
 
 That, I think, was at all events the state of mind 
 of little M. Chalrois, the official whom M. Dellieu had 
 raked out from his hiding-place and brought with 
 him. 
 
 Difficulties ! and in view of such a feast as the 
 well-set table at the end of the room forecasted! 
 " Dieu-de-dieu, Messieurs ! there are no difficulties ! 
 Not to be thought of for a moment. Ma foi ! if Mon- 
 sieur would have the complaisance to change his 
 name each time I would marry him every day in 
 the week and to a fresh demoiselle each time." 
 
 I hinted that it might perhaps be as well not to 
 say as much to Mademoiselle, and he winked know- 
 ingly at me and helped himself to a second glass of 
 vermouth as an additional appetizer where none at 
 all was needed, and pecked away at the dainty 
 little dishes, in a nonchalant and absent-minded 
 fashion which could not hide his eagerness and was 
 infinitely diverting. 
 
 M. Dellieu had already found favor in Marie's 
 sight, as being a friend of her dear friend M. Renel, 
 who proved a strong bond between them and a 
 fruitful source of conversation. 
 
 Madame and Lotte fluttered in and out as was 
 their wont, and regretted a thousand times that 
 their dear M. Smartte was not there to add to their 
 enjoyment. Between them they had, with Parisian 
 deftness, arrayed Marie for her bridal in white robes 
 and filmy laces. Where they came from Heaven 
 only knows, but they were a source of infinite sat- 
 isfaction to the women-folk and of wondering ad- 
 miration to the men. 
 
 [360] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 In spite of her hollowed cheeks and pale siege-face 
 my darling looked lovely beyond compare, and my 
 whole heart went out to her with infinite longing. 
 And now at last the desire to cherish and comfort 
 her, and to surround her with all those loving 
 offices in which my whole being would find its high- 
 est delight, was about to be accomplished. A few 
 minutes more and we two would be made one, never 
 to part again till one of us passed on in front to 
 the land where partings are no more. 
 
 We waited only for George, and M. Chalrois stated, 
 with very definite emphasis and with a hungry look 
 at the table, that if he did not come — nom-de-dieu ! 
 what matter? we would go ahead without him. It 
 was not a little thing Hke that, that in times such 
 as these should be allowed to hinder the consum- 
 mation of one's hopes. Not at all ! — and he helped 
 himself with an air of forgetfulness to a third glass 
 of vermouth and a further supply of eatables. 
 
 Fearing the effects of too much of even so mild a 
 stimulant as vermouth on a temporarily unaccus- 
 tomed stomach, I endeavored to lead him into a 
 political discussion; but I could not get him far 
 from the table. 
 
 "Afterwards possibly, Monsieur," he said, with 
 one eye on the board, as if he feared it might van- 
 ish. "It is well to devote oneself entirely, body and 
 soul, to the business of the moment. Those Uke 
 yourself and Trochu and the rest, who can still 
 revel in luxuries, cannot possibly view things from 
 the standpoint of us others, whose bodies and souls 
 are slowly disintegrating from sheer lack of the 
 necessaries of life. It is simple foolishness standing 
 out in the cold this way. It is magnificent, no 
 doubt, as all the world says, but, mon dieu ! there is 
 
 [361] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 reason in all things. Can they not be satisfied with 
 making heroes of us ? Is it necessary that we should 
 also become martyrs?" 
 
 I hinted gravely that the two were frequently 
 first cousins. 
 
 "A hero who, purely for the sake of posing, makes 
 himself a martyr, is a fool," he said with a shrug. 
 "Trochu is a poseur. He seeks to make himself 
 hero by making other people martyrs. Does he 
 suffer as we others? Not at all. Put him in the 
 trenches with black bread to live on and he would 
 sign that capitulation inside a week, and then we 
 would strike a balance and pay our debts and the 
 world would start again. Enfin, here comes Mon- 
 sieur at last. A la bonheur ! now we can get to 
 work!" And he buttoned up his spare frock coat 
 as one who girds himself for the fray. 
 
 The greeting between brother and sister was of 
 the warmest,' but I could see how struck Marie was 
 by the change that had come over him. 
 
 "I should hardly have known you, George," she 
 said. "You are changed and aged. You are ten 
 years older since I saw you last." 
 
 "More than that," he said. "One ages fast in 
 times like these. Each battle is like going to one's 
 grave, each return is a resurrection. One lives many 
 lives." 
 
 "You have been very fortunate, George; I pray 
 that you may escape." 
 
 "Yes," he said. "That is very good of you, dear. 
 If your prayers are heard it will be well for me. 
 If not— still well." 
 
 "You approve our marrying at once, George?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " Absolutely, my child. It is the very best thing to 
 [362] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 do. We all desire it, and Charles will take care of 
 you as no one else can. I was telling him this morn- 
 ing he must not keep you here. Charles, my friend, 
 they are moving the wounded from the Luxembourg 
 because of the shells. Unless I am very much mis- 
 taken you are well within range of both Clamart 
 and Bourg la Reine, and they seem to be getting 
 impatient out there." 
 
 "Comment, Monsieur!" cried Madame in great 
 alarm. "You think we are in danger here?" 
 
 " I fear so, dear Madame. Shells fell in the Luxem- 
 bourg Gardens this morning and so the wounded are 
 being removed. If it is not safe for them it is not 
 safe for you." 
 
 "Mon dieu! mon dieu ! What shall we do? Oh, 
 those cursed Prussians !" 
 
 "Eh bien, Mesdames et Messieurs," broke in the 
 little registrar, with a business-like impatience which 
 refused to be veiled, "if we are all here shall we 
 proceed? Business first, pleasure afterwards. Will 
 Monsieur have the goodness to take his place by 
 the side of Mademoiselle. Comme ga !" 
 
 I took my stand by Marie's couch and the rest 
 stood round us. I can see them all. George de 
 Kerhuel, grim-faced and sombre, at Marie's other 
 side, and Hugh Myrtle smiling at mine. In front of 
 us stood little M. Chalrois, tightly buttoned up in his 
 seedy frock coat, grizzled and eager. Alongside him 
 stood M. Dellieu, an incipient benediction in his face 
 as he looked at us. Behind them, Madame and 
 Lotte in their Sunday best, much sprucer than any 
 of the men folk, whose clothes all showed outward 
 and visible signs of wear and tear and general 
 dilapidation. Behind them again, just inside the 
 doorway, Madame' s two other maids, whom Eve- 
 
 [363] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 like curiosity and feminine instinct had alike called 
 to the wedding. The windows in front showed the 
 bleak gray weather. The dancing flames glowed 
 rosily on us all, and flashed on the gold bands on 
 George's right cuff, and winked merrily back at us 
 from the dishes and bottles on the table. 
 
 "Married persons," said Uttle M. Chalrois, in the 
 level tones of one who repeats a necessary formula 
 and wants to get through with it as quickly as 
 possible, "owe to each other fidelity, succor, as- 
 sistance." 
 
 Exactly the debts I was desirous of paying to 
 Marie. I wondered why he wasted time telling me 
 so. 
 
 "The husband owes protection to his wife," said 
 M. Chalrois, "the wife obedience to her husband." 
 
 We made no objection to these trite observa- 
 tions. 
 
 "The wife is obliged to live with her husband, and 
 to follow him to every place where he may find it 
 convenient to reside; the husband is obliged to re- 
 ceive her, and to furnish her with everjrthing neces- 
 sary for the wants of life, according to his means 
 and station." 
 
 Would it not be the highest delight of my life to 
 provide for this dear girl's every need according to 
 my means and station. 
 
 "Do you, M. de Kerhuel, on your mother's be- 
 half, consent to the marriage of Mile. Marie de 
 Kerhuel, your sister, with M. Charles Glyn here pres- 
 ent?" 
 
 But his question was never answered. 
 
 Placed as I was, I looked straight at the two 
 windows before me. And suddenly the room shook 
 and the wall between the windows burst raggedly 
 
 [364] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 inwards, paper, plaster, lath, and bricks, as though 
 under the blow of a mighty hammer. I saw the 
 point of the deadly thing coming through, and as I 
 flung myself on top of my dear one on the couch a 
 blasting crash filled all the room, and I sickened as 
 a white-hot chisel seemed to sear through the flesh 
 of my back from flank to shoulder. 
 
 I raised myself with a sob and looked down at 
 Marie. She had fainted, and lay still and white. 
 The air was thick with smoke and the smell of 
 sulphur. 
 
 "Are you hurt?" I heard Myrtle ask. "Is she 
 safe?" 
 
 Behind me, as I hung unsteadily searching Marie's 
 form for sign of wound, was moaning, and the terri- 
 fied screaming of women. Pieces of the walls and 
 ceiling came pattering down. There was a smell of 
 burning. 
 
 "She has fainted," I managed to say. "Not hit, 
 I think. You?" 
 
 "Not a scratch, thanks to you and the sofa." 
 
 The room was a horror, a nightmare, a thing 
 never to be effaced from one's memory as long as 
 life lasts. 
 
 The windows were gone and the cold air was 
 driving the powder smoke in ghostly wreaths and 
 whorls. The fire had been blown out of the hearth 
 and was smouldering in half-a-dozen places. The 
 table had disappeared entirely and a yawning hole 
 gaped where it had stood. 
 
 George de Kerhuel lay below the head of the couch 
 motionless, bleeding from a wound in the head. 
 M. Chalrois was moaning face downwards on the 
 floor, but he lay quiet even as I looked at him. His 
 back seemed torn to pieces. M. Dellieu. lay qi»etly 
 
 [ 365 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 beside him. I saw blood running from his head and 
 shoulders. Madame and Lotte— ! I can drop the 
 sheet over them in the telling, but in my mind never. 
 The shell had burst right upon them in their simple 
 finery put on to do us honor. And now — ! Well, 
 well ! Let us pass them quickly. Their kindliness 
 and goodness I never can forget, still less the hor- 
 ror of their ending. It was mercifully sharp. There 
 was very little left of them, and I sobbed again and 
 sickened as I looked. The two maids by the door 
 had fled screaming down the stairs. I learned after- 
 wards that both were wounded. That any one of 
 us escaped whole was a miracle. 
 
 "God!" gasped Myrtle, as all this broke onus 
 through the curls of smoke. "We must get her out, 
 Glyn." 
 
 "Yes," I said, "help me." For all my back was 
 sticky wet, and when I bent to take Marie gently 
 under the arms and Hugh took her feet, it felt as 
 though that white-hot chisel was running up and 
 down my back again. 
 
 "Stay," I said, laying her down again. "Get 
 blankets off my bed, Hugh," and I leaned dizzily 
 ag£unst the couch and watched the smouldering 
 embers charring the floor in half-a-dozen places, till 
 he brought them. 
 
 It was no time for talk and he asked no questions. 
 We swathed her in the blankets and bore her care- 
 fully downstairs. The floor of the room shook un- 
 der us as we crossed it. 
 
 "Where to?" asked Hugh, as we reached the 
 street door, round which an excited crowd had gath- 
 ered. 
 
 "The other side of the river. But we must see to 
 the others first;" 
 
 [366] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 The crowd raised a shout of surprise at sight of us, 
 and willing hands were stretched to relieve us of 
 our burden. 
 
 "Tell them — get carriage — two carriages," I said, 
 feeling as sick as a dog. "Will you — try for the 
 others — ^upstairs ? ' ' 
 
 A couple of men sped away at once to look for 
 carriages. In a dull way I heard Hugh explaining 
 that there were more wounded upstairs, and that 
 there was no danger, as a shell never struck twice in 
 the same place, and I was too heavy-headed at the 
 moment to recognize any lack of cogency in the 
 argument. All I could think of was that Marie was 
 still alive, and, I thought, uninjured, and that my 
 back had never felt so uncomfortable in all my life 
 as it was feeling just then. Half-a-dozen men ran up 
 after Hugh, and presently two of them appeared 
 with very white faces, bearing M. Dellieu, and be- 
 hind them came other two with still whiter faces 
 carrying George. They all started swearing and 
 spitting as soon as they reached the ground, and I 
 think it likely none of them will ever forget what 
 they saw in that room. 
 
 A couple of fiacres came up to the outskirts of the 
 crowd and Hugh and I placed Marie in one, but 
 when the other driver saw the bleeding men who 
 were to go into his vehicle he was for refusing the 
 job, at which the people threatened to smash him 
 and all his belongings into pieces, and he growl- 
 ingly turned his cushions upside down and took his 
 cargo aboard. 
 
 I got into the carriage beside Marie, and I re- 
 member asking Hugh to give money to the men 
 who had helped us. He told me afterwards they 
 would none of them take it. The smoke was be- 
 
 [367] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 ginning to roll slowly out of the broken front of 
 the Lion d'Or as we drove away. 
 
 Marie opened her eyes as we started, and looked 
 wildly about her. 
 
 "Oh, Charles!" she said with a sob. "The hor- 
 ror!" 
 
 "Thank God! We are spared, dearest," I said, 
 for the sight of her come to herself was the best 
 tonic in the world. 
 
 "Who — who is left?" she said tearfully. 
 
 "George and M. Dellieu and Myrtle are in the 
 cab in front. The rest, I fear, are dead." 
 
 She closed her eyes and I could feel her sobbing 
 through the blankets. 
 
 To my surprise we stopped almost immediately, 
 and I saw we were at the Salpetriere. 
 
 Myrtle came to the door. 
 
 "Further, Hugh," I said. "Across the river. This 
 is not safe." 
 
 "All right, old man. We'll have you strapped up 
 first and get you a decent coat. You're all in rags," 
 he said cheerily. "Miss Marie, you are better. We'll 
 all get a brace up inside here before we go on." 
 
 The wounded men were already being carried from 
 the other cab, and I saw that it was the best place 
 to have come to. 
 
 I got stiffly out and Myrtle gave his arm to Marie, 
 and we all went limply in. He bade our driver 
 wait. The other one he paid and sent away. Marie 
 they took away to Dr. Morin's room, and Myrtle 
 was back in a moment to help me. 
 
 "Ma'm'selle has not a scratch," he said, in his 
 usual cheery way as he assisted me to his own bed; 
 "it is providential. I expect you took her share. 
 Now let's get off these dilapidated garments and see 
 
 [368] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 what's the matter. Phew! what a mess!" as my 
 blood-soaked rags fell to the floor and disclosed the 
 wound. "It's a tidy rip, but only flesh, and a nice 
 clean wound," he said, as he sponged and examined 
 carefully, and proceeded to bandage me up. " That 
 shirt and coat are done for; I'll steal you some 
 more presently. What do you think about stopping 
 here, Charley?" 
 
 "I'd sooner get further away. How are George 
 and M. Dellieu? What's wrong?" 
 
 "The Captain got a piece out of the top of his 
 head. Painful, but no damage to brain. His left 
 arm will have to go, I fear. From the elbow up 
 it's stripped almost bare of flesh. The pastor's head 
 is damaged too and his shoulder got it pretty hot. 
 If he'd been at the other side he'd have been pulped 
 like the other httle man. Shells when they do their 
 work properly are devilish things. They ought not 
 to be allowed in family circles. Now about stopping 
 here? I'm inclined to think the risks are about 
 even. It will be difficult to find another place as 
 late as this. You'll both be the better for a night's 
 rest, and it's pure chance if another shell comes 
 after us. If it does, I shall begin to think you're 
 the Jonah of this ship." 
 
 "All right," I said, for I began to feel suddenly 
 weak and tired. "Will you see to Marie? I can't — " 
 
 " Ma'm'selle's all right, my boy. Old Morin's 
 fallen in love with her. He's just seeing to the 
 other two and then he'U come in here. I said I'd 
 see to you myself." 
 
 I must have fallen asleep then, for I remember 
 nothing more till next morning, when I awoke stifl" 
 and full of pain, but apart from this feeling much 
 myself again. 
 
 24, [ 369 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "All doing well," was Hugh's cheery greeting, 
 before I could ask any questions. "I've been hav- 
 ing a talk with Captain George, and we've been 
 trying to persuade Morin that he'll have to move 
 the men. But he says he'll be damned if he does. 
 The Captain says we're well within a double range 
 here and Morin says he'll put up another half-dozen 
 white flags. The town will be a mass of white 
 flags soon. If you think it best to take Ma'm'selle 
 right out of it I'll take a run round when I've had 
 some coffee, and see what I can find. There should 
 be no lack of lodgings since the population has sunk 
 so. How's the back? Stiff", of course, and a bit 
 creepy-crawly. Don't feel as if it were going to 
 complicate at all, does it?" 
 
 " No, I don't think so. But I feel jangled. I'll not 
 feel right till I'm sure Marie's safely out of fire." 
 
 "Right ! I'll see to it. The Captain's been giving 
 me points. He and the pastor had better stop here 
 for a few days. They'll get better attention right on 
 the spot." 
 
 Marie came in presently on good old Morin's arm, 
 which seemed proud of its burden and reluctant to 
 let it go. He did his best to argue me into stopping 
 where I was, but I was not to be convinced. We 
 had escaped once, by God's good mercy, and heaven 
 helps them that help themselves. It seemed to me 
 that my duty lay in keeping her out of danger 
 rather than in tempting Providence by remaining 
 within range of the Prussian batteries. 
 
 At noon Hugh returned with the news that he had 
 found rooms in a house in the Rue de la Monnaie, 
 almost facing on to the Pont Neuf, which Captain 
 George believed to be well within the zone of safety, 
 and in the afternoon he helped me into the ward 
 
 [370] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 where George and M. Dellieu were lying in adjacent 
 beds. 
 
 I attempted to apologize for having got them into 
 such condition, but they cut me short and declined 
 to recognize that it was my fault at all. 
 
 "I am going to take Marie away, George," I said. 
 "The thought of her being exposed to such as hap- 
 pened yesterday is too much for me." 
 
 "Yes, take her, Charles," he said. "You saved her 
 life and she is yours. This place might be wrecked 
 at any moment in spite of their white flags. Shells 
 are the devil's own playthings, and they're color- 
 blind." 
 
 "I will take every care of her." 
 
 "I know it, my dear. I shall get out of this as 
 soon as I can and I'll come and stop with you. 
 They took my arm off this morning. It was too 
 far gone to save. Curse that shell!" 
 
 M. Dellieu took his wounds patiently, and ex- 
 pressed the hope that he would still have the pleas- 
 ure of completing that ceremony, and I limped away, 
 promising to come back as soon as possible. 
 
 Then Myrtle helped me down to a cab where 
 Marie was already waiting, with Dr. Morin, bare- 
 headed in spite of the thick frost fog, making his 
 adieux through the open window. 
 
 [371] 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 It was an unusually large and handsome house 
 to which our cab slowly made its way. It loomed 
 through the fog like a great hotel, and I thought 
 there must be some mistake. 
 
 "It's all right, old man," laughed Myrtle, when I 
 expressed myself to that effect. "While I was at it 
 I thought I'd get the best possible. This is the 
 town house of a big German banker. The old lady 
 in charge is willing to make hay while the cannons 
 roar, and we are the beneficiaries of her very lauda- 
 ble desire. For myself I think she is quite right, and 
 I'm glad old Cent-per-cent bolted." 
 
 Madame Two-Sous, as Myrtle called her, wore a 
 shawl, or perhaps several shawls, over her head be- 
 cause of the cold, and received us with infinitely 
 greater courtesy than her master doubtless would 
 have done under the circumstances. She greeted us 
 with a mixture of bow and curtsey which was quite 
 far removed from the manners of any conciSrge I 
 had ever met before, and expressed her extreme 
 gratification at sight of us. 
 
 "Monsieur has seen the rooms," she said to Myrtle. 
 "It is not necessary that I ascend unless Madame 
 desires it." 
 
 Madame had no extreme longing that way, so we 
 slowly crossed the courtyard alone and entered the 
 mansion by the front door. 
 
 Myrtle did the honors with extreme enjoyment. 
 A broad-based tin candlestick awaited us on an 
 
 [372] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 ebony table in the hall. Hugh produced a parcel of 
 candles from his pocket, solemnly swaddled the end 
 of one of them in paper to steady it in the candle- 
 stick, offered Marie his arm, for it was all I could 
 do to get myself along, and marshalled us upstairs 
 with all the empressement of a host conferring the 
 freedom of his ancestral halls on a couple of dis- 
 tinguished wayfarers. Up a wide, polished stair- 
 case, along a passage, through a picture gallery, — 
 "Ancestors!" said Hugh, with a comprehensive 
 wave of the candle, — through a drawing-room full of 
 sheeted ghosts of furniture, — "Excuse the shrouds. 
 They are typical of the times" — ^from Hugh once 
 more — and so into a smaller room which opened 
 off it, and there he stopped and fixed two more 
 candles in candlesticks on the mantelpiece and ap- 
 plied a match to a bundle of suspicious-looking 
 fuel on the hearth. 
 
 "Now, how's that?" he asked. 
 
 "It is magnificent," I said, "but is it " 
 
 "Exactly, my dear boy, you've hit it. It is war." 
 
 "I was going to ask if we had any right to be 
 here." 
 
 "Pray sit down and make yourselves quite at 
 home. Miss Marie, this is the most comfortable 
 chair in the house. It is dedicated to your service 
 henceforth and forever. That is to say, until Mr. 
 the Proprietor resumes possession. Charles, my 
 friend, put aside that Doubting Thomas look and 
 be at your ease. We have absolutely as much right 
 here as the old lady downstairs." 
 
 "That may not be saying much," I said, smiling 
 at recollection of a story I had heard. 
 
 "As a matter of fact it is not. She is an inter- 
 loper. So are we. But she's in sole possession of 
 
 [373] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 the fortress, or was until five minutes ago. Now 
 we share it with her. What are you laughing at, 
 you disintegrated invalid?" 
 
 "Is she not the concierge?" 
 
 "She is — ^by her own appointment. The real con- 
 cierge and his wife were Germans. They disappeared 
 about a week ago, probably hanged as spies, which 
 quite possibly they were. This old lady saw a good 
 post going a-begging and she thought she would 
 fit it. I quite agree with her." 
 
 "So do I. Do you know that same thing hap- 
 pened at no less a place than the Tuileries? When 
 the Government went to look over it a couple of 
 months ago they were received by the Governor, 
 who showed them round and gave them lunch and 
 wine in his own apartments, and they quite enjoyed 
 their excursion. When they were leaving one of them 
 chanced to ask the affable gentleman who it was 
 that had given him the appointment. And his re- 
 ply was, 'I myself gave myself the position, Mes- 
 sieurs, just as you gentlemen have given yourselves 
 yours,' and there was nothing left to say." 
 
 "There are several sides to a siege," said Myrtle. 
 "I've had no experience of the outside, but the in- 
 side does not lack its humorous aspects. If I'd 
 known that about the Tuileries I'd have gone there, 
 but I think we can get along with this." 
 
 "How did you tumble across it?" 
 
 "You remember that boy Toussoux, the one with 
 very red hair and a ball through the lungs? The 
 old lady downstairs is his mother. He heard me 
 discussing plans with the Captain and he told me 
 to come here." 
 
 "And you will stop here with us?" I asked. 
 
 "Goodness Gracious, boy, yes ! What on earth 
 
 [374] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 do you take me for? I'm chaperon as well as 
 doctor and head nurse. K those abominable Prus- 
 sians had held that shell just a few minutes longer, 
 you see, half my r61e would have been gone " 
 
 "Possibly the whole of it." 
 
 "That's so, — ^better chaperon and doctor than 
 plugged full of Prussian shell. I am also prepared 
 to act as chief cook and principal housemaid. In 
 fact, there is absolutely no limit to the capacities in 
 which I am ready to be made use of." 
 
 "That is what comes of being a friend in need, you 
 see." 
 
 "Providence having thrown you two children on 
 my hands I expect to be called to strictest account 
 if anything goes wrong with you." 
 
 It was simply chaffing, to round the obtrusive 
 angles of the situation, and it served its purpose. 
 Marie was very quiet, but perhaps that was not to 
 be wondered at. She had fallen in with every sug- 
 gestion that had been made without a sign of ob- 
 jection. But yesterday's terrible experience must 
 have dealt sorely with nerves already bruised 
 and tender from the trying times through which 
 they had so lately passed. She trusted in us with 
 the confident trust of a child. That there really 
 was nothing else to do in no way detracted from 
 the winsomeness of it, and Myrtle, I could see, was 
 almost as much touched by it as I was myself. 
 
 "What are we going to live on. Doctor?" I asked. 
 "It's a fine cage you've brought us to, but we 
 can't Uve on the furniture and decorations." 
 
 "Ah-ha! That's a good sign. Appetite improv- 
 ing. I'm not sure we couldn't live on the furniture 
 if we were put to it. But I'm head of the com- 
 missariat, my boy, and we'll share alike." 
 
 r375] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Then we're all right. I know you won't starve." 
 
 "Starve? Not much. As soon as that fire bums 
 down a bit the soup goes on. It only needs warm- 
 ing up. And then I've got a toothsome ragout in 
 course of construction downstairs in the old lady's 
 chamber. She is to have some, so I presume you'll 
 say it's sure to be good. As for wine, there's a 
 huge cellarful down below. We'll levy on it reasona- 
 bly, and settle with Mein Herr later if he has the 
 ill-grace to ask it. If our friends in Montmartre 
 knew of it I doubt if he'd find much when he returns. 
 A la guerre comme k la guerre. However, we're 
 honest people and we'll represent the whole matter 
 to the banker, and if he's properly built he'll say, 
 'You did qvite r-r-right, mein chiltren. Maegk your- 
 selves qvite at home. Only too glad I vas not there 
 to enderdain you.' " 
 
 "You must let me help with the housekeeping, Mr. 
 Myrtle," said Marie, with a faint smile. It was the 
 first word she had spoken, and it was sweet to hear. 
 
 "When you are strong enough, Ma'm'selle," he 
 said. "But I'm in command at present, and I'm 
 going to feed you two like fighting cocks, and all 
 you've got to do is to lie still and do what you're 
 told, and get strong and fat. The bedrooms are 
 along the passage through that door. Lovely 
 feather beds and crimson silk dittos on top. Herr 
 Cent-per-cent knew how to sleep warm, at all events. 
 I'll light up the fires in the other rooms as soon 
 as I've got this soup on, and then I'll run down 
 and stir up the old lady and the ragout," and he 
 bustled about, set a black pot astride the core of 
 the fire, and emptied the contents of a tin can into 
 it. Then away with his tin candlestick to light the 
 bedroom fires, and back in no time, rolling a round 
 
 [376] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 table from a comer of the room up to the hearth, 
 flinging a cloth on it, switching out of the side- 
 board plates and knives and forks and three good- 
 sized pieces of bread, then some glasses, and finally 
 a couple of bottles of wine from a basket in the 
 comer. 
 
 "A very good Madeira," he said, as he dumped 
 down the bottles, "and an excellent port. I've sam- 
 pledboth. Ma'm'sellewill take a glass of each at each 
 meal. The disintegrated invalid is also allowed a 
 glass of each unless he reports feverish symptoms. 
 I, as head cook and chief butler, am entitled to all 
 that's left, but being of a modest and temperate na- 
 ture shall probably forego my rights. Now I'll go 
 and take a peep at the ragout lest the old lady eats 
 it all up. Don't you two let that soup boil over," 
 and off he went. 
 
 "Hugh's enjoying himself," I said, as I crawled 
 over and kissed her. 
 
 "It is very good of him," said Marie, and her 
 eyes glistened softly in the firelight. "I cannot tell 
 you, my dear, how good it is to feel oneself being 
 taken care of again. The loneliness was dreadful, 
 and the feeling that no one cared what became 
 of one. How can I ever be grateful enough to you 
 both?" 
 
 "It is we who are grateful, dearest, grateful be- 
 yond words." 
 
 "You saved my life again yesterday, Charles. It 
 is my wound you are bearing." 
 
 "The thought of that is enough to cure it, my 
 sweet." 
 
 "I wish I could bear some of the pain for you." 
 
 "I'm glad you can't. You have borne more than 
 enough." 
 
 [377] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Then every time it twinged I would say to my- 
 self, 'That is how my dear Charles loves me.'" 
 
 "I hope not." 
 
 "You know what I mean." 
 
 "Please God, my love shall never cause you a 
 twinge, darling. We will hope we have seen the last 
 of the painful times." 
 
 "Ah, it would no longer be pain, for it would only 
 tell me of your love." 
 
 Then the soup boiled over, and we had both 
 started to its rescue when Hugh came hurrying in. 
 
 "Ah-ha! Just as I expected," he said severely. 
 "King Alfred and the cakes. You were discussing 
 politics, I'll be bound. Most absorbing topic, but 
 you can't do that and watch a pot at the same 
 time. Now then, Ma'm'selle est servie. Just smell 
 that ragout. The old lady's a genuine trump. The 
 soup," he said, smacking his lips critically, and 
 looking reprehensively at us both, "is a trifle over- 
 heated, but fortunately not smoked. The ragout is 
 beyond praise — I and the old lady saw to it. I've 
 got"— and he sunk his voice to a whisper and 
 glanced warily round the room— "three apples and 
 a piece of cheese for dessert. There are two barrels 
 of American apples in the cellar, but the cheese is a 
 luxury and is to be severely rationed. Mon dieu ! 
 as they say in France, I was forgetting the coffee," 
 and he placed a curious double-bodied tin pot in 
 the embers. "The old lady asserts that if I turn 
 that upside down six times at intervals of two 
 minutes the coffee will be made." 
 
 "Hugh Myrtle, you are magnificent," I said. 
 
 "My dear boy, don't tell me you are only just 
 beginning to find that out. Why, I've known it 
 
 for " 
 
 [378] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 " But I want to know where you get your firewood 
 from?" 
 
 "Ah, well now, that's sheer impertinence, you 
 know. Still, impertinence implies convalescence. A 
 very sick man is never impertinent, so if you'll 
 promise not to tell I'll let you into the secret. It's 
 a garret door we're burning at present. There are 
 plenty more upstairs. We can settle for them along 
 with the other things, — if the absconding banker 
 demands it." 
 
 Over our coffee, which had responded excellently 
 to Myrtle's attentions, we were allowed to smoke, 
 by Ma'm'selle's special desire. And the restful time, 
 with the prospect of plenty more to follow, was in 
 itself a restorative and went far towards bringing 
 us all back to normal conditions. 
 
 The beds were all that Myrtle represented them. 
 Marie took the room next to the small parlor, 
 and Myrtle and I took the next two along the 
 passage. 
 
 Morning found us all showing satisfactory improve- 
 ment. Myrtle, as head housemaid, was up betimes 
 and lighted the fire in the sitting-room, and pre- 
 pared us coffee mixed with the new confection, con- 
 densed milk, of which he had procured a small sup- 
 ply from the hospital. He left us to prepare our 
 second breakfast for ourselves, showed us where the 
 tinned soup was, besought us not to let it boil over 
 and get spoiled, and stated that Madame Two-Sous 
 would bring up a special stew at twelve o'clock. 
 
 Then he set off for the Salp^triere and his duties 
 there and elsewhere, and we were left to our own 
 devices and the self-sufficient enjoyment of one an- 
 other's company. 
 
 The first thing to be done was obviously an in- 
 [379] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 spection of our new domain, and this we accom- 
 plished slowly and with many a rest, for Marie was 
 still not good for much exertion, and Myrtle had 
 bound me up so tightly that I felt like a lamp-post. 
 
 It was a great house, and everywhere bore the 
 impress of its owner's wealth and taste. The one 
 floor on which we were li-sing occupied us the whole 
 day. The upper regions were left for future in- 
 vestigation. The house was a comer one with 
 frontage on two streets, and represented roughly 
 two long parallelograms standing at right angles to 
 one another. The inner space, forming the court- 
 yard, was bounded by the blank wall of an adjoin- 
 ing house, and by a dividing wall which probably 
 furnished a courtyard on the other side also. The 
 rooms all looked into one or other of the streets, 
 the windows of the corridor alone giving on to the 
 courtyard. Thus the house was only one room and 
 the corridor in width, but to make up for it it 
 seemed unusually lofty. I counted five stories above 
 the one we occupied. The ground floor, I found 
 later on, was used as a suite of offices for the bank- 
 ing business. 
 
 We discovered a well-furnished library with books 
 in many languages, and gratefully selected some to 
 wile away our hours of convalescence. To my very 
 great surprise I learned from the inscriptions in 
 some of the books that the owner of the house was 
 named Yon Marcius. I wondered much if this Von 
 Marcius was in any way related to my friends of 
 Choisy. It would be strange, indeed, if I was in- 
 debted to them again for assistance in time of need. 
 There was also a well-appointed music-room, but 
 we left it alone. Our spirits were not attuned to 
 music at the moment. The sadness of our sur- 
 
 [380] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 roundings was upon us and all we wanted was rest 
 and quietness. The picture gallery was a helpful 
 feast to us. There were sunny landscapes by Cuyp, 
 and Constable, and De Wint, and they were sooth- 
 ing and restful, and lifted us for the time being out 
 of the gloomy atmosphere of snow and fog and 
 booming guns. 
 
 There were many portraits, too, and we came at 
 last on one family group of two boys and a girl, 
 which solved at a glance my question as to a pos- 
 sible relationship between my friends of the out- 
 posts and the proprietor of the house we were in. 
 
 I told Marie all about them and how they had 
 assisted me into the city, and she was greatly 
 interested. 
 
 "What a good-looking girl she is," she said, gaz- 
 ing steadfastly at the group, "and how very Ger- 
 man. She looks ready to do and dare anjrthing. 
 Her eyes are as fearless as her brothers'. They are 
 more like a man's eyes than a girl's. They are a 
 different race from us. You would never find a 
 French girl who looked like that, I think; but she 
 is very beautiful." 
 
 "She is not half so beautiful as one French girl I 
 know," and my arm shpped round the slim waist. 
 "And, personally, I don't like girls with men's eyes. 
 Girls should have girls' eyes, just like yours, my 
 sweet." 
 
 We did not let the soup boil over this time, in 
 spite of our other preoccupations. Madame's stew, 
 whatever its composition, was excellent, and the day 
 wore away all too quickly. 
 
 It has always been very strange to think of, that, 
 while we were living thus, retired from the world and 
 as far removed as we well could be from all the 
 
 [381] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 strife and clamor of the war, the keenest eyes and 
 the most powerful glasses in the German army were 
 fixed night and day on the house we were in. But 
 so it was, and we were all unconscious of it, and of 
 the very strange place we had got into, and of the 
 strange things that were to happen to us there. 
 
 [382] 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 I HAD not so far ventured to break to Marie the 
 strange news concerning her father. It must inevi- 
 tably be a great shock to her, and what her jangled 
 nerves most needed was the opiate of absolute rest. 
 All the same, it was a constraining burden to me to 
 feel that I was carrying about with me, without her 
 knowledge, a matter in which she was so vitally in- 
 terested. And when, in the course of the afternoon, 
 our talk drifted inevitably to Dinan and Kerhuel, it 
 seemed to me that to withhold the news from her any 
 longer was but to court unnecessarily painful reflec- 
 tion in the future. 
 
 So "Marie," I said, "you have no reason to be- 
 lieve I am in a state of high fever or wandering in 
 my mind, have you?" 
 
 "But no, Charles," she said, looking somewhat 
 startled. "Why?" 
 
 "Because, dear, I have something so very strange 
 to tell you that you will hardly credit it. But I may 
 tell you that Hugh Myrtle is acquainted with the 
 whole matter, and George now understands it." 
 
 "Oh, my dear," she said, gazing intently at me, 
 "whatever is it?" 
 
 "Your father, whom everybody supposed to be 
 dead, has come home " 
 
 "My— father?" she gasped. "But— mon dieu!" 
 
 I hastened to tell her the whole matter as briefly 
 and tenderly as possible, and she sat looking at me, 
 with her slim white hands twisted in her lap and a 
 
 [383] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 look of the most puzzled and pained amazement in 
 her face. Her lips moved once or twice in an in- 
 audible "Mon dieu! mon dieu!" but she said no 
 word till I had completed the story, and then, with 
 no doubt of its truth or of my sanity, either of 
 which I could readily have forgiven, she dropped her 
 face into her hands, sobbing, "Oh, the poor, poor 
 father ! What he must have suffered ! And I do not 
 know him, nor he me!" 
 
 "You will know and love one another soon, dear- 
 est, and you will comfort him for his long isola- 
 tion." 
 
 "How very strange to think that you know my 
 own father, Charles, before I know him myself." 
 
 "Yes, that is very strange, but not much stranger 
 than that I should know your father's daughter even 
 before he knows her. We will try to make up to him 
 for all the years he has lost. It is terrible to think 
 of, but, after all, it might have been still more trying 
 to you all if he had been with you, dearest, for he 
 has not been himself, you know." 
 
 "And you have no clue to the meaning of it all?" 
 
 "None, as yet. M. le Cur& holds the key, unless I 
 am very much mistaken. And since Raoul and his 
 father are dead, it is probably the sole remaining 
 key." 
 
 "Ah !" she said, with a greater intensity of bitter- 
 ness than I could have imagined in her, which yet 
 gave me new delight in her, "M. le Curfe!" and 
 thereafter I saw that her thoughts were much exer- 
 cised on the matter. 
 
 There was much turmoil in the streets that even- 
 ing, bands of men and women, from the outer fau- 
 bourgs, we judged by their looks, marching to and 
 fro in the sleety drizzle and shouting themselves 
 
 [384] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 hoarse. Myrtle was so late of coming in that we 
 began to fear something had happened to him. 
 When he did come at last he told us he had twice 
 been stopped by the mob and made to prove that 
 he was not a spy. The second time another man 
 had been arrested alongside him, and him they had 
 hanged on a lamp-post. 
 
 "It's getting dangerous to walk about the streets," 
 he said. Then, as his eye fell on the steaming soup 
 and he sniiFed it gratefully from afar, he looked at 
 us and asked, "Have you two had anything to eat 
 since I left, or have you been so busy otherwise that 
 you forgot all about it? You can't absolutely live 
 on — hm-hm, you know." 
 
 We reassured him on this point, and he fell to on 
 the soup and another stew which Madame Two-Sous 
 brought up, with an appetite bred of cold weather 
 and much hard work. 
 
 "I have been telling Marie about her father, Hugh. 
 You saw him later than I did. Will you reassure 
 her as to the prospects of his recovery?" 
 
 He looked at her with a professional eye, to see 
 what effect the strange news had had on her, and 
 then shook his head. 
 
 "I am not sure that Charles was right in telling 
 you so soon, Ma'm'selle," he said. "But under the 
 circumstances I suppose we must forgive him. I left 
 your father improving in every way. His brain was 
 quite clear. His strength was increasing every day, 
 and his greatest desire was to see his children, whom 
 he only remembered as little tots of two or three 
 years old." 
 
 "Thank you," she said quietly. "It is all so 
 strange that I think I scarcely realize it properly 
 yet." 
 
 25 [ 385 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "How are George and M. Dellieu?" I asked. 
 
 "Both getting on all right. I propose bringing 
 them here in a day or two. There's a good deal of 
 pycemia about the hospital, and it's almost impossi- 
 ble to ventilate properly there without freezing them 
 to death. Besides, there is always the risk of shells, 
 though, so far, they have escaped." 
 
 "And the rest of the boys?" 
 
 "On the whole doing well. We are isolating the 
 pyoemia cases. Many inquiries for you. I will give 
 you details later. I never like to talk shop over 
 meals." 
 
 "One other thing. Madame and Lotte — ? They 
 were very kind to me. I would like to have " 
 
 "It was impossible, my boy. I was round there 
 yesterday. There are only bare walls remaining. It 
 was beginning to bum when we left. Another shell 
 came right into the house soon after we had gone. 
 The people scattered and the house was burnt 
 out." 
 
 We passed another quiet evening, very grateful for 
 the warmth and coziness of our lodging, while out- 
 side the snow fell in slow thin flakes and the dull 
 booming of the big guns never ceased. 
 
 Myrtle seemed to me preoccupied, and less spon- 
 taneous in his gayety than usual. It was only when 
 Marie bade us an early good-night and went off to 
 her room that I asked him if anything was wrong. 
 
 "Nothing wrong," he replied, "but I'm puzzled." 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 "I'm not sure. As I came in to-night, after I had 
 passed the old lady in her den, I could have sworn I 
 saw some one in the courtyard just before I reached 
 the door." 
 
 "Why, what did you see?" 
 [386] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Well, it was very dark, and what with the fog 
 and the snow it was not easy to see at all. But I 
 got the very distinct impression of some one being 
 there. I thought it must be you and called out to 
 you. Then when I got no answer I went back to the 
 old lady and asked her if any one had entered, but 
 she asserted positively that no one had." 
 
 "That's odd." 
 
 "Yes, it's deucedly unpleasant to think of there 
 being some one about that we know nothing of." 
 
 "Perhaps you were mistaken." 
 
 "It is"" possible, but I've never been accused of 
 imagination, and the impression I got was a very 
 distinct one. Did you get all over the place to- 
 day?" 
 
 " No, only this floor. We'll do the rest by degrees. 
 What's upstairs?" 
 
 "Bedrooms above this and above them garrets, 
 mostly empty, but with good burnable doors. Some 
 few locked, lumber rooms probably. We'll overhaul 
 them one of these days. It is quite possible for 
 some one to have got in here before the old lady 
 installed herself." 
 
 "That's certainly not pleasant to think of." 
 
 "Well, we can't do anything in the dark and I'm 
 about tired out. You lock your door at night?" 
 
 "Yes. I wonder if Marie does?" 
 
 "It would only upset her to say anything about 
 it. To-morrow we'll have a look round. Firewood's 
 running low in any case, and we can make good use 
 of another door or two." 
 
 The bare 'possibility of any one else having the run 
 of the house, and of Marie possibly not locking her 
 bedroom door, kept every faculty within me on the 
 alert and banished all idea of sleeping. I piled more 
 
 [387] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 wood on my fire and set the door wide, and deter- 
 mined to keep watch all night. 
 
 It was an old house and had probably passed 
 through strange times, and all night long in its own 
 peculiar way it talked of them and groaned over 
 them, and took me tiptoe to the door a dozen 
 times in the certainty that I heard footsteps in the 
 passage. But I was always too late and the passage 
 was always empty, and after standing straining my 
 ears till they were like to burst I would retire to my 
 chair, to listen for the next uncanny creak. 
 
 But, standing so in the passage one time, I fancied 
 I heard a slight noise in the sitting-room, and sped 
 softly that way to make sure, and, instantly almost, 
 Hugh Myrtle was behind me and we went into the 
 room together. 
 
 It was empty, and lighted only by the smouldering 
 glow from the hearth. 
 
 "Did you hear anything?" asked Hugh quickly. 
 
 "I fancied so, but it may have been only fancy." 
 
 He turned quickly to the door of the big drawing- 
 room and opened it, and we went in and looked 
 about. But only the sheeted furniture glimmered 
 back at us, and there was not a sound of any kind. 
 
 "I will get a candle," said Hugh, and went back 
 into the sitting-room for one. It took him a minute 
 to light a spill of wood at the embers, and in that 
 minute it seemed to me once more that I heard a 
 faint sound, and as the glimmer of his approaching 
 candle filtered through the doorway I fancied I saw 
 a shadow flit across the deeper darkness, at the fur- 
 ther end of the big room. 
 
 "Hugh!" I cried, hastening forward as quickly as 
 I was able. 
 
 "Hello! See anything?" 
 [388] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I thought so. At the far end of the room," and 
 he came hurr3ring along after me with his hand 
 hollowed round the light. We searched the room 
 through and the passages beyond, but found nothing. 
 
 We said nothing to Marie in the morning. Before 
 Hugh went off to the hospital he and I climbed to 
 the upper story on a voyage of discovery. But we 
 found nothing of interest, beyond the fact that there 
 was much timber of one kind or another, which would 
 all be exceedingly useful to us. 
 
 A spiral iron staircase corkscrewed up to a trap in 
 the roof at the extreme end of the corridor, and 
 when we went down the other corridor, which stood 
 at right angles to the one we were in, we found a 
 similar one there. Both traps were bolted inside and 
 had no appearance of recent use. They were prob- 
 ably intended to give access to neighboring roofs in 
 case of fire. 
 
 There were four locked rooms, and we burst open 
 the door of one of them to sample it. It contained 
 only lumber, however, discarded furniture, and much 
 dust, and we left the others alone and, collecting a 
 supply of fuel, went downstairs to light the fire and 
 make the coffee. And when Hugh had partaken of it 
 he sped off to his duties, bidding me keep my eyes 
 open and not let the soup boil over. 
 
 That day passed in peace and quietness and with- 
 out any disturbance, and it seemed to me that 
 Marie grew fairer and stronger every hour. She was 
 very thoughtful over the astounding news I had 
 given her the day before, but as sweetly responsive 
 to the cravings of my hungry soul as I could have 
 desired. My heart was full to overflowing with grati- 
 tude for her safe-coming through trials so great, 
 both of mind and body. 
 
 [389] 
 
F LOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Myrtle was late again of getting home and seemed 
 much worried. I imagined some of it was due to the 
 harassments of the previous night, for I knew he had 
 slept no more than I had myself. But he told me 
 that it was the state of matters at the hospital 
 that was troubling him. Pyoemia was gaining on 
 them terribly in spite of all their efforts, and they 
 were at their wits' end how to save the men. 
 
 George and M. Dellieu were in his room and com- 
 pletely isolated, and he would bring them to our 
 house at the first possible moment, but meanwhile 
 the others were having a bad time. Man after man 
 would be going on well, then suddenly the symptoms 
 of blood-poisoning would declare themselves, and the 
 case was doomed. 
 
 "You've seen nothing more of the family ghost, I 
 suppose?" he asked, when Marie had retired. 
 
 "Not a scrap. I'm inclined to think it was nerves 
 and the creaky old house." 
 
 "I'm not so sure," he said, with a shake of the 
 head. "But I must get some sleep to-night. It's no 
 good both of us watching at the same time. Sup- 
 pose we take it in turns. And if you'll take first 
 watch, say till midnight, and then rouse me out, I'll 
 turn in now. I can hardly keep my eyes open." 
 
 I took first watch and let it run on till three 
 o'clock, as I knew he needed the rest, and I could 
 sleep during the day. 
 
 Once I thought I heard a slight sound, and I 
 crept down the corridor past Marie's room to the 
 sitting-room. As I drew near I saw a faint flicker of 
 light under the door. As I opened the door it 
 seemed to me that the other door closed. I ran 
 quickly to it and looked into the big ghostly room 
 beyond. But there was neither sound nor sign of 
 
 [390] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 anything. In the sitting-room there was a faint 
 smell of sulphur. The fire was only white ashes and 
 gave out no light whatever. This was very puzzling. 
 I could have sworn I saw a light under the door, 
 and that light certainly did not come from the fire. 
 However, there was nothing there, and the room 
 seemed exactly as we had left it. 
 
 I woke Myrtle at three o'clock and told him of my 
 little disturbance. He scolded me for my unpunctu- 
 ality, and I fell asleep the moment I lay down. 
 
 His hand on my shoulder wakened me in the 
 morning, and I found that he had had his coffee and 
 was ready to go out. 
 
 "Nothing happened," I said, "or you would have 
 called me." 
 
 "Something happened, but as I didn't see it I 
 didn't disturb you. Sure you didn't fall asleep dur- 
 ing your watch?" 
 
 "Quite sure. Why?" 
 
 "Some one came during the night and levied on 
 our bread, and I think on the tinned soup, though I 
 can't be quite sure of that." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 " I left three chunks of bread in that chiffonier for 
 breakfast, and I cut them to an exact measure. 
 Each piece is curtailed this morning. I imagined it 
 was so yesterday, but I had not measured them, so 
 could not be certain." 
 
 "That's odd. It couldn't have shrunk of its own 
 accord, I suppose?" 
 
 " Not to the extent of one inch in six. That ghost 
 is very smart and is beginning to feel hungry, my 
 boy. Just keep your eyes open and we'll try a hunt 
 through those locked garrets if I can get home in 
 daylight. Don't try it alone. You're not in fighting 
 
 [ 391 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 trim yet. I'll get back if I can," and he went off for 
 his day's battle with a deadlier enemy than the one 
 at the gates. 
 
 But the afternoon faded into night and he did 
 not come, and at last, having made the soup 
 without any accidents, we started dinner without 
 him. 
 
 "Listen, Charles!" said Marie, laying her hand 
 on my arm. And, listening intently, as she was do- 
 ing, I heard a hollow booming down below. 
 
 "What on earth is that?" I said, and started up 
 to find out. 
 
 Going out into the corridor and opening one of 
 the windows looking into the courtyard, there was 
 no doubt what it was. Some one was hammering 
 furiously on the big outer door which gave on to 
 the street. 
 
 "Myrtle for a dollar," I said to Marie, who had 
 followed me. "What's happened to the old lady, I 
 wonder? She's either fallen asleep or eaten all our 
 second dish, and it's been too much for her. I'll go 
 down and let him in. You go back into the room, 
 dear, and keep warm." 
 
 I threw on my cloak and cap and took a candle 
 and went down the passage and the wide staircase. 
 The door between the big drawing-room and our 
 parlor I had locked before dark. I had a moment's 
 doubt about leaving Marie alone, but she knew 
 nothing of the family ghost, as Myrtle called it, and 
 I did not wish to disturb her unnecessarily. I has- 
 tened down the stair and across the courtyard, 
 where the snow lay a couple of inches deep, and so 
 to the outer door. I looked into Madame Two- 
 Sous' room in the tunnel-way, but it was empty. 
 All the time at intervals the hammering continued. 
 
 [392] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 I drew back the spring bolt of the small door 
 which formed part of the large one, and Myrtle 
 stepped inside. 
 
 "Hello, Charles! what's happened? Where's the 
 old lady? I began to think I'd have to sleep on 
 the pavement." 
 
 "I don't know what's taken her," I said, as we 
 went into her little room. " It's a fortunate thing 
 we heard you." 
 
 "I'm mighty glad you did," he said. "It's a good 
 deal warmer upstairs than down, and I'm as hungry 
 as three. Did she cook us any dinner before she 
 vanished?" 
 
 "Nothing's come up," I said, and looked round 
 to see if it was anywhere visible. 
 
 But the fire was only a glowing heap of ashes and 
 there was no sign of cooking about. We poked 
 round, however, till we found the meat which was 
 evidently to have formed our meal — dark-colored 
 meat, which did not look nearly so tempting in its 
 raw state as it might do when made into ragout 
 or stew. 
 
 "Now I wonder what's taken Madame?" said 
 Myrtle. "We can't leave the door on the spring," 
 and he proceeded to bolt it. "If she comes she must 
 knock, as I did, and meanwhile we'll take the meat 
 upstairs, and a pan, and see what we can make of 
 it ourselves." 
 
 Common sense told us to take such flavorings as 
 we could lay our hands on, and with these and 
 the pan we set out for the upper regions. 
 
 Before we reached the steps leading up out of the 
 courtyard into the house itself, Myrtle gripped my 
 arm suddenly and brought me to a stand. 
 
 "You came straight across?" he asked. 
 [393] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Yes, as fast as I could, to see what all the noise 
 was about." 
 
 "And you did not go back at all?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Look there," he said, pointing downwards. 
 "What the devil does it all mean?" 
 
 There were the marks of another pair of feet 
 beside my own, and in places mixed with them — 
 a double track leading to and from the tunnel-way. 
 
 "It looks as if the old lady had gone upstairs," 
 I said. 
 
 "The old lady? Not a bit of it, my boy. The 
 old lady's feet are three times the size. That's the 
 ghost, as sure as you're alive. It rather looks as 
 if it had come out of the house, frightened the old 
 lady into the street, and then gone back again. 
 What the deuce does it all mean?" 
 
 We followed the footsteps into the house and 
 there, of course, lost them, and went thoughtfully 
 upstairs. 
 
 We reported the defection of Madame Two-Sous 
 and Marie immediately took the cooking in hand. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked, looking a little sus- 
 piciously at the dark, stringy meat. 
 
 "Well," said Myrtle, "I've an idea it's siege-beef 
 or something of that kind." 
 
 "Horse?" asked Marie. 
 
 "Well, if you corner me like that, horse or mule, 
 or something equally toothsome." 
 
 "We must stew it," she said. "You didn't think 
 to bring — ah, merci ! now we can manage all right. 
 With those and a little of the soup it will do very 
 well. But you'll have to wait some time for 
 it." 
 
 "We'll make a start with the soup and dally over 
 
 [394] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 it till the principal dish is ready," and our new 
 cook proceeded to her duties. 
 
 "Do you know, I saw no less than four fires as I 
 came along," said Myrtle. "The shells are getting 
 in their work. And we've had in three or four 
 splinter casualties to-day." 
 
 "No shells come your way yet?" I asked. 
 
 " No, they seem to be respecting the flag, as was 
 to be expected, — unless by accident." 
 
 "Things any better with you?" 
 
 "Not a bit. There were five gone this morning, 
 and there'll be more to-morrow, and we can't stop 
 it. It's horrible ! I wish to God the men at the 
 helm would come to their senses, if they have any, 
 and throw up the sponge. They haven't the ghost 
 of a chance of winning even a point in the game, 
 and what good they're hoping to do by holding 
 out is beyond any man's understanding." 
 
 The stew, when at last our arbitrary chef pro- 
 nounced it ready, was excellent, and we filled her 
 sweet face with blushes by our praises of it. Before 
 we had quite finished our meal the streets were 
 filled with the heavy roll of the gun-wheels and the 
 tramp of many marching men. 
 
 "What's up now?" said Myrtle, going to the 
 window. 
 
 "Another sortie, I expect." 
 
 "H'm, a lot more killed and wounded and never a 
 step forwarder. It's pitiful work. See there, up in 
 the sky, the coppery glow. That's a fire, and there's 
 another over yonder." 
 
 "Poor Paris! Poor France!" said Marie with a 
 sigh, as she leaned her white forehead against the 
 pane. "It is very terrible. Pity and mercy are 
 dead, and there is nothing left but cold and misery 
 
 [395] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 and desolation," and as she turned away into the 
 room her eyes were full of tears. She waved us a 
 silent good-night and went away to her room, and, 
 I have little doubt, to her knees, to pray for her 
 country as a mother prays for her erring child, 
 whom the world indeed may condemn, but who is 
 none the less her child. 
 
 [396] 
 
CHAPTER XXXn 
 
 "We must watch again to-niglit, Charles," said 
 Myrtle, "and we must watch closer than ever. I'm 
 going to lay traps," and he drew out a ball of 
 stout string, and, taking a candle, proceeded to 
 wind it round the legs of chairs and tables and 
 sofas in the big drawing-room, in so intricate a net- 
 work that a cat would have found some difficulty 
 in making its way through without falling foul of 
 it. He did the same in the passage, running his 
 line from door-handles to handles of windows or 
 any other projection he could find. 
 
 "Now, if any one goes down that passage in the 
 dark we shall at all events hear from them," he 
 said. "Will you take first watch again? And I 
 suggest your occupying this room. If you don't 
 waken me at midnight I'll doctor you to-morrow." 
 
 I smoked till midnight and never heard a sound 
 except the dull reports of the distant guns. Then I 
 woke him and turned in. 
 
 I was awakened as on the previous night by his 
 hand on my shoulder, but this time it was still 
 dark, and I found him by my bedside with a lighted 
 candle in his hand. 
 
 "Come here, quietly," he said, and waited while 
 I slipped on my coat and trousers, and then, leav- 
 ing the light in my room, led the way up the corri- 
 dor, ducking under his strings as we came cau- 
 tiously against them. 
 
 At the angle window looking into the courtyard 
 [397] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 he stopped and said in a whisper, "Look up there, 
 straight across." 
 
 And looking up and across at the roof of the 
 next house, I saw what I took at first to be the 
 hazy moon, and then I saw it slowly descend till it 
 went out of sight, and then ascend again, and then 
 again descend. 
 
 "What on earth is it?" I asked. 
 
 "It's a light," he whispered, "a lantern. It's sig- 
 nalling, and I'm ready to bet you any money it's 
 giving information about the sortie that's just 
 about to come off. That's the ghost, as sure as a 
 gun." 
 
 "Can't we stop it?" 
 
 "I'm not sure that we can, and I'm not quite 
 clear in my own mind that we have a right to try. 
 We're trespassers here, you see, and we're non-com- 
 batants, and anyhow it's not our roof. It is for 
 those chiefly concerned to stop it if they can." 
 
 "If those chiefly concerned tumble to it, and find 
 out that this house has any connection with it, 
 everybody in this house will get pretty short shrift." 
 
 "That's so, my boy. Come on upstairs and we'll 
 see what we can do. Self-preservation is a law of 
 nature, after all," and we went quietly back along 
 the corridor, got caps and cloaks, and climbed the 
 stairs leading to the attics. 
 
 We found our way to the spiral steps leading up 
 to the roof. Myrtle ran up them and began to 
 wrestle with the rusty iron bolt. While he worked I 
 glanced out of the window to see if the light was 
 still there. As I looked it was glowing at its highest 
 altitude, and the next moment it was shattered ah 
 though by a violent blow, and disappeared. 
 
 "Light's gone, Hugh," I said. "Been shot at, I 
 
 [398] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 think," and at the same moment the bolt creaked 
 back and he pushed the trap open with his head. 
 A small shower of snow fell down and the keen air 
 rushed in. 
 
 Myrtle climbed lightly on to the roof and I followed 
 him. The snow lay thinly on the roof, which was 
 almost flat. Through the dwarf pillars of a stone 
 balustrade which ran round it I counted no less 
 than a dozen fires on the south side of the river. 
 The sky on that side glowed dully and throbbed and 
 pulsed Uke molten copper. Further afield I caught 
 the boom of the big guns. The distant hills spark- 
 led with vicious spits of flame, and now and again 
 an ill-timed shell burst in mid-air, with a thin crackle 
 like a rocket. 
 
 But there was not much time for looking about. 
 Myrtle was off, through the ghostly glimmer of the 
 snow, round the angle of the roof, and I followed 
 him. A small iron ladder led up and down across 
 the party wall that divided our house from the next 
 one. We groped up and over, and then along by 
 the stone balcony till we turned the next angle, at 
 the extreme end of which we had seen the light. 
 But now all was dark and silent as the grave. 
 Then from the street below there rose a sudden 
 tumult, angry voices, and furious battering on a 
 door. 
 
 "They'll be up here in no time," said Myrtle. 
 
 He bent hastily and struck a match, and held it 
 down to the snow in the hollow of his hand, and 
 looked carefully round. 
 
 "I thought so," he said, and I saw a track of 
 footsteps which led to and from the place where we 
 stood towards the further angle of the roof. 
 
 "You get back, Charles, and step light. I'U see 
 [399] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 to this," and he took off his cloak and went cau- 
 tiously forward and I heard him swishing the snow 
 violently about to obliterate the trail leading to 
 our roof. He worked backwards towards me. The 
 hammering on the door down below continued and 
 then suddenly ceased. Hugh reached the iron ladder 
 working his big horseman's cloak like a flail. He 
 came down our side and scooped together some snow 
 and bent over and dropped it lightly on the rungs 
 on both sides. He continued his operations to the 
 other trap which we had not used. It was bare of 
 snow. He collected some and dusted it lightly. He 
 did the same with our own trap and drew it care- 
 fully down over him and shot the bolt home. Then 
 without a word he led the way rapidly round the 
 angle of the corridor till we stood by the spiral 
 stair under the other trap door. He felt along the 
 treads in the dark and after a moment's search 
 placed in my hand a little pad of snow such as 
 gathers on a man's boot. 
 
 "He came in this way," he whispered, and pro- 
 ceeded to dust the stairs vigorously with his cloak. 
 
 "We can't do any more," he said. "You wait 
 here. I'll slip down and see if all's right below," 
 and he disappeared along the corridor, while I 
 strained my ears both up and down and looked out 
 of the window. 
 
 Presently I saw lights twinkling on the roof of 
 the next house. They flitted to and fro, and at last 
 came our way. Men's feet moved about above my 
 head, and then, with exceeding thankfulness, I heard 
 a harsh voice, through the muffling of the trap 
 door, say : 
 
 "No, no one has passed this way. AUons ! it is 
 that other house. Search it from top to bottom," 
 
 [400] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 and the feet moved away. Hugh's precautions had 
 been well taken and had doubtless saved our Uves. 
 
 "All's right below," he whispered. "Anything 
 going on up here?" 
 
 I told him what had passed. 
 
 "We'd better get down and get to bed," he said, 
 "in case they take it into their heads to pay us a 
 visit." 
 
 But our adventures for the night were over and 
 we were not further disturbed. 
 
 Myrtle was up at dawn to go out with the ambu- 
 lances. The ofBcial call had probably been left at 
 the hospital after he left the previous night. Marie 
 was out of her room and preparing coffee as soon 
 as she heard us on the move. And when we had 
 had it, I went down to bolt the door after him. 
 But as soon as we opened it he stepped into the 
 arms of a picket that stood waiting there to see 
 who came out. 
 
 The officer in charge questioned us at once as to 
 who we were and what we were doing there. 
 
 We informed him that we were a branch of the 
 Salp^triere Ambulance, that I was off duty from a 
 wound, and that Myrtle was then on his way to 
 take out the vans to the front. 
 
 "Any one else in the house?" he asked brusquely, 
 as he handed us back our papers after perusal. 
 
 "Yes, Mademoiselle de Kerhuel, sister of Captain 
 de Kerhuel, of the Breton Mobiles." 
 
 "I know Captain de Kerhuel. Where is he of 
 late?" 
 
 "In the Salpfetriere, wounded by the same shell 
 that wounded me. He is to be brought here as 
 soon as he can be moved. His left arm was taken 
 off the other day." 
 
 26 [ 401 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 " I will see Mile, de Kerhuel for a moment. You" 
 — to his men— "wait here. You, Monsieur," — to 
 Hugh, — "pass on to your duties. You will be 
 wanted,"— and to me— "Now, Monsieur," and we 
 bolted the door and went across the courtyard and 
 upstairs. 
 
 Marie was much surprised at our visitor, but re- 
 ceived hini with charming naivete and answered his 
 questions — the drift of which I understood perfectly, 
 though she did not — in a way that disarmed all 
 suspicion on his part. 
 
 He accepted a cup of coffee and complimented her 
 upon it, hoped her brother would soon be all right 
 again, as good officers were none too plentiful, and 
 so rattled away downstairs and left us in peace. 
 
 [402] 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 My wound was healing well in spite of these anxie- 
 ties. There was no fever, I was feeding up well, and 
 if I lost rest at night I was always able to make up 
 for it during the day, wherein I was better off than 
 Myrtle. 
 
 That day, while Marie was busy preparing second 
 breakfast, I chmbed to the attics again, and, in spite 
 of Myrtle's instructions, succeeded with some diffi- 
 culty, because of my bandages and the necessity for 
 no undue exertion, in breaking open the doors of 
 the closed attics. 
 
 Two of the n were lumber-rooms, Uke the one we 
 had already entered. The other showed unmistak- 
 able signs of recent occupation. 
 
 There were ashes on the hearth, a comfortable 
 camp-bed in one comer, plates and cups and cook- 
 ing utensils, several tins of condensed milk — one 
 half used — several unopened bottles of wine and a 
 number of empty ones, and — of all things in the 
 world to find in such a place and at such a time 
 — on the bed lay a copy of "The Posthumous Papers 
 of the Pickwick Club." Our ghost was evidently of 
 a humorous turn of mind and capable of reading 
 EngUsh. 
 
 I listened all day for the heavy firing of the forts 
 which always preceded a sortie, but it was not till 
 evening that it began, and I was not surprised when 
 Myrtle never made his appearance at all th^^t night. 
 
 [403] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 I listened constantly in case he should be hammer- 
 ing at the gate. But he did not come, and the day 
 passed with us as quietly and happily as the days 
 usually did. It was only by night that our ghost 
 walked. 
 
 It was close on midnight when at last I heard the 
 summons on the outer door, and went down to 
 answer it. 
 
 "I'm glad to see you back, old man," I said; "I 
 was beginning to fear you had got hit." 
 
 "Not a bit of it," he said, "but I'm about as 
 done up as if I had." 
 
 "Heaps of casualties?" I g.sked, as we climbed the 
 stairs. 
 
 "Heaps and heaps. I've had most of them taken 
 to the Champs Elysfes to the Americans. Their 
 tents are capital, not a single pyoemia case there. 
 They get lots of air without being frozen. Might 
 as well shoot them on the spot as put them into 
 our wards." 
 
 We had saved him his dinner, and he ate heartily 
 and drank every drop of wine we had, while he told 
 us of the things he had seen outside at Le Bourget. 
 
 He was dead tired, and I insisted on his taking a 
 full night's rest. He attempted to discuss the matter, 
 but fell asleep in the middle of his first argument, 
 and it was with difficulty that I got him awake 
 enough to roll to his own room and fall on the bed 
 there. 
 
 I returned to the sitting-room, kissed Marie good- 
 night, and sent her off to bed. Then I got Myrtle's 
 string and wove his intricate cat's cradle between 
 the legs of the furniture in the drawing-room, and, 
 leaving the door ajar so that I might hear the 
 slightest sound, I drew Marie's chair up against 
 
 [404] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 the wall on the further side of the fireplace and sat 
 down to keep my watch. 
 
 A very comfortable chair, and very pleasant 
 thoughts of one who has just been sitting in it, 
 especially if she be the sweetest girl in all the world 
 and the possessor of one's whole heart — these things 
 are not the best accompaniments of a close and 
 careful watch. The pieces of wood on the hearth 
 burned through and fell apart, the white ashes 
 smouldered and crinkled, and I sat thinking of it 
 all — ^Marie and her mother and mine, and our dear 
 Jean, who had gone, and George, who was so 
 strangely changed, and the father, and M. le Curfe — 
 and I suppose I fell asleep. 
 
 I woke with a start, not quite sure whether I had 
 heard a sound or dreamed one. 
 
 It came again, from the other side of the table, 
 where the chiffonier stood in which we kept our 
 supplies. 
 
 The room was quite dark. The wood ashes had 
 life in them at the core but gave out no light. 
 
 I waited motionless, straining every nerve to make 
 out what it was. Again a tiny chck, as of a knife 
 against a plate, and I started up with "Hello, 
 there!" at which there came a surprised jump from 
 behind the table, and a quick rush to the drawing- 
 room door, which was the nearest. Then from the 
 cat's cradle there came a heavy fall, succeeded by 
 wild turmoil and further falls, as piece after piece 
 of furniture was jerked out of position by the frantic 
 struggles of the one in the toils. 
 
 I hastily lighted a candle and followed just in time 
 to get a glimpse of what looked like a burly figure 
 disappearing through the door at the far end of the 
 room. I made my way to it as quickly as possi- 
 
 [405] 
 
F LOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 ble, but by the time I got there the intruder had 
 vanished. The house beyond seemed as silent as 
 the grave. I went down the stairs, but the door 
 leading to the courtyard was fastened on the in- 
 side, just as I had left it after admitting Myrtle. I 
 could make nothing of it, and returned to the sit- 
 ting-room. 
 
 As soon as I heard Myrtle moving in his room in 
 the morning I went in and told «him of my experi- 
 ences. 
 
 "The ghost is materializing by degrees," he said, 
 "we shall take him in the flesh before long. Did I 
 drink up all the wine last night, Charles?" 
 
 "You did, my boy, but there wasn't much there." 
 
 "I'd an idea I did. I'm going down to the cellar 
 to get some more. I wonder if there's any chance of 
 meeting Mr. Ghost there. If I don't turn up shortly 
 you'd better come and search for my remains," and 
 he picked up the wicker basket divided into com- 
 partments in which we kept our wine, and went 
 gayly off on his errand. 
 
 Marie came out of her room, gravely sweet, as was 
 usual with her now — so very different from the merry 
 madcap who tripped barefoot across the old weir at 
 Kerhuel, yet not one whit the less charming. She 
 had gone through much since those happy days, but 
 it all made for breadth, and height, and depth, and 
 the perfecting of her sweetness. 
 
 She greeted me with a kiss and set to work mak- 
 ing the coffee, which she always made excellently 
 well. 
 
 The coffee made, we sat waiting for Hugh. 
 
 "He went to the cellar to get us some wine," I 
 explained. "His conscience pricked him at having 
 drunk us dry last night." 
 
 [406] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Is he all right again?" she asked. "He seemed 
 fagged to death." 
 
 "Oh, he's all right. A good night's rest always 
 pulls a feUow round if there's nothing else the mat- 
 ter with him." 
 
 But still we waited, and still he did not come. 
 
 "I'll go and help him with the bottles," I said, 
 and went off in the direction of the cellar, which was 
 at the other end of the house. 
 
 The door at the bottom of a flight of stone steps 
 was ajar, and as I pushed it open a voice — not 
 Myrtle's voice — cried in French, "Help me! I have 
 shot him." 
 
 I had stupidly come without a candle, but I had 
 matches, villainous sulphur things that burned pale 
 smells before they gave any light. I struck one, and 
 as it glimmered into life I got a glimpse of the 
 astounding sight of Hugh Myrtle stretched full 
 length on the floor, with his head on the knees of a 
 boy in a blouse who was bending over him. 
 
 "Hello !" I cried. "What's the matter here?" and 
 the match went out. 
 
 " Oh, help me !" said the boy, in English. " I have 
 shot him. I fear he is dead, but I did not mean to 
 kill him." 
 
 "Help me to carry him upstairs and we will see 
 what's wrong with him," and I set another match 
 fuming. 
 
 "Ah, I cannot help. I cannot walk." 
 
 I bent over Myrtle and ran my hand inside his vest. 
 
 "Will you wait here with him till I get a light?" 
 I said. 
 
 "I will wait. Is he badly hurt?" 
 
 "I cannot examine him here. But his heart is 
 fairly good." 
 
 [407] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 I went back at once and decided that I must ask 
 Marie to help me, as I could not possibly get him up 
 two flights of stairs all alone. 
 
 "He's had an accident, Marie," I said, as I got the 
 candle, " and is lying in the cellar unconscious. Will 
 you give me a hand with him, dear; I cannot manage 
 him alone?" 
 
 "But surely," she said, and hastened to follow me. 
 
 "What was it, then?" she asked, as we hurried 
 along the passage. "Did he fall?" 
 
 "I can't say what's wrong till I've examined him. 
 There's a boy down there with him." 
 
 "A boy! Why, where did he come from?" 
 
 "That I don't know either. But he says he can't 
 walk and so he couldn't help me with Hugh," and 
 we went down the stone steps into the cellar. 
 
 And surely we made a strange enough group there. 
 The candle flickered dimly on the vaulted roof, and 
 winked back at us from the wide round eyes of the 
 bottles in the serried bins, and cast grotesquely 
 dancing shadows when we moved. Hugh still lay 
 there motionless, with his head on the boy's knees. 
 Marie bent over them with her white face full of pity 
 and concern, and the boy in the blue blouse looked 
 up at her with wide, anxious eyes. 
 
 "He is not dead," he said. "I can feel his heart 
 beating," and Marie drew back and gazed steadily 
 at him. 
 
 "Now, Marie dear, if you will lift his feet," I said, 
 "I will try his shoulders," and we lifted him with 
 difiiculty, for a man's body is no light weight, and 
 carried him slowly to the stairs, and rested him 
 there for a moment. 
 
 "You must come too," I said to the boy. 
 
 "I cannot put my foot to the ground," he said. 
 [408] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 " If you will wait I will come and help you. What's 
 the matter with it?" 
 
 "It is hurt." 
 
 "Well, wait and I'll see to it. I am a doctor," 
 and we bent again to our burden. 
 
 It was a heavy pull up the stairs, and I felt my 
 half-healed wound break open before we got to the 
 top. But there was nothing else for it, and we 
 managed it. And at last, with infinite difficulty, we 
 got him to his room, and dragged the mattress off 
 the bed and laid him on it, for lift him on to the 
 bed we could not. I begged Marie to return to the 
 boy. I had a quite unnecessary fear lest he should 
 escape. 
 
 "It is not a boy, Charles," she said. "It is a girl 
 in boy's clothes." 
 
 "Are you quite sure, Marie?" I asked, in great 
 surprise. 
 
 "Quite sure. Could you not tell by her voice?" 
 
 "I did not notice it specially. I was thinking 
 only of Hugh. If you will go to him— her, I mean- 
 dear, I will just see what is wrong here and come 
 to you in a moment," and she sped back to the 
 cellar. 
 
 The bullet had entered at the base of Hugh's 
 neck and gone downwards towards the back. He 
 had probably ducked at sight of the revolver close 
 against his face, for the skin was blackened with the 
 discharge. 
 
 I bound up the wound, which, though small, was 
 bleeding freely. The bullet had to wait, as I had no 
 tools to extract it with. I got him some cognac 
 from the bottle we used with our after-dinner coffee, 
 and he opened his eyes as it trickled down his 
 throat. 
 
 [409] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "What's happened?" he asked quietly. 
 
 "You got shot in the cellar. I've tied you up and 
 we'll get the bullet out later." 
 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 "Down among your shoulder-blades, I should say. 
 Just lie quiet for a bit, old chap, and remember I'm 
 doctor now." 
 
 "Did you catch the fellow?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm going down for him now. Marie says 
 he's a girl." 
 
 "A what?" he said, trying to sit up. 
 
 "A girl, my boy. A kind of female boy, don't you 
 know?" 
 
 "I've heard of them," he said, "but I never came 
 across one of this kind before. Go and bring her up 
 and let's have a look at her." 
 
 Marie and the new-comer were coming slowly 
 along the passage as I came out of his room, and 
 the young person in the blouse and trousers was 
 hopping along with twisted face and one foot droop- 
 ing behind and her arm through Marie's. I went to 
 help, and we got her into the easy-chair in the 
 sitting-room. 
 
 "Now let me see to that foot. What is wrong 
 with it?" I said, looking into her face in a clear 
 light for the first time; and in an instant I knew 
 who she was. 
 
 The large blue eyes looked up into mine without 
 any sign of fear in them, though they were troubled 
 and anxious enough. 
 
 "It is sphrained," she said in English, with scarce 
 a trace of accent but with a curious guttural catch 
 on the r. 
 
 She drew off her stocking without a moment's 
 hesitation but with not a little difficulty, and showed 
 
 [410] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 a well-shaped foot swollen to twice its proper size 
 and almost black with the irritation. 
 
 "Will you get me hot water, Marie dear, as hot as 
 you can and as quick as you can. We must see to 
 this at once. It is painful, Fraulein, I am sure." 
 
 She glanced up quickly at me, and said, "Yes, it 
 hurts. How do you know me?" 
 
 "I met your brothers outside. They were very 
 kind to me. I shall be glad to pay back some of 
 my debt." 
 
 "Heinrich? and Leo? Oh, I am glad," she cried, 
 with a blaze in the big blue eyes. "How are they? 
 I have had no news for — oh, months and months." 
 
 "Leo was all right. Heinrich lost an arm at 
 Choisy, and would be invaUded home." 
 
 "Which arm?" she asked quickly. 
 
 "The right, from the shoulder." 
 
 "That is bad. He is out of it, then." 
 
 "He's safe, at all events." 
 
 "How is your fhriend? Is it a bad wound?" 
 
 "The bullet went in at the neck and is somewhere 
 in his back. I will get it out as soon as I can get 
 my tools from the hospital. Why did you shoot 
 him?" 
 
 "Oh, I did not hreally mean to," she said peni- 
 tently. "You two have hunted me almost to death, 
 and last night you bhroke my ankle with your de- 
 testable st-hrings among the chairs" — and Marie's 
 eyes grew wider as she hstened. 
 
 "I am sorry," I said. 
 
 "Then he came down and caught me in the wine- 
 cellar. Oh, it was torture to get there," and her 
 face twisted again at the recollection; "and it was 
 very dismal, and all night long the hrats had been 
 coming about and I had to hrattle things to keep 
 
 [411] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 them away. Your fhriend came whistling down the 
 stair — it was the Faust chorus he was whistUng. I 
 was t-hrying to c-hreep out of sight when he opened 
 the door and heard me. He called out 'Who goes 
 there?' and then he came st-hraight at me. I had 
 pulled out the hrevolver when I heard him coming. 
 I chried 'Keep back!' and then when he jumped at 
 me my sick foot went down on something that 
 wriggled — a hrat, I think — and I sc-hreamed, and the 
 hrevolver went off, and he fell, and I thought I had 
 killed him and I had never killed any one before." 
 All this with much animation and evident relief in 
 the telhng. 
 
 "You will tell him I did not mean to hurt him, 
 will you not?" 
 
 "Yes, I'll tell him. He is very anxious to see what 
 kind of a young lady it was that shot him." 
 "He is alive again, then?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, he's alive again, and will be, I hope, for 
 a very long time. He's too good a man to lose. 
 How is that now?" as Marie rested from her fomen- 
 tation for a moment. 
 
 "That makes it more comfortable," she said, "and 
 being upstairs again and among— fhriends ? may I 
 say it?" 
 "Certainly," I said. 
 
 "This was my morning-room," she said; and then 
 suddenly, "I would so like something to eat. Have 
 you got anything?" 
 "We've got plenty of soup but not much meat." 
 "Soup ! Oh, do please give me some soup. I am 
 famished." 
 
 Marie already had some on the fire in the sauce- 
 pan, and she placed a savory plateful before the 
 hungry girl at once. 
 
 [412] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Thousand thanks," said she, and began taking 
 it up with a speed which showed her appetite. " May 
 I have a Uttle piece of bhread, please?" 
 
 "Somebody has been stealing — ^no, helping them- 
 selves to — our bread," I said laughing, as I cut a 
 small piece and handed it to her. 
 
 "I got very little," she said, looking up quickly, 
 "hardly a nibble, and I was very hungry," and my 
 dear Marie looked so puzzled at these references that 
 I had to explain everjrthing to her on the spot. 
 
 "And you kept it all from Mademoiselle?" said the 
 other. 
 
 "Yes, we did not want her to be troubled. We 
 have watched here every night for fear you should 
 murder her in her bed." 
 
 "What a horrible thing to think of! As if I 
 would murder anybody" — and then, at some thought 
 within her, her face and neck dyed crimson. And it 
 was not Hugh Myrtle she was thinking of, unless I 
 am very much mistaken. 
 
 It was Myrtle's voice at the door, however, that 
 said cheerfully, as he came into the room : 
 
 "Well, I don't know. It seems to me you did 
 your very best to make an end of me, young 
 lady." 
 
 "I have explained all that, sir, to your fhriends 
 here. And besides, it was you who attacked me. I 
 acted only in self-defence. And besides again, if it 
 had not been for the hrat the hrevolver would not, 
 I think, have gone off at aU." 
 
 "The hrat?" said Myrtle. 
 
 "Yes, it got under my foot and fhrightened me, 
 and the hrevolver went off and shot you," and at 
 some incongruous conjunction of ideas which this set 
 going in Myrtle's head he started laughing. 
 
 [413] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Why do you laugh at me?" she asked, with a 
 touch of very pretty anger. 
 
 "Oh, I'm not laughing at you, Fraulein, only at 
 some notions your words started in my brain. 
 That's a very bad foot. You'll have to take care of 
 it." 
 
 "That is your work, sir," she said. 
 
 "Oh, I'll be glad to take charge of it," he said 
 quizzically. 
 
 "I mean you did it." 
 
 "No," he said, looking critically at the swollen 
 member. "I think not. I do not recognize my 
 handiwork." 
 
 "You tied st-hrings about the next hroom the 
 night before last and I fell over them." 
 
 "The night before last," he said, "I was out all 
 night with the ambulances picking up wounded 
 men." 
 
 "Ah!" she said, and her face and neck dyed red 
 again under his look, and she was silent. 
 
 "I am sorry," she said presently, looking straight 
 at him. "I hope you will not suffer much." 
 
 "I'll try you a race who'll be well first, Fraulein, 
 and I'll undertake to beat you by several weeks." 
 
 "I shall be glad," she said simply. 
 
 Presently, the twisted foot being bound up in com- 
 presses, Fraulein von Marcius begged Marie to ac- 
 company her to her own room, and while they were 
 away I got Myrtle to readjust the dressings on my 
 back. 
 
 "Why, how did that happen?" he asked. "You 
 ought to know enough by this time to keep a wound 
 from breaking open, especially a wound of your 
 own." 
 
 "Well, I couldn't leave you and the Fraulein iu the 
 [414] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 cellar, you know," I said meekly. "It would not 
 have been seemly." 
 
 "I see. I'm sorry, old chap. I suppose I am a 
 pretty good weight when I'm stiff. It's a pity. It 
 was healing so nicely. But we'll soon have it all 
 right again." 
 
 "I'll take a rest till after breakfast, then I think I 
 could get as far as the hospital. I want that bullet 
 out of you as soon as possible." 
 
 "Yes, I'd sooner have it out than in. But I doubt 
 if they can spare you a man at SalpfetriSre. They've 
 got their hands full, and if you try it yourself you'll 
 probably burst yourself open again. I'd sooner have 
 one of the Americans, if you think you could manage 
 that far. They're 'dreffle smart' after bullets." 
 
 "I'll get you Marion Ray if he's still there. He's 
 a clinker. He saved dear old Smartte's leg when 
 Morin was aching to have it off." 
 
 "He's the man for me. Tell you what, Charles, 
 that's a fine piece of girl we've discovered. Did you 
 ever see such eyes ? Blazers, aren't they ? And what 
 pluck she must have to have stopped on here. I 
 wonder why she did it?" 
 
 "It was her brothers I met outside and they 
 helped me through. They're a plucky breed, I should 
 say. Don't you go falling in love with her or you'll 
 have internal complications, and probably go off 
 into a fever." 
 
 "Is that how it takes one? I believe I do feel a 
 bit feverish," he grinned. 
 
 When we returned to the sitting-room it suddenly 
 struck him that after aU we had no wine for break- 
 fast, and we must both go down and fetch it. 
 
 "She was trying to get behind that bin," he said, 
 holding up the candle, "when I caught sight of her, 
 
 [415] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 and it must have been just here that she shot 
 me " 
 
 " This is what you came for, I suppose," and I 
 picked up a small revolver from the floor and handed 
 it to him. 
 
 "Ah, thanks. Now we'll get the wine. That's the 
 Madeira, and here's the Port. Where's that basket? 
 I've an idea I threw it at her. That's it. Three of 
 each will be enough for this journey. We'll take a 
 couple of bottles of Rhine wine as well, in case the 
 Fraulein prefers it," and between us we conveyed 
 our liquor safely home. 
 
 't^lSi] 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 At first we hardly recognized the two elegant 
 young ladies who awaited us in the sitting-room. It 
 was "Freda" and "Marie" with them by this time, 
 by Freda's insistence, I think, as she was much the 
 more spontaneous of the two, which, perhaps, under 
 all the circumstances of the case, was not to be 
 wondered at. She had prevailed on Marie to let 
 Germany repair the deficiencies of France's toilet 
 from her own ample stores, and the result was very 
 satisfactory both to themselves and us. Do not tell 
 me that handsome clothing does not enhance the 
 charms and minister to the susceptibilities of beauti- 
 ful women. No woman but feels happier and more 
 kindly disposed to all mankind, — and even to wo- 
 mankind, unless the latter be much better dressed 
 than herself, — when she feels that her costume is 
 doing her justice. 
 
 I wondered much if Marie understood the nature of 
 the business Freda had been engaged on, and from 
 quiet observation I was incKned to think that she 
 did, for there was a sHght but unmistakable reserve 
 in her manner which was very unusual with her. 
 Later in the day, when we were alone together, I 
 questioned her and found that it was so. Freda, 
 with the unfiinching honesty of a magnanimous 
 soul, had insisted on telling her the whole story. 
 She would have no false pretences, she said. And 
 while Marie acknowledged the loftiness of the ideal 
 27 [ 417 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 which prompted this, she confessed that she found it 
 difficult to get over the thought that our new friend 
 had been devoting all her energies — "And risking her 
 life," I interjected — to the furnishing of information 
 to the enemy outside, and so assisting materially in 
 the downfall of France. 
 
 "I think it was rather fine of her to tell you, 
 dearest. For, situated as she is, she must long for 
 your sympathy and friendship, and in telling you 
 she must have been aware that she risked losing 
 both. Suppose now, Marie, you were in, say,Valerien, 
 and George and his men were encamped in the rear. 
 K you saw a Prussian division coming stealthily 
 down on them and they unaware of it, what would 
 you do?" 
 
 "Warn them, of course, and as quickly as I could. 
 Yes, I see, Charles, she has only done the same, but 
 still " 
 
 "I fully sympathize, dear, with your feeling. But 
 remember, war is a terrible game. Her brothers 
 were outside there. An unexpected sortie might 
 destroy them. Could she, if she had the chance, do 
 much less than she did? And, candidly, if she has 
 done anything which assists in shortening these 
 times for France by one single hour she has done 
 much. The end is inevitable, and the sooner it 
 comes the better for France and for all of us." 
 
 "I fear it is so," she said mournfully. "Poor, 
 poor France!" and thereafter the two girls became 
 very friendly, and I was glad of it, for the com- 
 panionship was good for both of them. 
 
 After breakfast I made a slow pilgrimage to the 
 Champs Elysfees — where the necessities of the times 
 were brought home to me by the fact that they were 
 felling the trees for fuel— and succeeded in inducing 
 
 [418] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Marion Ray to come along with me and root out 
 the bullet from between Myrtle's shoulder-blades. 
 
 It was well in and the extraction was somewhat 
 painful. But he declined chloroform, as he said he 
 wanted to see what we were doing. He had cut 
 many a man but had never been cut himself, and he 
 wanted to see how it felt. It took a good deal out 
 of him, however, and he confessed that it did not 
 feel nice and that chloroform was a gift of Provi- 
 dence. He was very quiet for the rest of the day, 
 and Freda and Marie made up their minds that he 
 was going to die, and were very attentive to him 
 with a view to smoothing his passage. 
 
 I think he would have liked to keep up that idea 
 in their minds, but his natural activity and liveliness 
 forbade it, and the next day he insisted on getting 
 up and joining us at meals. 
 
 "We thought you were dying," said Freda, with a 
 mixture of reproach and apology for their ample 
 ministry of the previous day. 
 
 " I would like you to go on thinking so," he said, 
 "but I can't coddle up even when I'm dying. I 
 always die standing or walking." 
 
 "You are an impostor," said Freda. 
 
 Marion Ray was so delighted with our mfenage 
 that he hinted that Hugh's case was serious enough 
 to necessitate a resident doctor. And when that 
 would not work he inquired our terms "en pension,'' 
 and when we put them so high that he could not 
 reach them, he gravely intimated that it was not the 
 correct thing for four young people to live together 
 as we were doing without some elderly man to look 
 after them, but being cornered confessed that he was 
 only thirty-two, and we declined his offer on that 
 sole ground. 
 
 [419] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Freda discouraged any discussion of the part she 
 had been playing, but, bit by bit, we learned that 
 she had been too ill with a low fever at the time of 
 the investment to be removed. And her father, with 
 no possible idea of the lengths to which the matter 
 would run, had perforce consented to her remaining 
 behind with her old nurse and the latter's husband, 
 who acted as concierge and office-keeper. After the 
 first sortie, Freda, knowing the importance to the 
 besiegers of information of similar attempts, boldly 
 undertook to convey it by signals from the house 
 top. She constructed a code which would enlighten 
 Headquarters as to the probable locality of attack, 
 and sent old Helm, the door-keeper, to convey it, by 
 hook or by crook, to its destination. That he suc- 
 ceeded in some way in getting through she knew by 
 a pre-arranged signal, and thereafter she took her 
 life in her hand and sent out the news of each sortie 
 as soon as she could learn its probable direction. 
 Frau Helm had ministered to her faithfully and well, 
 till one day, going out into the streets on some 
 errand, she never came back, and Freda had no idea 
 what had become of her. Madame Two-Sous' annex- 
 ation of the lodge had caused her much annoyance, 
 but she had no difficulty in getting out through the 
 roof and it did not interfere with her freedom of 
 circulation. She had lived for the most part in the 
 top attic where I found the copy of Pickwick, but 
 our usurpation of the premises, and especially of 
 this particular sitting-room, had driven her to ex- 
 tremities, since all her supplies were there. 
 
 "And you have not found them?" she said gayly, 
 " or there would be a big hole in them, you hungry 
 people," and she showed us a cunningly contrived 
 closet in the wall between the sitting-room and the 
 
 [420] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 next bedroom, one of those tiny secret chambers 
 which were common enough adjuncts to the houses 
 of the period in which this was built — the period of 
 intrigues and spyings and concealments. The door 
 in the wall was fitted so delicately as to be practi- 
 cally invisible. It opened at touch of a button in 
 the carved mantel, "which, however," said Freda, 
 with a reminiscent smile, "is not too easy to find in 
 the dark. I was there one night when one of you 
 came in and nearly caught me. I had to Hght a 
 match to find the button and I but just slipped into 
 the little hroom when you came in. That was the 
 night I took some bhread, because I had other 
 things but no bhread. I thought if I took a Uttle 
 slice off each piece you would not notice it." 
 
 "Ah," said Hugh, with much enjoyment, "I had care- 
 fully measured each time. You took exactly an inch." 
 
 "It was abominable of you," said Freda. 
 
 "If we had been introduced and I had known you 
 were short, I would have left you out a ration," he 
 laughed. "But, you see, I did not know what a 
 very nice hrat was favoring us with its attentions. 
 It puzzled me much to know how it was trimmed so 
 neatly." 
 
 "Now you are laughing at me," she said, "and I 
 will heap fire-coals on your head by giving you of 
 my store. That is good for evil," and she Umped to 
 the hearth. 
 
 "Well, I don't know," said Hugh, "you had our 
 bread." 
 
 "Very tiny sHces," she said, as she touched the 
 button. The narrow door swung silently back, and 
 she hopped inside the closet and was back in a mo- 
 ment with a pot of preserved meat and a glass jar 
 of jam. 
 
 [421] 
 
FLO WERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "There, Herr Myrtle," she said, "that is nicer 
 than horse. But potted meat and jam without 
 bhread make one feel sick, and with only meal they 
 are not much better. There is plenty more inside 
 there, and there is treacle-milk any quantity, but it 
 is sickly alone, and you are welcome to them all in 
 exchange for your three very small measured inches 
 of not very good bhread." 
 
 At which, and the assumption of scorn on the 
 pretty face, Hugh laughed aloud, and when he had 
 served her and Marie with some of the meat he de- 
 clared it the very best he had ever tasted. 
 
 "Of course it is," said Freda. "I made it myself 
 before I was ill. The jam also." 
 
 " Potted meat and jam are the worst things in the 
 world for a sprained ankle," he said gravely, "and 
 the very best things for gunshot or shell wounds. 
 That foot of yours will never get well unless you 
 keep it quite still. If you will show me the spring, 
 Fraulein, I will relieve you of the necessity of hop- 
 ping into that closet at all " 
 
 "And relieve me of all my good things too, nicht 
 wahr?" 
 
 " But you have just given them to me, Fraulein." 
 
 " Ach, well then, ghreedy ! We will share them." 
 
 "I would wish for nothing better." 
 
 Among other things she told us that Hugh and I 
 nearly walked over her oh the roof that other night. 
 "I was c-hrouching down by the dividing wall where 
 the iron ladder is when you came over. But I was 
 under a sheet. I always wrapped myself in one when 
 there was snow. And I peeped in one night at you 
 two when you sat here smoking, before you began 
 t3ring st-hrings about. It was so very hrude of you 
 making free with our house like that that I should 
 
 [422] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 probably have shot you if it had not been for 
 Mademoiselle ' ' 
 
 "Not without a hrat there surely," said Hugh. 
 
 "Wait till I hear you t-hry to talk German, Mein 
 Herr," she said, "and then I shall laugh at you 
 also." 
 
 At which Myrtle broke out into a rapid flow of her 
 native language which surprised me almost as much 
 as it did Freda. Her big blue eyes shone with 
 pleasure. 
 
 "Ah, the dear tongue," she said. "Why, you 
 speak it very well indeed. How did you learn to 
 speak it so well?" 
 
 "I never learned it. It came natural. You see, 
 we're almost German out in Java — Dutch, you know 
 — and my mother was more German than Dutch, so I 
 have spoken it since the day I was bom." 
 
 "Ah! you are from Java and almost German," 
 said Freda, and she regarded him with new and 
 benevolent interest. 
 
 I asked her if it was she who had disposed of 
 Madame Two-Sous, or if she knew what had become 
 of the old lady, and she answered quietly, "I did 
 not kill her, if that is what you mean, but I did 
 f brighten her nearly out of her wits with my white 
 sheet. You see, she Lad no bright there any more 
 than you had. She stood me as long as she could, 
 and then I think she hran away." 
 
 The day after Myrtle's accident, as it was ad- 
 visable for him to take things easily for a day or 
 two, and I was the better man of the two, I made 
 my way to the hospital to give what assistance I 
 could, and especially to see if George and M. Dellieu 
 were yet in a fit state to be moved. 
 
 Dr. Morin and the rest gave me hearty welcome 
 [423] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 and were full of regrets for Myrtle, but they all had 
 very sober faces, and when I went into the wards I 
 was shocked and saddened by the gaps in the ranks 
 of those I knew. The Reaper with his pestilential 
 scythe had been busy, and one after another had 
 sickened and died, doubly regretted by their harassed 
 attendants, since, under different conditions, they 
 might have been saved. 
 
 I described to Morin all I had seen at the American 
 Ambulance in the Champs Elys&es, and suggested 
 rigging up tents in the hospital grounds, since the 
 bombardment had materially diminished and no 
 shells had ever come their way. He was aware of 
 the wonderful results of the American system, but 
 confessed at last that, in the chaotic state of public 
 affairs, he did not know where to procure the funds 
 necessary for the installation. I had still a consid- 
 erable sum in the hands of the American Minister, 
 Mr. Washbume, and I offered on Smartte's account 
 to provide all that was wanted. This offer he grate- 
 fully accepted and I promised to get him the money 
 that day. After going the rounds and cheering up 
 the boys as well as I could, I went up to Myrtle's 
 room and found George and M. Dellieu impatiently 
 awaiting my coming and their own removal. For, 
 well as they were attended to, they found it dreary 
 work lying there, and having heard from Hugh of 
 our sumptuous quarters, they were keen to share 
 them. 
 
 With Dr. Morin's consent I procured a carriage 
 then and there, though not without difficulty, and 
 surprised our friends in the Rue de la Monnaie by 
 suddenly landing these two new patients in their 
 midst. 
 
 We introduced Fraulein von Marcius simply as the 
 [424] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 daughter of the proprietor of the house and our 
 hostess, and I strongly advised Marie and Hugh and 
 Freda herself to make no mention of other matters 
 lest the harmony of our circle should be endangered. 
 
 Then I took my hardly discovered carriage on to 
 the American Legation, and was fortunate enough 
 to find Mr. Washbume there, hearty and cheerful as 
 usual, but, as he confessed to me, exceedingly sick of 
 the whole business, and anxious only, since the end 
 was inevitable, to see it come as speedily as possible. 
 
 " Paris is ruining the whole country," he said, with 
 much emphasis, "and doing herself no good. France 
 is licked down to the ground, and the sooner she 
 knuckles under and starts building afresh the better. 
 It's been a mighty big clearing, but events have 
 proved that it was needed." 
 
 I told him what I wanted the money for and he 
 cordially approved, and asked after Smartte, of 
 whom I had, of course, no news since last I saw 
 him. 
 
 About the ambulances he said, " Our boys cut their 
 eye-teeth in our own war, and what they don't 
 know about gunshot wounds and pyoemia and 
 everything else of the kind is not much worth know- 
 ing. If I can be of any service to you, let me know." 
 
 "Will it last much longer, do you think, sir?" I 
 asked him. 
 
 "God knows!" he said. "I never expected they'd 
 hold out half the time, but I don't think the people 
 outside will let it go on much longer. If it's bad for 
 us inside it's bad for them too — terribly wearing 
 work all round. No, I don't think it can go on very 
 much longer, and the sooner it ends the better." 
 
 I drove back to the Salpetriere and spent the rest 
 of a busy day getting things into shape for coping 
 
 [425] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 with the Scytheman. And, to make an end of that, 
 I may say that after the first week of keeping the 
 pyoemia cases under canvas, well-warmed but well- 
 ventilated, we never lost a man. 
 
 When I got back home I found the enlarged family 
 anxiously awaiting my return. I could hardly help 
 smiling at the mixture of incongruous elements of 
 which it was composed. Captain George, — sombre 
 and silent, as was but natural, but visibly glad to 
 be in such comfortable quarters ; M. Dellieu — gravely 
 cheerful under the pain of his wounds and very 
 grateful for every attention; Marie — just her own 
 sweet self, clouded with the sadness that hung over 
 her country, but active in ministry to all and sun- 
 dry; Freda von Marcius — full of exultation at the 
 new-bom prowess of her country, visibly tuning her 
 mood with some difficulty lest it should strike dis- 
 cord with her surroundings, and not altogether 
 sorry now, I think, that her accident disabled her 
 from further active participation in the war; Hugh 
 Myrtle — hugely enjoying his enforced holiday and the 
 cause and causer of it, with whom he spoke English 
 or French at meals and gabbled sonorous incompre- 
 hensibilities in quiet corners by way of relaxation. 
 
 For myself, I was very grateful and completely 
 happy at the restoration of my dear girl with so 
 little sign now of the trials through which she had 
 come. I was completely happy in the present and 
 full of hope for the future, and mercifully the future 
 was hidden from me. 
 
 I could see no reason why our marriage, so sadly 
 interrupted on the last occasion, should not now be 
 earned out. Marie was quite willing. I discussed 
 the matter with George and M. Dellieu and they 
 fully approved. When Freda von Marcius heard of 
 
 [426] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 it she was as eager for it as if it had been her own 
 wedding. And Hugh Myrtle privately informed me 
 that if I would wait a short time we might perhaps 
 manage a double wedding, as he intended to marry 
 Freda, who was — next to Ma'm'selle Marie, he diplo- 
 matically explained, — the nicest girl in the world. I 
 wished him luck but declined to wait. From every 
 point of view it seemed good that we should wed at 
 once and, subject to the procuring of a complaisant 
 mayor or registrar, it was decided on. 
 
 The official difficulties dispersed before a letter 
 which George gave me to a friend of his, one Cap- 
 tain Derennes, whom I found at the Louvre in at- 
 tendance on General Yinoy, whose star seemed some- 
 what in the ascendant. 
 
 Captain Derennes proved to be our visitant of the 
 morning which followed our adventures on the house- 
 top. He was delighted to see me again, and to hear 
 good news of his friend's recovery. 
 
 "We want him back badly," he said, "arms or no 
 arms. He had more influence over these wild Breton 
 cattle than any man we've had. He could talk to 
 them in their own ghastly patois, and they liked 
 him. And you are to marry Mile, de Kerhuel, M. 
 Glyn? That was the charming demoiselle I met 
 that morning, was it not? I congratulate you. 
 I'll find you a registrar, and if he offers any ob- 
 jections I'll make his hair stand up or come off. 
 The times do not permit of standing on ceremony 
 in matters of moment. You will permit me to as- 
 sist also?" 
 
 "I was going to venture to ask if your duties 
 would permit of it, M. le Capitaine." 
 
 "They are flexible. Things are going to the 
 devil," he said bitterly. "We have too many cooks 
 
 [427] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 and the soup is in the fire. When is it to be, Mon- 
 sieur?" 
 
 "The sooner the better. Shall we say to-morrow 
 at five o'clock?" 
 
 "Understood ! I will be there with the little offi- 
 cial, and I assure you in advance that he will do 
 just what I tell him." 
 
 And we parted the best of friends. 
 
 My news of the time fixed for the ceremony set 
 more pots than one a-boiling. Marie and Freda 
 had their heads together at once and were thence- 
 forward unapproachable by ordinary human men. 
 
 After much confabulation they bore down upon 
 me, however, as the forefront of the oifence and the 
 principal cause of all their agitations, and peremp- 
 torily ordered me to procure bread for the company 
 to-morrow. Briefly put, the ultimatum amounted 
 to this — no bread, no wedding, and bread I vowed 
 there should be if I had to make it myself, at which 
 they raised their hands in horror. 
 
 I consulted the men, and George again brushed 
 aside our difiiculties by asserting that he was en- 
 titled to rations during the next ten days, which he 
 had set as the Hmit of his convalescence, and he 
 promised me another letter to Captain Derennes on 
 the morrow which would procure both bread and 
 meat. So that cloud was dissipated, and the ladies 
 retired in good order to Freda's apartment, to 
 wrestle with other and more intricate matters, into 
 which we lower mortals were not allowed to in- 
 trude by even so much as a question. 
 
 [428] 
 
CHAPTER XXXY 
 
 At five o'clock on the following day Marie and I 
 stood once more before the registrar and M. Del- 
 lieu to be married, and in my heart I prayed fer- 
 vently that this time there might be no intervention 
 of the Fates. 
 
 My dear girl was pale with excitement, which, 
 under the circumstances, was not to be wondered at, 
 but she looked supremely lovely, and if the sweet 
 face was tremulous with emotion the large dark 
 eyes shone steadfast as. faithful twin stars. 
 
 Fraulein von Marcius had evidently flung wide 
 the doors of a generous wardrobe for their joint 
 benefit, and by contrast with their radiant attire 
 we men looked and felt painfully shabby and thread- 
 bare. But our garments had been worn out by hon- 
 orable service in a good cause, and in our hearts we 
 were conscious of duty well done. Still, no matter 
 how one's heart may swell with pride of performance, 
 clothes do count for something when one is attend- 
 ing one's own wedding. The registrar, whom Cap- 
 tain Derennes had brought with him according to 
 contract, and in a fit and proper state of mind, 
 glanced at the ladies and then at the bridegroom, 
 and seemed a trifle doubtful whether so charming 
 a bride was not committing some dreadful faux pas 
 in wedding so dilapidated an object. He was too 
 polite to say anything, however, and besides, he was 
 little better furnished himself. When he heard that 
 I was an Englishman he gave a slight shrug as 
 
 [ 429 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 much as to say "Ah, that accounts for it," and I 
 have no doubt he has hved ever since in the con- 
 viction that the Enghsh make a rule of marrying 
 in their oldest clothes from motives of economy, or 
 possibly from simple lack of knowing any better. 
 
 The official ceremony is very short and simple. 
 But it was not until the registrar had asked me,— 
 
 "Do you, M. Charles Glyn, declare that you take 
 for wife Mile. Marie de Kerhuel here present?" and 
 I had replied, "I do." 
 
 And until he had asked Marie,— 
 
 "Do you. Mile. Marie de Kerhuel, declare that you 
 take for husband M. Charles Glyn here present?" 
 and Marie had sweetly answered, "I do." 
 
 And he had said, "In the name of the law I de- 
 clare that M. Charles Glyn and Mile. Marie de 
 Kerhuel are united by marriage,"— not until then 
 did I feel quite certain that some untoward event 
 would not yet come between us. 
 
 But when this much was safely accomplished I 
 began to feel easier in my mind and was able to 
 listen to M. Dellieu's gentle exhortations with equa- 
 nimity and proper attention. In his benediction he 
 referred very touchingly to the sadness of the times 
 we were passing through, and prayed that for all 
 of us the end might be better than the beginning. 
 
 And so at last my dear girl and I were truly made 
 one, and under the influence of the wedding feast— 
 which would have looked slim enough in ordinary 
 times, but in these days vyas a thing to remember 
 in one's dreams— the spirits of the whole party rose, 
 and in spite of the gloom and desolation without, 
 and the monotonous boom of the distant guns, we 
 became almost merry. And indeed it was enough to 
 provoke Homeric laughter to see the unconscious 
 
 [4,30] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Captain Derennes paying assiduous court to Freda 
 von Marcius, whom but a few nights before he had 
 been malevolently hunting over the house-tops, and 
 whom he would most certainly have shot like a 
 dog had he caught her. The whimsicality of it all 
 was evidently in Freda's mind too, for she excelled 
 herself in merry audacity and played the warrior 
 like a half-hooked fish, while Hugh Myrtle, fearless 
 of the Captain as a rival, watched the proceedings 
 with an enjoyment that at times left him almost 
 speechless. The only unlively member of the com- 
 pany was George, but his sombre gravity seemed to 
 sit so naturally upon him that it excited no sur- 
 prise. Knowing what I did, I did not believe that 
 his mood would ever lighten. He had taken on his 
 shoulders a burden which he must carry to the 
 grave. 
 
 Our wedding journey was limited to a trip down 
 the corridor, and when at the last I knelt by the 
 side of my wife in the sanctuary of our chamber, 
 the gratitude that was in me could find no expres- 
 sion, for the over-full heart can never clothe its 
 deepest thoughts in uncouth words. 
 
 [431] 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 For three happy days our new life flowed smooth 
 and deep, and crystal-clear as the rivers that run 
 through the celestial fields, and all our friends re- 
 joiced in our happiness. 
 
 Freda especially, with the deep sentiment of a 
 true-hearted German girl, delighted in us beyond 
 even her powers of expression. Her great blue eyes 
 beamed upon us like beneficent suns as she lay and 
 enjoyed us, and I have no doubt that her sympa- 
 thetic observation of us inclined her heart towards 
 the devotion which, even at this early stage of 
 their acquaintance, gleamed from Hugh Myrtle's 
 eyes whenever he looked at her, and of which I 
 could see she was not unconscious. 
 
 In talking over these old times I have said as 
 much to Hugh, but he tells me we had nothing 
 whatever to do with it, and that he won his prize 
 off his own bat entirely. 
 
 Then, in the fullness of her accomplished happiness, 
 my dear Marie must seek larger outlet of good 
 works for the spirit that was in her. Could one 
 blame her? She was brimming with the gladness of 
 life, and she must fain share it with others less well 
 furnished. 
 
 Our invalids were all convalescing and needed 
 little attention. The suffering outside was intense 
 in certain directions — ^especially among the women 
 and children, and again most especially among the 
 very little children. They clung, cold, hungry, and 
 
 [432] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 utterly miserable, to their starving mothers, and 
 dropped away from them like frozen berries from a 
 withered bush. 
 
 Is it to be wondered at that my dear girl's heart 
 was drawn towards these little ones, and that the 
 light of her own new happiness was overcast some- 
 what by their long-drawn sufferings? 
 
 She came to me one day radiant with an inspira- 
 tion. The babies outside were dying of hunger. 
 Milk was not to be had for love or money. But 
 there was a considerable supply of this new preserved 
 milk in Freda's closet. And there was meal. Out 
 of these things surely it was possible to concoct a 
 food that would help to keep alight these feeble 
 sparks of life. 
 
 We consulted Freda and she plunged into the 
 project with all her usual impulsiveness. 
 
 "Treacle-milk!" she said, "there is heaps and 
 heaps of it downstairs in the cellar. A great many 
 cases came from Switzerland for a man here and he 
 did not pay and it was put into my father's hands 
 until he did. It is probably gone bad by this time. 
 What I have upstairs is not that same. But for 
 me, I do not like it, it is too sweet and slimy. It 
 tastes like sweet mud." 
 
 Following her indications I went downstairs at 
 once to the cellar and found a score of cases full 
 of the little round tins. I took some up with me 
 to see if they were all right, and found them ex- 
 cellent. 
 
 As the result of a general discussion on the sub- 
 ject we experimented with various mixtures of meal, 
 and water, and "treacle-milk," as Freda persisted in 
 calling it, all boiled up together, and finally hit 
 upon a concoction wherein the meal and water were 
 28 [ 433 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 first boiled into a very thin gruel and the treacle- 
 milk added as it cooled. This gave us a liquid no 
 thicker than ordinary milk and water, slightly sweet 
 in taste and full of nutriment. And as soon as we 
 decided that it was exactly right, nothing would 
 satisfy Marie but she must put some into a jug and 
 carry it forthwith to some of the first bal)ies she 
 could find, and I, of course, accompanied her. 
 
 There was no difficulty in finding hungry babies. 
 Many must have died, but there were plenty left. 
 We came upon a thin pale slip of a girl, sitting on a 
 doorstep not twenty yards from our own house. 
 She could not have been more than seventeen, I 
 should say, but she had a tiny puling siege-baby at 
 her breast under her thin shawl, and it was wailing 
 pitifully. 
 
 "Hon dieu! mon dieu! petite," we heard her say- 
 as we drew close, "you have had all I have got 
 and I can do no more, no, not unless you eat me, 
 you poor little devil." 
 
 "I have got some ^warm food here for the little 
 one," said Marie, stopping before her. "Will ycu 
 try it? " 
 
 "Will I? Won't I? — anything to fill her stomach 
 and keep her quiet. She drives me crazy with her 
 mewing." 
 
 She gave the baby a spoonful and its small black 
 eyes opened wide with surprise, and it clutched 
 wildly for the spoon, and licked its lips like a kitten 
 at the first taste of the saucer. In ten minutes it 
 was lying fast asleep in its mother's arms, with a 
 full stomach and more content in its face than it 
 had probably worn for months. 
 
 "She is pretty, isn't she?" asked the mother, 
 "when she's not crying." 
 
 [434] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "If you will come in the morning at ten o'clock to 
 No. 1 Rue de la Monnaie and bring a bottle, I will 
 give you enough for all day," said Marie. 
 
 "Oh, Madame!" gasped the little mother "the 
 good God bless you ! I am worn out, you see, and 
 not enough to feed one won't feed two," and we 
 went on. 
 
 That jugful gave a foretaste of joys to come to a 
 round dozen starvelings, and Marie returned home 
 to report to Freda with swimming eyes and broken 
 voice because of the things she had seen during our 
 pilgrimage. 
 
 They were up betimes brewing an adequate supply 
 of "Marie's Mixture," as Freda called it, and at 
 ten o'clock we carried it down in bowls and jugs to 
 the concierge's room in the tunnel-way. 
 
 There were fully twenty women waiting with babies 
 and bottles when we opened the little door in the 
 big wooden gate. We filled their bottles, and most of 
 them fed their babies on the spot while the stuff 
 was still warm, since heating it was impossible to 
 most of them. 
 
 The next day there were quite thirty there, for 
 the news was too good to be kept to themselves, 
 and Freda insisted on hopping downstairs to en- 
 joy the fun. And rich enjoyment it was to see the 
 beady black eyes in the sunken little faces light up 
 and fix themselves intently on the spoons, and the 
 little claw-fingers grabbing for them, and the look of 
 contentment that came over them, body and soul, as 
 the soothing food crept into the empty stomachs 
 and filled the windy voids and gave them peace. So 
 shrivelled and dirty were most of them that verily 
 they looked more like monkeys than babies. Yet 
 the hearts of those two fair girls yearned over them, 
 
 [435] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 and even the rest of us were filled with compassion, 
 though I do not think we others would have cared 
 much to handle them. If vociferous motherly blesgr 
 ings could avail for our future happiness assur- 
 edly it would be ours, for this thing touched those 
 gaunt, wild-eyed, trailing-haired women as greater 
 ones might not have done. Our numbers increased 
 daily as the news spread. By the end of the first week 
 we were feeding close on a hundred babies, and 
 among their mothers were some of the wildest speci- 
 mens of womankind that ever I set eyes on. For 
 the most part they were quiet in their behavior, 
 though loud enough in their gratitude. But some 
 of them were clamorous and impatient, and ap- 
 parently regarded our dole in the light of a rightful 
 due. These were troublesome, pushing creatures, 
 and the others regarded them with disfavor and 
 did not hide their feelings. So that at times the 
 tunnel-way was resonant with angry voices and 
 the crying of terrified children, and we had to exert 
 our authority to keep the peace. But, after all, 
 they all had half-starved children with them, and 
 their sufferings had been and still were of the bit- 
 terest, and as yet there was no sign of the end, and 
 under such circumstances one could forgive much. 
 All this time our better-class relief in the neigh- 
 borhood of the hospital had been steadily carried 
 on in spite of the unfortunate circumstances which 
 had interfered with our direct personal supervision 
 of it. The loss of Madame of the Lion d'Or and 
 Lotte was a heavy blow, and disorganized our op- 
 erations for a day or two. But Myrtle had suc- 
 ceeded in finding fairly efficient substitutes for them, 
 and the spirit of pride which had at first restrained 
 many from coming for the assistance we were only 
 
 [4,36] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 too glad to be able to offer them, had gradually 
 given way before the pangs of actual starvation. 
 It became enough at last to give an order on our 
 almoner, and she supplied the necessary food each 
 day when they came for it. 
 
 But now that I could get about again I spent 
 most of the day round the hospital and the new 
 canvas ward, and among the proud and needy ones 
 of the district. I rejoice to think that many hope- 
 less lives were cheered during those dark days by 
 the means which our good friend Smartte had so 
 liberally provided. 
 
 My custom was to help Marie and Freda with 
 their distribution, and keep such order as was possi- 
 ble among the more rowdy members of the throng, 
 and then go on to my other duties. And always I 
 bore about with me, no matter how bitter the 
 weather, the recollection of the faces of those two 
 girls, flushed, radiant, transfigured almost, though 
 their beauty could hardly be heightened, by the joy 
 of this new ministry. 
 
 We were all absolutely happy in our work. I 
 scoured the land for meal. Hugh pounded it to 
 finest powder in a big mortar we discovered in the 
 kitchen, and prepared all the ingredients for each 
 day's brew. In the early morning it was all hands 
 to the kettle. M. Dellieu became a past master in 
 the art of opening condensed-milk tins. Captain 
 George's one arm did excellent service with a huge 
 wooden spoon stirring the mixture, and he developed 
 a fine taste and discrimination as to the proper 
 consistency of baby gruel. And the two bright- 
 faced girls ordered us all about to their hearts' 
 content, and chided us gayly for faults that we 
 wotted not of. 
 
 [437] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 We were all absolutely happy, and then the blow 
 fell— so terrible, so fiendish, so utterly undeserved, 
 from so unexpected a quarter — my soul sickens even 
 now at the remembrance of it. 
 
 The babies' distribution was over for the day. 
 The street outside was full of men marching stolidly 
 westwards, and the guns rumbled heavily over the 
 asphalt. Another sortie, I supposed, and I stood 
 for a moment in the gateway as a body of National 
 Guards went past in their showy new uniforms, 
 which contrasted, I thought, very discreditably with 
 the warworn rags of the Line who came behind. 
 Then I went upstairs with some of the impedimenta, 
 leaving the girls to their regular task of clearing 
 up the lodge for the next day. 
 
 I had washed, and stood for a few minutes chat- 
 ting gayly with the convalescents up above, when 
 suddenly shriek upon shriek, blood-curdling, preg- 
 nant of the greatest horror, came ringing up from 
 the courtyard and chilled the blood in our veins. 
 
 My ears were still tingling with them when I got 
 down to the yard. Freda stood there, with her face 
 twisted out of shape, in a very frenzy of agony. I 
 ran past her to the lodge and my heart sickened and 
 broke at the sight I saw there. On the floor by the 
 table lay Marie, my wife of one short week, bathed 
 in blood, with a table-knife still sticking hideously 
 between her shoulders. White and motionless she 
 lay, like a fair martyred saint, with one pale cheek 
 flat against the trampled boards and the other 
 glimmering wanly up at me, and that numb thing 
 that had been my heart a minute before groaned 
 agonies unutterable. For a moment I stood, and 
 all the life in me seemed to come to a dead stand 
 too, and the white face swam before my eyes. Then 
 
 [438] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 slowly my heart took up its burden again, with 
 dull heavy stabs of pain and protest at being so 
 driven. That my dear one was dead I had no 
 shadow of doubt. Then, automatically, I think, 
 the surgeon in me dropped on his knees beside her 
 and drew out that hideous knife — ah, my God ! 
 shall I ever lose the feel and the sight of it ? — out 
 of my darling's flesh, with her life-blood curling on 
 the blade and dropping in bright red clots on to 
 her morning-dress. 
 
 Then, with all the earth rolling round me in fu- 
 rious red billows, I was climbing the stairs with that 
 dear body pressed close to my breast, and my mind 
 a hopeless red blotch. They came crowding to meet 
 me, with white, stricken faces. Their faces all rolled 
 into one, and some one relieved me of my burden 
 just as I stumbled and fell. 
 
 When I came to myself I was on the couch in the 
 sitting-room and M. Dellieu was beside me. 
 
 As soon as he saw my eyes open he leaned over me 
 and said, slowly and distinctly, "Dear lad, by God's 
 great mercy she is not dead!" and my heart began 
 to beat again, slowly and heavily, and with pain. 
 
 "Is there hope?" I gasped. 
 
 " There is hope, and M. Myrtle is doing everything 
 possible. Join me, my son," and he fell on his 
 knees by the couch and prayed, simply and fer- 
 vently, that that precious life might be spared to 
 us. It was but a few words, but the whole heart 
 of a good man was in them, and they soothed and 
 comforted me, and lifted me to the only possible 
 source of help in so dire a calamity. 
 
 "She is in the hands of God, my boy," he said, 
 still kneeling by me, with a face full of the deepest 
 sympathy. "His hands are the hands of love, and I 
 
 [439] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 have infinite faith in His power and willingness to 
 help." 
 
 "God help us !" I groaned, as all the horror of it 
 came surging back upon me. 
 
 "Amen!" he said gently, and then, strangely, 
 bent down and kissed my brow. 
 
 He would not let me go to her, and when I tried 
 to sit up I found myself weak and trembling as 
 with an ague. 
 
 But presently George came softly in and con- 
 firmed the good news that there were grounds for 
 hope. 
 
 "It is a dreadful cut," he said, "but Myrtle says 
 it missed the heart by a hair's breadth. He has 
 stopped the flow, and bids you hope." 
 
 "Thank God!" I breathed, and "Dieu merci!" 
 said M. Dellieu fervently. 
 
 It was a time of dreadful suspense for us all, 
 and for me of direst agony, illuminated only by that 
 higher hope which M. Dellieu's fervent words had 
 implanted in me. 
 
 I learned more in those dark hours than all my 
 life had taught me before. For the scales dropped 
 from my soul, and it lay in the dust, bare before 
 God, and cried aloud in voiceless prayers for the life 
 that was infinitely dearer than my own. 
 
 But of these matters, as I have said, one does not 
 speak. Words are helpless and worse than useless. 
 
 And if it was a time of stress and agony for us, 
 who could only look dumbly on and do our feeble 
 best to soothe her pain, what must it have been to 
 that sweet and patient sufferer on the crimsoned bed? 
 
 They let me see her in the evening, when a little 
 strength was returning to her, — ah me ! let me say 
 rather when a little abatement in the loss of vital 
 
 [440] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 power was apparent. Her sweet eyes opened on me, 
 and the ghost of a smile glimmered on her white 
 Ups as I knelt by the bed and kissed the Uttle blue- 
 veined hand that lay on the coverlet, and sobbed, 
 "Oh, my dearest, my wife, my love!" 
 
 And then they drew me away, thankful for that 
 much, grateful from the bottom of my heart and in 
 every fibre of my being that it was what was, and 
 not what might have been, that lay there, so very 
 Hke to death but mercifully still alive. 
 
 I cannot tell you how I lived through those days 
 of alternate hopes and fears. In them I learned to 
 the full the bitter ache and agony of the bursting 
 heart and the tied hand. I would have given my 
 life to ease her pain, and I could do nothing but 
 sit and wait and hope, and dumbly pray. There 
 were gray hairs in my head before they were past. 
 My wife calls them her hairs, and has a special 
 affection for them. 
 
 The first time I sat at table and saw a large knife 
 similar to the one I plucked out of my wife's back, 
 I shivered as though one walked over my grave, as 
 the old wives say, and it was months before I dared 
 to handle probe and lancet. In a word, it had 
 shaken me down to the roots and I am not ashamed 
 to acknowledge it. 
 
 It was long before I heard from Freda the de- 
 tails of the matter. One of the turbulent women 
 had come in late, after all the rest had gone home 
 and when all the food had been distributed. She 
 had her baby on her arm. She demanded food for 
 it, and grew insolent and angry. So very inso- 
 lent, at last, that Freda ordered her out. My 
 dear girl, thinking only of the starving child, told 
 the furious mother to be quiet and she would see if 
 
 [441] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 any more food was obtainable. She had turned to 
 leave the room when the fiend snatched up the 
 knife that lay on the table and plunged it into her, 
 and then fled out through the gateway into the 
 street. 
 
 It was impossible to stop the distribution be- 
 cause of the dastardly crime. The children were 
 starving just the same, and if Marie had been in 
 her grave it would have troubled her to think of 
 them starving, on her account. So the work went 
 on as before, and never a child went short so far 
 as we were concerned. But after that fatal morning 
 the men took the matter in hand, and when the 
 women heard the reason their curses on the author 
 of the catastrophe were both loud and deep, and 
 if they had known who she was it would have gone 
 hard with her. But we knew neither her name nor 
 where she lived, and the child, I fear, went starving 
 because of its mother's act. 
 
 Of matters outside I have no recollection what- 
 ever. Marie lay, white and uncomplaining, between 
 life and death, and my thoughts were only and 
 wholly for her. 
 
 It was the end of the month before we could dare 
 to say that unless some unforeseen comphcations 
 ensued her life was out of danger. The recovery 
 would be slow and tedious, but so long as it was 
 recovery nothing else mattered. 
 
 That same day we heard that the armistice was 
 agreed upon and the war practically over. 
 
 So two long agonies came to an end together. 
 
 But, writing now, in the light of after events, I 
 can see that Marie and her country were in much 
 the same plight, and that complications were as 
 possible in the one case as in the other. 
 
 (442] 
 
CHAPTER XXXYII 
 
 That month of February was a time of great 
 trial to us all. The strain on heart and mind was 
 so unrelaxing, and the vigilance necessary to note 
 and weigh as to its possible consequences every 
 slightest change and symptom was so great, that 
 we were all too over-worn with our work indoors to 
 pay much attention to what went on outside. But 
 as a matter of fact nothing visible was going on 
 there, I believe, beyond the revictualling of the city 
 and the exodus from it of all who had the means 
 to go and any place to go to. 
 
 George, as soon as he was sufficiently recovered, 
 returned to his duties, minus one arm, and was 
 immediately appointed aide-de-camp on the staff of 
 Yinoy, now Military Governor of Paris, and ac- 
 corded the rank of Colonel. The grim irony of it 
 all appealed to him strongly, I could see. But he 
 remained sombre and grave as ever. He had done 
 his best to lose himself, and instead had found 
 honor and promotion. I am quite sure that, from 
 certain points of view, he regretted most bitterly 
 the tragedy that had, quite unintentionally, set his 
 feet on the ladder. On the other hand, I am cer- 
 tain that under similar circumstances he would have 
 done the same thing again. I am not here to judge 
 him. His anxiety on Marie's behalf was as great 
 as our own, and rarely a day passed, so long as 
 he remained in the city, without his coming in for 
 our latest news concerning her. 
 [443] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 I wrote home, giving an account of all that had 
 befallen us, but advising them not to act on what 
 I knew would be their first impulses in the way of 
 coming to our assistance, since every possible thing 
 that could be done was being done, and the country, 
 I knew, must still be in a state of chaos. 
 
 The replies I received from Madame de Kerhuel 
 and my mother and Smartte were full of congratu- 
 lations on our marriage, deepest sympathy for this 
 latest calamity, and proffers of help as soon as I 
 would permit it. 
 
 Smartte' s letter characteristically enclosed a draft 
 on the Bank of Prance for ten thousand francs, 
 with instructions to spare it not for the benefit of 
 all concerned. But I still had some of his money 
 left and did not require it, though it was good to 
 know that in using that money for Marie and our- 
 selves I was acting in accordance with his wishes. 
 
 Freda, too, got into communication with her peo- 
 ple. Her elder brother Leo, whom I had met at 
 Villeneuve, congratulated her warmly on her patri- 
 otic and risky work, and on now being in such good 
 hands. He had come through without a scratch 
 and Heinrich was all right at home. He sent me 
 good wishes and sympathy. From her father she 
 received funds and a suggestion that she should 
 join him in Cassel as soon as she felt at liberty to 
 do so, as he would not return to Paris till things 
 got fully settled again, which he believed would not 
 be for some considerable time. 
 
 Hugh Myrtle kept his ears pricked up whenever 
 Freda discoursed on home matters, to learn if there 
 was any other in the field of her affections, for one 
 could see with half an eye that, in spite of his de- 
 voted attention to Marie, he was head over ears in 
 
 [444] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 love with the blue-eyed German girl. And if we 
 could perceive it with half an eye there could not 
 be a moment's doubt that Freda's blazing lamps 
 had looked into his heart long since. 
 
 M. Dellieu remained with us to share our vigils, 
 and right glad we were of his hopeful companion- 
 ship and assistance. 
 
 So that dark month of February drew to a close, 
 and whatever news we heard came chiefly from 
 George. We were seldom abroad, for all our hearts 
 and thoughts were focussed on the patient sufferer on 
 the bed in that quiet room next to our sitting-room. 
 
 In this way we heard, as of happenings in a dis- 
 tant land, of the disbanding of the Mobiles, who 
 were only too glad to get back to their ruined 
 farms and wonted pursuits; of the disarming, ac- 
 cording to the armistice, of the men of the Line, 
 while the frothy National Guards were allowed to 
 retain their little-used weapons in full — a proceeding 
 which moved Colonel George to deepest wrath and 
 disgust. He said they had got completely out of 
 hand, and though they had shown themselves of 
 little account during the siege and did nothing but 
 drink and brag and draw their pay, it was sheer 
 imbecility to leave them practically the only armed 
 body in the city. Then we heard of the formal 
 triumphal walk-over of the German troops through 
 the Champs Elysfees, and from our roof, where we 
 took the air occasionally, saw signs of the mourn- 
 ing assumed by our volatile neighbors for the oc- 
 casion. That, however, did not last long. The con- 
 querors were soon gone back to their intrenchments, 
 and Paris, purged and purified outwardly from the 
 contamination, and inwardly rotten to the core, was 
 to all appearances itself again. We heard, too, how 
 [445] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 the people had carried away the cannons from the 
 Pare Monceau to the heights of Montmartre lest 
 the all-devouring Prussians should seize them, and 
 that same day, when Myrtle returned from a for- 
 aging expedition, he remarked that things did not 
 look comfortable outside. The streets were crowded, 
 he said, with riff-raff of all kinds, disbanded Lines- 
 men, francs-tireurs, and scum generally, and there 
 were red placards on the walls signed by Blanqui, 
 Flourens, and other extremists, calling on such of 
 the regulars as were left for the preservation of 
 order to desert and join the people. 
 
 Then we heard through George of the meeting of 
 the newly elected National Assembly at Bordeaux, 
 and the nomination of M. Thiers as head of the 
 state. He told us with a gloomy face that they 
 had decided to meet next at Versailles, because of 
 the disturbed state of Paris, consequent on the 
 machinations of the Comite Central of the National 
 Guard and the International Association of Workers, 
 two effervescent bodies whose chief desire was for 
 troubled waters wherein to fish. 
 
 And my only thought concerning any of these 
 matters was whether they would occasion any tur- 
 moil in the city which might disturb Marie. For 
 day after day, and night after night, she lay there, 
 silent for the most part and uncomplaining, while 
 Nature slowly, so very slowly, pieced together again 
 the ghastly severances and repaired the ravages of 
 that murderous knife. 
 
 But surely, if slowly, the Great Healer did her 
 work. We were able to rejoice in a daily accession 
 of strength, and when at last the first tinge of 
 color showed in the pale cheeks we greeted it with 
 acclaim and held high festival. 
 
 [ 446 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Then, having helped us much in more ways than 
 he knew, our good friend M. Dellieu thought it time 
 to return to his own home to pick up any stray 
 threads of work that might be left to him, and we 
 missed him greatly. 
 
 So, day by day, my dear girl drew back to life, 
 and night by night the desperadoes who held Paris 
 in their grip, being foredoomed by the gods to 
 destruction, waxed madder and madder in their 
 dealings, and out at Versailles the Government was 
 working might and main, as surely and slowly as 
 Nature herself, but all too slowly to save the city 
 from the holocaust that was preparing for her. 
 
 [447] 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 One afternoon Hugh and I, with Freda in close 
 attendance, carried Marie in a chair to the top story 
 and helped her slowly up the spiral iron stairs to the 
 roof. Our exertions needed no thanks, but had they 
 done so they would have been amply repaid by 
 her eager enjoyment of the soft May air and sun- 
 shine. 
 
 The streets were full of tumult, as usual. The 
 people were flocking in thousands towards the 
 Louvre and Tuileries, and we heard the shouts and 
 clamor of a mighty gathering somewhere in that 
 direction. 
 
 We were still looking that way and wondering 
 what was the cause of the concourse, when Hugh 
 sprang suddenly to the ladder on the dividing wall, 
 crying, "Good Lord! Look — the Napoleon Col- 
 umn !" and even as our eyes rested on it we saw the 
 great bronze column, towering high above all its 
 surroundings, move, sway, dip, and silently disap- 
 pear below the neighboring roofs, while from the 
 place where it had stood there came a roar Uke 
 the voice of many wild beasts. 
 
 "Well!" he said. "What next? They are aU 
 gone stark, staring, crazy mad," and the girls' 
 faces were pale with emotion. 
 
 George was much in our thoughts and somewhat 
 heavy on our hearts. It was six weeks since we 
 had seen him. He had told us not to be surprised 
 if he did not come, and we knew that all inter- 
 
 [443] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 course between Versailles and the city was out of 
 question. So we could only hope for the best. I 
 could see that the matter gave Marie much anxiety, 
 but it was out of my power to allay it, except by 
 the utterance of commonplaces which gave no 
 satisfaction even to myself. 
 
 The streets were filled every day now with so 
 tumultuous a rabble that it seemed as much as 
 any man's life was worth to venture outside the 
 doorway. But fresh food we had to get, and Myrtle 
 and I took it in turns to go out for it, though he 
 did his utmost to persuade me to let him do it all. 
 
 On one such occasion I was pounced upon, along 
 with other peaceable wayfarers, by a patrol of more 
 or less drunken National Guards and driven across 
 to the Hotel de Ville and forced to work piling up 
 stones on a barricade. I was verily working for my 
 life, sweating and grimy, and at the same time look- 
 ing warily for a chance of escape, when an officer 
 came along on a horse to which he did not seem 
 overwell accustomed. He drew rein and watched 
 us, and then, singling me out, either by my dress or 
 my face, manoeuvred his steed up to me and said, 
 
 "Who are you? No Frenchman, I'll bet." 
 
 "No, Monsieur, I am an EngHshman," I said. 
 
 "Ah! AUons, down with the EngUshmen ! What 
 are you doing here?" 
 
 "As you see, Monsieur, some of these — ^gentlemen 
 with guns forced me to this occupation, which I can 
 assure you is most uncongenial." 
 
 "You are doubtless a spy from Versailles." 
 
 " Not at all. I am a surgeon. I have been working 
 with the SalpStriere ambulances all through the 
 siege." 
 
 "Eh bien, we will relieve you of further service." 
 29 [ 449 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I thank you, Monsieur," and I threw down the 
 stone I was carrjdng. 
 
 But his idea of reUef and mine were by no means 
 the same. 
 
 "Garron !" he called to a sergeant who stood by, 
 "take four men and shoot him and drop him in 
 the river. The city is full of spies." 
 
 "Stay, Monsieur," I cried. "I tell you I am a 
 surgeon attached to one of your own ambulances. 
 My papers prove it, and I have never left the city 
 since September." 
 
 "Go to the devil!" he shouted. "Garron, — ^your 
 duty." 
 
 Garron's truculent four closed round me and I 
 thought my last minute had come. But just at 
 that critical moment another officer came up hot-foot 
 with some message from the Hotel de Ville to him 
 on the horse, which started him off so suddenly that 
 he nearly lost his seat, and as the new-comer caught 
 sight of me he ran up with both hands outstretched, 
 crying, 
 
 "Comment, Monsieur, we meet again. What is 
 this, then?" and I recognized young Lepine, who 
 had been in our hands at the hospital. 
 
 "They want to shoot me as a spy," I said, as 
 coolly as I could, though I was in a great state of 
 perturbation. "If you can prevent it I shall be 
 much obliged to you." 
 
 "Oh, tschutt! what folly! Allez, Garron, mon 
 gars, this gentleman is a personal friend of my own 
 and no more a spy than you are. Go, I tell you, 
 I will be answerable for him. Mon dieu!" he cried 
 hotly, "if you hesitate I will cut you down." 
 
 Lepine wore a captain's uniform, and the grim 
 sergeant scowled and went. 
 
 [450] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I am delighted to be of service to Monsieur," 
 said Lepine. "Mon dieu ! what times we are in, 
 and what animals we have to deal with. Come 
 with me. Monsieur. Where are you stopping?" 
 
 I told him, and endeavored to express my feelings, 
 which were in considerable tumult. He convoyed me 
 to my own door and adjured me to keep strictly 
 inside it. 
 
 "Matters are coming to a head," he said. "A 
 very few days will decide who is on top. But those 
 feeble people at Versailles are to blame in the first 
 place." 
 
 So a portion of the bread scattered on the waters 
 returned to me, and later on there was more to 
 follow, and again it was young Lepine who bore it. 
 
 I said nothing of this little adventure to the girls, 
 but held it up to Myrtle as a warning. 
 
 That night and all night long there was furious 
 cannonading in the west, and as soon as it was 
 Ught we went up to the roof to see what was going 
 ■on. 
 
 Presently the heavy guns ceased booming. From 
 time to time the crackle of musketry broke out 
 in the western suburbs. But it seemed almost as 
 though the popular enjoyment of the Sabbath fete 
 was not to be disturbed by any fighting. Later we 
 knew that the Versailles army was quietly entering 
 the city at that side, which their artillery had prac- 
 tically cleared of inhabitants, — guards or others 
 Later on the streets below us were crowded with 
 citizens and citizenesses dressed in their best, all 
 thronging towards the west, where the bands were 
 playing in the Tuileries Gardens, as they always 
 did on Sundays. 
 
 Paris that day looked as little like a City of 
 [451] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Destruction as city well could do, but all the ele- 
 ments of destruction were there. The devil was 
 couchant, but he was not by any means dead. That 
 night was comparatively quiet, but Myrtle was 
 tapping at my door in the early morning to give me 
 the great news that the tricolor was floating 'on 
 the Arc de Triomphe, and we knew that the Govern- 
 ment troops were in the city. 
 
 We spent pretty nearly all that day on the 
 roof. It was a typical soft May day. The sun 
 shone brilliantly, and our dear convalescent lay in 
 her chair behind the stone balustrade and drank 
 in the strength and sweetness of the spring, and I 
 sat by her side and rejoiced in the light in her eyes 
 and the novel touch of color in the pale cheeks. 
 Hugh and Freda patrolled the roof, or sat or 
 lounged, full content with one another's company, 
 but condescending now and again to favor us elders 
 with a non-personal remark, just to show there was 
 no ill-will and that we were not absolutely forgotten. 
 
 West and south the musketry crackled incessantly. 
 The contrast between our quiet look-out and the 
 work that was going on over there gave one food 
 for thought. 
 
 "Are we safe here, Charles?" asked Marie. 
 
 "Quite safe, dear," — I hoped it was so and wished 
 her to believe so too, — "and I hope soon we shall 
 be safer still, and then we will go right away home." 
 
 "Home!" she said softly, "I hardly hoped to 
 see home again. And my dear mother, and my 
 father, and your dear mother. Oh, how happy I 
 shall be to see them all again I I am just a little 
 afraid of meeting my father, you know. I fear it 
 will be painful." 
 
 "Not to him, at all events, my dear. The sight 
 [452] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 of you will make him feel richer than ever, and you 
 will very soon get over your shyness when you see 
 his eyes light up at sight of you." 
 
 "I would so like to go on living at Kerhuel, 
 Charles. That will always be home to me." 
 
 "We— 11!" I said quizzically. 
 
 " I mean — you know what I mean. It is the dear- 
 est place in the world to me — as yet." 
 
 "Boom!" said Hugh, suddenly jumping up from 
 Freda's side and gazing out over the parapet. 
 "See that, Charles? Montmartre is firing into the 
 city towards the Champs Elysdes. I hope the gen- 
 tlemen of the Government will put a stopper on 
 that before the red men retreat this way, or they 
 may crack us up by mistake." 
 
 "They'll stop it all right," I said, to quiet Marie's 
 fears. "As soon as the Reds find they are getting 
 the worst of it you'll see they'll fall to pieces and 
 each man will look after himself. Marie and I were 
 just discussing what train we'd take home. You'll 
 come with us, Freda, won't you? Then we're sure 
 of Hugh, you know," I added pointedly. 
 
 "I would like to, oh, so much," said Freda, col- 
 oring finely and looking at Hugh for assistance. 
 "But " 
 
 " But first we must go up to Cassel to see papa," 
 said Hugh, beaming all over. 
 
 Marie stretched out a thin white hand to Freda 
 and drew her down and kissed her, and murmured 
 softly, "I am so glad, dear. You will be very hap- 
 py. Hugh is all good," and I gripped my friend's 
 hand and said nothing, by way of telling him all I 
 felt. 
 
 "She has promised never to shoot me again," 
 
 said Hugh, "unless I " 
 
 [453] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Monster!" cried Freda, striking at him with her 
 hand, "you are to forget all about it or I " 
 
 "I've forgotten," cried Hugh, "but I do delight to 
 think about it. It was such a thoroughly unique 
 way of getting into a man's heart. The very newest 
 German method, I expect. Hello ! That sounds 
 closer." 
 
 "That" was the heavy guns in the Place de la 
 Concorde firing up the Champs Elysfees, and from 
 that time on, Concorde and Montmartre thundered 
 away with never a pause. 
 
 Below us, and all round, the streets soon became 
 like a gigantic ant-heap with the top knocked off. 
 Every available bell was clashing the tocsin. Drums 
 were beating madly. Every street swarmed thick 
 with crowding Nationals and women and children. 
 Mounted messengers strove in vain to force their 
 way through the press, and behind them came others 
 with probably contradictory orders. It was panic. 
 It was bedlam let loose. I advised keeping back 
 from the parapet lest the sight of our safety should 
 spur their sense of danger into reprisals. Down at 
 the end of a street opposite, a belated barricade was 
 being hastily flung together,— carts, stones, bed- 
 steads, and bedding, tables, chairs, anjrthing and 
 everything, men, women, and children toiling as 
 though for dear life. 
 
 "This is the beginning of the end !" I said didacti- 
 cally. 
 
 "Oh, wise young prophet!" said Hugh. "The 
 remark, however, is somewhat belated. The end be- 
 gan when that flag showed out on the arch there. 
 I wish they'd begin to fall to pieces as quickly as 
 possible and get it over. It's rather horrible, you 
 know. Fighting in the streets is somehow more 
 
 [454] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 awful than it is in the open. It strikes one as un- 
 natural and unseemly." 
 
 We took the girls down at last, and in spite of 
 all attempts at cheerfulness the situation of affairs 
 outside weighed upon us and forebodings were not 
 wanting. 
 
 Myrtle and I kept watch in turns Dn the roof all 
 night, and all night long the guns of Montmartre 
 showered shot and shell into the western parts of 
 the city. 
 
 About the middle of the following day the firing 
 in that direction culminated in a ceaseless terrific 
 roar, and then suddenly ceased. There was heavy 
 musketry, however, round the Place de la Concorde 
 and the Madeleine, and across the river on the south 
 side of the city. 
 
 "What does that mean?" said Hugh. 
 
 "The Versailles people have won the hill, or it 
 would go on firing," I suggested, and presently the 
 conjecture proved correct, for shells began scream- 
 ing across at Montmartre from the Buttes Chau- 
 mont and Pere la Chaise, which lay behind us, so 
 to speak, but well away to the right. 
 
 "I hope to God they'll keep away from here," 
 said Hugh, getting a little flustered. "We're too 
 near that damned Hotel de Ville for my liking. 
 It's the Reds' nest, and the others are sure to go for 
 it." 
 
 While we were looking west a sudden puff of black 
 smoke shot up among the buildings near the Place 
 de la Concorde, and following them came mighty 
 tongues of flame that shone strangely vicious in the 
 May sunshine. 
 
 "Something's on fire," said Hugh, "and a pretty 
 big blaze too." 
 
 [455] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 It was a great line of fire, it looked like a whole 
 street. It was, in fact, the whole Rue Royale, fired 
 by Brunei to act as a barrier between himself and 
 General Douay's forces, which had just taken the 
 Madeleine barricade and driven its defenders into 
 the church, and slaughtered them there to the last 
 man. But all that we only heard later. 
 
 While we were still gazing with wonder and re- 
 gret on this spectacle, with little idea of the extent 
 to which our capacities in both respects were yet 
 to be tried, the line of stately buildings on the 
 other side of the river opposite the Tuileries began 
 to vomit the same black smoke and the same 
 vicious tongues of flames, and we all watched 
 spell-bound. 
 
 "The devil is stirring," said Hugh, between his 
 teeth, and in his heart I knew he was fearing, as I 
 was, that he might perchance come our way. 
 
 It was the strangest combination of opposites 
 imaginable. Here on the roof we four stood as 
 peacefully as though we had come up simply to 
 take tea, while down below surged and swarmed 
 and yelled and screamed a nation gone mad. All 
 round a vast semicircle in front of us the air was 
 rent with artillery and the ceaseless crackle of mus- 
 ketry. Behind us big guns roared. In front again 
 the yellow flames and clouds of vicious black smoke 
 were licking and hovering now in half-a-dozen dif- 
 ferent places, and over all the bright May sun shone, 
 soft and warm and benignant, alike on the just and 
 the unjust, on the Red-White-and-Blues and on the 
 Reds, on murderers and victims, on the fair city and 
 those who were working her undoing. And ever the 
 crackling of the chassepSts drew nearer towards the 
 centre of the cit}-, as point after point was yielded 
 
 [ 456 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 by the beaten Reds, and more than once did Myrtle 
 growl in my ear, "Why the devil don't they go to 
 pieces and scatter?" as if it was my hand that was 
 keeping them together. 
 
 In such trepidation was I lest the fiery whirl 
 should come our way and involve us all in ruin, 
 that had the power been given me at that moment 
 I doubt not that I would have blotted the whole 
 seething city out of existence, as one kicks to pieces 
 the thoughtless fire that may kindle the bush. 
 
 Nevertheless, though we watched with horror, it 
 was impossible not to watch. Terrible, horrible 
 things were being done almost under our eyes. 
 Their details were fortunately hidden, but what we 
 did see fascinated us, and we did not go down even 
 to eat. Our condition, in fact, was very similar to 
 that of the baby rabbits when the snake is pre- 
 paring them for its mid-day meal. The rabbits stare 
 because they cannot help themselves, and so it was 
 with us. 
 
 About nine o'clock at night flames nearer to us 
 than any yet leaped up apparently to heaven. 
 
 "Good heavens !" said Hugh. "What is this?" 
 
 And presently we saw that it was the Tuileries 
 and — aliens though three of us were — not one of 
 us but groaned inwardly at that most appalling 
 sight. 
 
 The night was dark, without any moon. Fresh 
 fires kept leaping out in front of us till the city 
 seemed like the bubbling pit of a volcano. Whole 
 streets seemed blazing in places. The black sky 
 above pulsed like a caldron of boiling copper. The 
 very stars were lost in the red-hot glow and the 
 whirling showers of sparks. Behind us and below us 
 all was dark, compared with that dreadful glow in 
 
 [457] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 front, but the seething darkness covered deeds even 
 more awful than any we saw. 
 
 In the early morning it seemed to us that the 
 Louvre was burning, but when daylight came we saw 
 that it was the Imperial Library and the Palais 
 Roy ale. 
 
 And ever the cordon of crackling musketry closed 
 in towards the centre of the town, and drew nearer 
 and nearer to where we watched panting. The 
 streets below were filled with an endless stream of 
 fugitives fleeing from that deadly crackle. Guns 
 went bumping past, now grinding the stones, now 
 thudding heavily over fallen bodies. The Reds were 
 beginning to go to pieces at last, and it was each 
 man for himself and the devil take the hindmost. 
 
 The girls had got coffee ready and we went down 
 in turn to take it. They were pale and heavy-eyed, 
 and confessed that sleep had been impossible to 
 them. 
 
 "How soon will it be over?" asked Marie pitifully. 
 
 "Very soon, dear," I said. "The troops are get- 
 ting nearer every minute and the others are all on 
 the run." 
 
 And then there came a sudden hammering on our 
 front gate down below, and after a moment's hesi- 
 tation and a scared glance into one another's 
 startled eyes, I begged Freda to run up and ask 
 Hugh to come down to me, and then I went down- 
 stairs apprehending some calamity. 
 
 I opened the little grille in the small gate. 
 
 "Vite, Monsieur, vite!" said an impatient voice. 
 "It is I, Lepine," and I opened the gate. 
 
 Lepine sprang in and closed it behind him. I 
 imagined he had come for shelter. But it was not 
 so. 
 
 [458] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "Monsieur le Capitaine who was in the hospital- 
 is he anything to you, Monsieur?" he panted. 
 
 "My brother-in-law," I said. 
 
 "He is among the hostages in Roquette. There is 
 just a chance of saving him. Have you money?" 
 
 "Yes, plenty." 
 
 " They are murdering them in batches. My father 
 sent me. There is a chance if we go quick." 
 
 Hugh came across the courtyard and joined us. 
 
 "I will get the money," I said, and ran back 
 upstairs. 
 
 Marie met me at the top, with fear in her eyes. 
 
 I thought it best to tell her the truth. 
 
 "Dearest, George is prisoner among the Reds. 
 Young Lepine has come to tell me. He and his 
 father will help me. I must go." 
 
 " Oh, Charles ! Must you— ? Yes, yes, God forgive 
 me! Go, my dear, and God be with you!" 
 
 I kissed her. It might be for the last time. I knew 
 it, and I think she knew it. Then I ran on and got 
 Smartte's draft and all the gold I could lay hands 
 on. 
 
 "Hugh will take care of you, my love, and I will 
 be back presently and bring George with me." 
 
 I hoped that it might be so, but I felt by no 
 means certain. 
 
 "Take care of them, Hugh," I said, as I wrung 
 his hand. 
 
 "Trust me, my boy. Take care of yourself," and 
 Lepine and I were outside the gate and speeding 
 down the street. 
 
 "Curse them!" he hissed, as we crossed a comer 
 of the Place de I'Hotel de Ville and saw the coils of 
 horrible black smoke beginning to curl up round the 
 beautiful fagade. 
 
 [459] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 He led me swiftly along the Rue St. Antoine, then 
 turned off to the left to avoid the barricades of the 
 Place de la Bastille, across the canal, and so at 
 last into the Rue de la Roquette. We were not 
 molested. Every man was thinking only of him- 
 self, except, indeed, the few devil-possessed who 
 thought still more of vengeance, and they were too 
 busy to think of us. 
 
 We reached the prison. Lepine was well known. 
 We were admitted without delay and went straight 
 to old M. Lepine's room. 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur," he said. " It is well. I think you 
 may save him. These are terrible times. For me, I 
 do not agree with them." 
 
 "I thank you for sending for me, M. Lepine. I 
 have money here. How shall I use it?" 
 
 "For myself nothing," said the old man. "There 
 is my payment," and he pointed to his son. "But 
 there are others, and them we must deal with. How 
 much have you?" 
 
 "Ten thousand francs in a draft and about one 
 thousand in gold." 
 
 "More than enough. I will take you to your 
 friend and arrange the rest," and he led me away 
 down the hopeless stone passages, and through 
 iron section-doors, and finally unlocked a cell and 
 showed me in, and went out. 
 
 George de Kerhuel sprang up from the camp-bed 
 where he had been lying. 
 
 "Charles?" 
 
 "I've come to help, my boy, if I can. You are 
 wounded?" 
 
 " Only a bruise," he said. " I was carrying a mes- 
 sage from Yinoy to MacMahon when some fool shot 
 my horse and I went over head first and cracked my 
 
 [460] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 skull a bit. Cracked heads seem to run in the 
 family. How is Marie?" 
 
 "Well, — quite recovered, but not strong yet, and 
 horribly upset by all that's going on. Do you know, 
 they burned the Tuileries last night " 
 
 "Never!" he said, staring at me incredulously. 
 
 "It is true, and, I think, the Louvre, and the 
 Palais Royale, and half Paris. The Hotel de Ville 
 was just beginning as I passed." 
 
 "The utter, damned idiots," he said. "That is 
 their last kick, anyhow." 
 
 "Yes, they're beaten, and they fire everything 
 as they retire." 
 
 "It will cleanse the city of the dirty rats." 
 
 Here the door opened suddenly and old Lepine 
 came in with a bundle of clothing, a blouse and a 
 cap. 
 
 " Change, Monsieur, quickly, while I wait, and re- 
 member you are no longer an officer of the Gov- 
 ernment, you are George Keller, employe of the 
 Postes and Telegraphs, imprisoned for declining 
 to obey orders, and wounded by a shell. Keller was 
 shot by mistake yesterday." 
 
 " It is not promotion," said George; but neverthe- 
 less hastened to strip and rig himself in the less 
 dangerous attire. M. Lepine took away his things 
 and we were alone again. 
 
 "Let me look at that head," I said. "It annoys 
 me to see a head tied up like that." 
 
 There was a little water in a tin basin and I pro- 
 ceeded to wash the broken head carefully and was 
 binding it up when there came a commotion in our 
 corridor, — the trampling of many feet, the opening 
 of cell doors, a pause at each, and the shuffling drew 
 nearer. 
 
 [461 J 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 Then our door was flung open. 
 
 "Who is this?" asked a harsh voice, as the owner 
 of it stepped inside and old Lepine followed him. 
 Outside I got a glimpse of many others in the 
 passage and heard the rattle of their arms. I went 
 steadily on with my work. 
 
 "George Keller, employe of Postes and Tele- 
 graphs, detained by order of the Procureur for 
 contumacy," said Lepine. 
 
 "And the other?" 
 
 "A surgeon. Prisoner was wounded by a shell." 
 
 "Detain the surgeon also. We may want him." 
 
 The great man passed on to the next cell, and we 
 little knew what we had escaped. 
 
 A small supply of food was brought in at mid- 
 day. It was barely enough for one. We shared it 
 between us. 
 
 We were not disturbed all the afternoon. But in 
 the evening there came again that ominous shuf- 
 fling of many feet in the corridor, the clink of arms, 
 the opening and shutting of cell doors. Then it 
 passed away, and we waited in silence for the next 
 happening. 
 
 Presently old Lepine came in, bringing some more 
 food. 
 
 "We must wait," he said, and I saw that his hand 
 shook and his face was very pale. "It is not safe 
 yet. They have just been shooting the archbishcp 
 and the priests. It is too much." 
 
 "I wish you could send word to my wife, M. 
 Lepine, that I am all right, only temporarily de- 
 tained." 
 
 But the old man shook his head. "It is impossi- 
 ble. Monsieur. Hear that!" as heavy volleys of 
 musketry fell on our ears. "The Versaillais are 
 
 [462] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 storming the Place de la Bastille and lie now be- 
 tween us and your home." 
 
 Marie then was safe, and my heart was at rest on 
 her account, but I knew she would be tormented on 
 mine, and the thought left me no peace. 
 
 I begged Lepine to let me out and I would take 
 my own risk of getting through. 
 
 "They have trebled the guards here," he said, 
 "and even if you got out, the Versaillais would 
 shoot you. They are sparing none. Wait quietly, 
 Monsieur. I will do my best. It may be but a ques- 
 tion of a day. Better one day in prison," he added 
 sententiously, "than forever in a grave." 
 
 I agreed with him, but was in despair at thought 
 of the agony my absence would cause my wife. 
 
 The night passed heavily and slpwly. The firing 
 outside was incessant and drew constantly nearer. 
 Such air as came into our cell was thick with smoke. 
 George tried to make me take turn about on his 
 bed. But I could not sleep, and so sat in his wooden 
 chair all night, in great discomfort of body and 
 greater still of mind. 
 
 [463] 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 Morning brought no alleviation of my distress. 
 Lepine did not come, but there was another visita- 
 tion from the shufEing feet and the ratthng arms, 
 and apparently many of our fellow-prisoners were 
 taken away, and taken, as we knew, to be murdered 
 in cold blood. A scanty provision of food and 
 water was thrust into the cell as one flings scraps 
 to a wild beast. 
 
 And then the end came, suddenly, and not at all 
 as we had looked for it. 
 
 We heard a commotion in the passage, the hasty 
 opening of cell doors, quick words followed by a 
 buzz of talk. Our door was flung open in due course, 
 and old Lepine thrust in his pale face, all twisted 
 with excitement and beaded with sweat. 
 
 "Defend yourselves, Messieurs, as you can," he 
 said quickly. "They are coming to murder you 
 all. You must beat them off. The troops are not 
 far away," and he hurried heavily to the next cell 
 to set free its occupant on similar terms. 
 
 We ran out into the stone corridor and found all 
 the cells emptying into it. Some of the prisoners 
 had already broken chairs and table to pieces, others 
 held more formidable weapons in the legs and sides 
 of their iron bedsteads. We favored iron, and re- 
 turned and wrenched the bedstead apart. 
 
 George took a hasty survey of the possibiUties of 
 defence. There was a massive iron gate across the 
 corridor, through which I had passed when coming 
 in. He went up and shook it. 
 
 [464] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "It is locked," said a man near by. 
 
 "Which side?" 
 
 "This side. I saw the jailer lock it." 
 
 "So far good," said George coolly, "but they can 
 rake us through the gate. Let us see if we can't do 
 better," and he turned and ran down the corridor, I 
 at his heels. 
 
 At the far end was a cross corridor uniting the 
 wings of the building. Here a similar iron gate 
 blocked the way, but it stood in the main passage 
 and was faced by the door of the first cell in the 
 cross-way. 
 
 "This is the place for us," he cried. "They can- 
 not shoot round the comer." And then, to the 
 buzzing throng in the passage, he shouted aloud, 
 "This way, gentlemen, this way. Here is the only 
 possible safety. The comer gives us the advantage." 
 
 They leaped to his idea in a moment and swept 
 in a wave to the cross corridor. 
 
 "M. Lepine," he shouted. The old man was open- 
 ing doors as fast as he could go. "Lock this door, 
 if you please, and send all in here. Is there a similar 
 door at the other end?" 
 
 "Si, si!" said the old man. 
 
 "Then hurry them in and lock that too. You 
 had better stop with us or they will murder you 
 for this business." 
 
 "Si, si !" said the old man, and presently another 
 stream of released men came pouring through the 
 opposite gate, and last of all old Lepine, who locked 
 it and flung his keys on the floor, crying, "Yoila, 
 Messieurs, I have done my best." 
 
 "And we shall not forget it," said George. 
 
 The rest recognized the soldier in him, in spite of 
 blouse and cap. They saw at once that he had 
 30 [ 465 ] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 selected the only defensible position, and without 
 any formal acclaim they deferred to him as leader. 
 
 We were a very mixed lot. In all I counted one 
 hundred and twenty-five, but I found later that there 
 were others in the cells which gave on to our cross 
 corridor. Among us there were priests, soldiers, 
 police officers, civilians, and all that I saw were 
 armed with their self-provided weapons of one kind 
 or another. 
 
 George was talking earnestly to M. Lepine, and 
 presently he spoke aloud to the rest. 
 
 "My friends," he said, "we are here to save our 
 lives, if that be possible. We cannot tell when the 
 troops may be able to get into the prison. It may 
 not be till to-morrow. That being so it is essential 
 that we make the most of what food and water we 
 have, as we cannot get more. Will all who have 
 any food bring it to me in this room?" — ^indicating 
 the centre cell of the corridor. "Charles," to me, 
 "you and M. Lepine will go through these cells and 
 bring me all you can find of either food or water." 
 
 Some had crammed the remains of their rations 
 into their pockets and now produced and handed 
 them over. M. Lepine and I set out on our round. 
 We found water in many of the cells but not much 
 food. 
 
 "We shall be very short if we have to wait any 
 length of time for our friends," said George, when 
 the total was before him. "We must go on short 
 rations at once." 
 
 He explained the position to the rest and no 
 dissentient voice was raised. 
 
 " Better to starve for a chance of life than be shot 
 like a dog, with a full belly," said a grim old ser- 
 geant of police. 
 
 [466] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "I thank you," said George. "That is the spirit. 
 I pledge my word that all shall share alike." 
 
 And then silence fell on us all as we heard the 
 iron gate away up the corridor shaken vigorously, 
 and the hum of many voices behind it. 
 
 But shaking did no good, and they shouted for 
 Lepine to come and open it, not at all understand- 
 ing what had happened. While they were still non- 
 plussed what to do, George bethought him how to 
 strengthen our own defences. 
 
 "Bring out enough bedsteads," he cried, "to fill 
 those spaces over against the gates. Then, if they 
 force the gates, we can beat them down as they 
 wriggle through the bedsteads," and in a moment 
 the bedsteads were trundUng along to each end 
 of the corridor and were stacked there so that in- 
 gress was next to impossible. 
 
 The murderous crew saw them and understood 
 that they were baulked of their prey, for the time 
 being, at all events. They howled down the bare 
 space between the gates Uke a pack of wolves, and 
 then without more ado proceeded to break the first 
 gates down. This took tiine, and long before they 
 came pouring along the corridor our barricade was 
 as strong as we could make it. It seemed to me 
 that a dozen determined men with clubs at the side 
 of those bedsteads could hold the position forever — 
 or until they starved. 
 
 The Reds howled through our gates, at the door 
 of the cells opposite, at the bristling bedsteads. 
 They could see nothing else. They fired a useless 
 shot or two, but, as George had said, they could 
 not shoot round the comer, and we were as safe 
 from them as stone walls and iron gates and bed- 
 stead barricades could make us. 
 
 [ 467] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 They found at last that howls and curses broke 
 none of our bones and affected us not at all. They 
 tried cajolery. If we would only come out we were 
 free to go where we would. On their word of honor ! 
 
 Even their word of honor did not move us to trust 
 ourselves to their tender mercies, and, leaving a 
 cursing guard at our impregnable gates, the chiefs 
 retired to confer. 
 
 We heard the results presently in much bustling 
 and shuffling and bearing of burdens, which were 
 jammed against and through the bars of the gates- 
 bedding from the adjoining cells. They fired their 
 piles and the smoke came pouring in rolls into our 
 corridor. We set all the cell doors open and it 
 poured through and out of the gratings. When the 
 fires burned down the position was unchanged as 
 far as we were concerned, — increase of anger and 
 further blasphemies on their part. 
 
 The hours strained slowly through the close-knit 
 tangle of our anxieties, every faculty at full stretch, 
 every nerve on the rack. Time seemed to have 
 stopped and left us in hell. 
 
 I was sitting on the floor alongside George when 
 some one fell over my feet in the dark, and asked, 
 "IsM. the Jailer here?" and by the voice I judged 
 it to be one of the priests. 
 
 "I am here," said old Lepine from the other side. 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 "Can you tell us, sir, what has become of Mon- 
 seigneur D'Arboy?"— the good archbishop, beloved 
 by all who knew him. "We are much concerned for 
 his safety." 
 
 "He is safe. Monsieur — " began the warder, after a 
 moment's hesitation. 
 
 "Dieu merci!" 
 
 [468] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 "He is dead," said the old man. " They took him 
 out into the grounds there last n'ght and shot him 
 against the wall." 
 
 "May God have mercy on their souls!" said the 
 voice, and passed silently away to break the news to 
 the rest. 
 
 It must have been close on midnight when there 
 came a heavy rumbling along the passage and a 
 chorus of triumphant shouts from the besiegers. 
 
 "They have got up a small field-piece," said 
 George. "Run out a few more bedsteads and have 
 them handy. A dozen of you stand by with clubs 
 when they fire." 
 
 The discharge bellowed like thunder in the con- 
 fined space of the corridor. The iron gate bulged 
 and collapsed, the bedsteads twisted themselves into 
 fantastic puzzles. The door of the opposite cell 
 flew open and our corridor was full of powder smoke. 
 All this we heard. It was quite dark, and we could 
 see nothing till the gun spoke again. Then two 
 men came leaping on to the ricketty barricade. They 
 were beaten into pulp with blind flailings of table 
 legs and lengths of bedstead before their feet were 
 free of the puzzles down below. The rest drew back. 
 
 "Fling on those other bedsteads," from George. 
 They crashed down on the dead men and our de- 
 fences were as safe as before. 
 
 Half-a-dozen times they fired the gun, first at one 
 side then round at the other, but the only result 
 was "an increase n the iron tangle that fenced us 
 from them. No more of them found courage to 
 attempt the passage. 
 
 Then after a pause something came jerking in and 
 rolled spitting along the floor— a grenade. It burst 
 with a loud explosion and wounded three of our men. 
 
 [469] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 It was impossible to attend to them in the dark. I 
 got them into a cell and told them to sit down 
 and I would see to them in the morning. Two more 
 grenades came in. But we were all ready for them, 
 and took cover in the cells the moment we heard 
 them coming. 
 
 "Tables!" cried George, and built up a wooden 
 breastwork with them, so that the next grenade 
 fell back on to the bedsteads and did more damage 
 outside than in. 
 
 None of us attempted sleep that night. After the 
 repulse of the grenadiers our leader served out to 
 each man who came for it a meagre ration of bread 
 and water, and intimated that about four similar 
 doles would have to last us till rescue came. I, for 
 one, devoutly hoped it would come soon, for our 
 meal was barely a mouthful and I had come to the 
 fight with an empty stomach. 
 
 The enemy grew tired of the one-sided game at 
 last and left us in peace. Outside, the crash and 
 crackle of the chassepSts went on incessantly, and 
 the sound was encouraging, though we would have 
 liked it nearer still. 
 
 As soon as it was light I hurried to the wounded 
 men. Two were soldiers. Their wounds were not of 
 much account. Nasty flesh wounds, which would be 
 all right in a fortnight. 
 
 The third was a priest. He was propped in the 
 angle of the wall with his eyes closed. I asked him 
 where he was hurt. He took his hand from his 
 side without opening his eyes and disclosed a ghastly 
 hole. It explained the slightness of the other men's 
 wounds. This one had received the larger share. 
 I bound him up, but I knew it was useless. Nothing 
 could save him, though he might live through the day 
 
 [470] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 But, as I worked at him, first an idea glimmered in 
 me, then it grew into a certainty and swept over me 
 with the force of a revelation. I got up and went 
 to George, who, now that it was daylight, and 
 traps and stratagems could be seen, was lying on a 
 bed asleep. 
 
 I shook him by the shoulder and he sat up. 
 
 "Coming again?" he asked, instantly wide awake. 
 
 "No. Come with me, George. There is some one 
 here you know." 
 
 "Who is it?" and he threw his feet to the floor 
 and followed me. 
 
 "He is one of those wounded by the grenade last 
 night," I said, as we stood over the priest. "Do 
 you know him?" 
 
 He looked down at the man, and said, "No, I 
 don't think so. Who does he say he is?" 
 
 "He has not spoken," I said. "Look again!" 
 
 Hs glanced sharply at me as though to say that 
 this was no time for conundrums, then fell to exam- 
 ining the priest's face again. 
 
 "Mon dieu!" he said with a start, at last, "yes, 
 it is he. He is much changed." 
 
 There was no doubt about it. It was M. Lesieur, 
 M. le Curfe, though it was indeed difficult at first 
 to trace any likeness between this sunken-faced, 
 prison-worn, bearded and bewhiskered and gener- 
 ally dishevelled man, and the stout, genial, well-fed 
 ecclesiastic for whom we had sought high and low. 
 
 George's eyes blazed as he stood over him. He 
 looked as if he would shake out of him all he wanted 
 to know. 
 
 "Will he recover?" he asked in a low voice. 
 
 I shook my head. " He may last the day, — hardly 
 more. His side is blown to pieces." 
 
 [471] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 His lips tightened savagely. The key to the mys- 
 tery of Querhoal was like to slip through our fingers 
 after all. 
 
 He knelt suddenly by the Cure's side. 
 
 "M. le Cur6," he said, "I know you. You know 
 me. You are dying. You can tell me much that I 
 desire to know. How came my father at Quer- 
 hoal? I beg of you to tell me before you go." 
 
 But for any sign he made the wounded man might 
 never have heard his voice. 
 
 "Look you," said George again, a trifle more 
 sharply, "M. de Querhoal is dead. Raoul is dead. 
 My father is restored to us and to his right mind. 
 How came he to be locked up there all his life? 
 You are dying, man," he said, angry at the im- 
 passiveness of the other. "Why burden your soul 
 unnecessarily?" 
 
 But the other gave no sign of having heard 
 him. 
 
 "Tell me before you go," said George once more, 
 and very urgently, "and as far as I am concerned I 
 will forgive you the wrong done and will pray God 
 to rest your soul. Go without telUng me, and I 
 will never cease to curse you while I live." 
 
 But it was all of no avail. The sunken face re- 
 mained unmoved as if carved in wood. 
 
 I half expected an angry outburst from George. 
 But he rose from his knees in silence and beckoned 
 me away. 
 
 "He will not speak. But I had to ask him. Will 
 he ramble towards the end?" 
 
 "Impossible to say. He may simply drop away 
 without a sign. He is bleeding to death, and be- 
 yond assistance." 
 
 "Keep close to him, Charles, and call me when 
 [472] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 you see signs of the end. He might drop words 
 that would enUghten us." 
 
 "How is it with our brother. Monsieur?" asked 
 one of the other priests. 
 
 "He is dying." 
 
 "I will offer him absolution," and he crossed to 
 the dying man and knelt quietly by his side. I 
 slipped softly to one side, where M. Lesieur would 
 not see me if he opened his eyes. 
 
 The priest spoke softly to him. The Cure opened 
 his eyes for one quick look at him, then closed them 
 as before and remained silent. He feared to be 
 tricked. The other looked in truth no more Uke a 
 priest than he did himself. He would not trust 
 him, and to all that the other said he remained as 
 impervious as a stone. His self-command, in spite 
 of his agonies and ebbing strength, was admirable — 
 if only it had been for God and not for the devil. 
 This man was made of the stuff that martyrs are 
 made of, and I knew that he would never speak. 
 
 The enemy at our gates had apparently exhausted 
 his ingenuity. We breakfasted in peace on bread 
 and water and waited all day for a renewal of the 
 attack, but none came. A strong guard was posted 
 in each wing corridor, and we waited and they wait- 
 ed and nothing came of it all, and outside the mus- 
 ketry crashed without ceasing. The Reds were evi- 
 dently making a bigger fight of it here than they 
 had done in any other part of the city, and at 
 times we said to one ano her that the firing was 
 certainly nearer. We desired it so earnestly. It 
 meant life to us. And then the wind would lull 
 or shift and it sounded further away again, and our 
 hearts sank. But we were alive where death had 
 claimed so many, and we would not give up hope. 
 
 [473] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 So we nibbled our bread and sipped our water and 
 told ourselves it could not be very much longer. 
 
 Several times during the day I offered the dying 
 man water, but his lips were tight sealed and he 
 would not open them, though he must have been 
 suffering agonies of thirst. Just as the slow sun 
 was setting I saw the change I knew so well by 
 this time come over his face. I begged that other 
 priest, who stood near, still hoping to be of use at 
 the last, to fetch George, and he was by my side 
 in an instant. 
 
 He made one more effort. 
 
 "M. Lesieur! There is time still. Speak, and go 
 home with a clear conscience." 
 
 But the Cure's only answer was a tired straighten- 
 ing of the body and a settling down to rest, and his 
 head fell back against the wall. 
 
 "He is gone," I said. 
 
 His jaw dropped slowly and blood ran from his 
 mouth, and stooping I saw that his teeth had been 
 clenched so firmly on his tongue that it was almost 
 bitten through. 
 
 A martyr in very truth, but not of God. 
 
 We were still regarding him regretfully, and not 
 without bitterness, — for his silence had left a mys- 
 tery behind which was not likely ever to be dis- 
 sipated now, — when a turmoil in the corridors at 
 both ends of our fortress called us once more to 
 the fray. 
 
 We were barely in time to see what happened. 
 There was a wild scrambling among our piled-up 
 bedsteads. The rampart of tables was overthrown, 
 and at each end half-a-dozen men came tumbling 
 in on us. Over their heads grenades came hurtling 
 in as fast as they could be thrown. I saw at least 
 
 [474] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 a dozen spitting about the floor at once, and dived 
 into the nearest cell. Most of our men took cover, 
 and the new-comers got the worst of it as one by 
 one the devilish little machines burst, and sent their 
 fragments flying all over the place. 
 
 "Tables here!" roared George, as he sprang out 
 of hiding, and glad I was to hear his voice. "Down 
 with those fools ! More tables here ! Pile them up!" 
 and he thrashed away furiously with the leg of a 
 bedstead in his one hand at any head that showed 
 round the comer of the gate, and then sent it whirl- 
 ing among the throng outside as he caught sight of 
 an arm about to fling a grenade. There was a fall 
 and a backward rush and a blasphemous outburst. 
 But our rampart of tables was up again before they 
 recovered. At the other end of the corridor old 
 Sergeant Comu was playing the same game. In 
 the middle a fierce fight was going on between our 
 people and the dozen or so who had entered. But 
 we were near ten to one. It was our lives or theirs, 
 and it was very soon over. We leaned against the 
 walls elate, and coughed up the smoke of the bombs. 
 
 It was marvellous that men should have been 
 found mad enough for such a venture, but a word 
 from old Lepine explained it. He looked at the 
 bodies as they were being flung into the furthest 
 cell, and said, "They are detenus from the other 
 wing. That" — pointing to one who was just in 
 transit — "is Duclos, the murderer of old Madame 
 Sainton. This" — touching another with his foot — "is 
 one Collet, murderer also. They have released them 
 on condition of attacking us." 
 
 "And omitted to tell them what to expect," said 
 George. 
 
 From the outside they tried to thrust down our 
 [475] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 screen with poles to make way for more grenades. 
 We built a second barrier behind, and they gave it 
 up and for a time left us in peace. 
 
 Before it grew quite dark George divided the last 
 of the bread among us. There was still a little water 
 left after every one had had a drink. He tried to put 
 some heart into us with hopeful words, and I bound 
 up splinter wounds wherever I found them. But, 
 speaking for myself, my heart was of the heaviest. 
 The Government troops would undoubtedly come, 
 sooner or later. Greatly I feared it would be later, 
 and that they would only find what the fiends in 
 the corridors might choose to leave of us, which 
 would probably not be of much use to anybody and 
 still less sightly. 
 
 The venom of their hatred for us was extraordi- 
 nary. It could not have been surpassed had we 
 been the actual heads of the Government, whereas 
 we were in fact a most ordinary lot of nobodies. I 
 can only account for it by the supposition that they 
 had all gone mad and that the human in them had 
 given place to the animal. Like maddened beasts, 
 blinded to their own risks, they ran amuck to satisfy 
 their own wild pass ons. 
 
 We were lying and sitting about the floor, in 
 darkness and much desperation, with the sound of 
 the distant fighting outside in our ears, when a 
 tumult in the corridors warned us of a further 
 attack, and I wondered in a dull way, for I was 
 very tired, what course it would take this time. 
 
 From the sounds, they were bringing up some new 
 instrument of destruction. The corridor was full of 
 rumblings and pantings. There were voices outside 
 the gratings also, but we could make out nothing of 
 what was going on. Then there came the sound of 
 
 [476] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 hammering in the corridor and presently the stone 
 slabs beneath our feet grew sticky and slippery, 
 and by feel and smell we knew they were empty- 
 ing kegs of petroleum through our defences. It 
 seemed to me that we stood a very fair chance of 
 being roasted where we stood. 
 
 But there were men of resource among us. 
 
 "Mop it up with the bedding," suggested one. 
 
 "Good!" said George. "Beds here, quick! Soak 
 up all you can. The more you pick up the less 
 there'll be to bum," and the mattresses were swab- 
 bing up the slimy stuff before he had done speaking. 
 
 The smell of petroleum gives me nausea to this 
 day. As the beds grew sodden with it we dragged 
 them away to one of the middle inside cells and 
 piled them in, one on top of the other, and we were 
 soon most of us as well soaked as they were. If any 
 of us by chance caught fire it would be a case of 
 Nero's torches with us. Our would-be cooks had 
 emptied all their kegs, but still they waited, and we 
 heard the murmur of voices in the prison grounds. 
 Then a weird light shone in on us from the outside, 
 and flames and smoke rushed up against the grat- 
 ings, and at the same moment lights flashed in 
 the corridors, and flames came snaking swiftly in 
 along the floor, and we stood back in much trepi- 
 dation to watch the effect. 
 
 The spaces at each end of the corridor filled by our 
 tangle of bedsteads became roaring furnaces in a 
 moment, and the filthy black smoke rolled round us 
 in clouds. Our table ramparts caught fire and 
 blazed furiously. The flames came licking along the 
 floor in search of the sodden mattresses. They had 
 little to feed upon, however, and did not amount to 
 much, since they covered no more than twenty feet 
 
 [477] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 or so at each end of our refuge. We kept warily 
 out of reach, lest our oil-soaked persons should add 
 fuel to the fire. It was surely a strange sight. The 
 flames lit up the place as light as day. The whole 
 hundred and twenty of us huddled together into as 
 small a space as possible, with a burning fiery 
 furnace at either side, and another forking at us 
 through the gratings of the front cells. The roof 
 was a dense rolling cloud of smoke which set us all 
 choking and coughing, and our faces, where they 
 were not black with our labors, were white with 
 exhaustion and despair. There was still one line of 
 temporary retreat open to us — the inner cells, but 
 with one or two exceptions the fascination of the 
 flames held us face to face with them, and even 
 those who had slipped away kept coming back to 
 see if the end was any nearer. 
 
 The flames in the corners seemed dying down 
 Those along the floor had burned themselves out. 
 Our hopes revived. Then of a sudden the comer 
 flames leaped up to the roof. Their corners were 
 not large enough to hold them, and they came 
 flowing in a long vicious stream of fire down the 
 corridor towards us. The fiends in the outer cor- 
 ridors were feeding the fire in some extraordinary 
 way to such an extent that the furnaces overflowed, 
 and their superfluity was intended for our undoing, 
 and came very near to it. Many of our number had 
 broken ofl' into the rear cells, where the grilles still 
 admitted fresh air. George had given the word for 
 the rest to follow and close the doors, when above 
 and through the roaring flames a new sound caught 
 our ears. 
 
 God spoke to the men of old in a voice of thunder. 
 He spoke to us that night in the rattling thunder 
 
 [478] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 of the chassepSts, close under the building at last— 
 and they sang of safety and deUverance from a 
 horrible death. 
 
 Half-a-dozen men sprang across to the outer cells 
 and swarmed up to the grilles, regardless of flames 
 and smoke, and shouted, in voices that told their 
 own story, 
 
 "A nous, a nous! They are roasting us!" 
 
 A great shout answered them. We all heard it. In 
 the sudden switch from death to life strong men fell 
 on one another's necks and kissed and cried, and 
 comported themselves generally as men may when 
 fiery Death has licked their faces and then passed 
 by.. 
 
 One man, dancing back across the corridor, like a 
 thing bereft of sense at the prospect of life, caught 
 fire, and we fell on him and beat death off with our 
 oil-soaked hands, which is a desperate thing to do, 
 and some of us carried the hall-mark of that day's 
 work for many a day to come. 
 
 But the flames had sunk again as the feeders fled, 
 and soon it was water instead of oil that came 
 pumping and hissing and finally splashing — oh, most 
 heavenly sound ! the cold splashing of water ! — 
 hissing and splashing over the furnaces at each end 
 of the corridor. The red-hot tangle of twisted bed- 
 steads squirmed and blackened, the white steam rose 
 in clouds, the water flowed in dirty heavenly streams 
 over the floor, driAring the blazing oil in front of it; 
 the oil spluttered and went out, and we were saved. 
 
 What a cheer they gave us, those Gabriels of the 
 new life, — hard-faced, tight-lipped men, with the 
 marks of their six days' street-fighting all over 
 them, and the lust of blood in their bloodshot 
 eyes. But to us they were angels of light, and we 
 
 [4,79] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 fell upon them and embraced them as if they had 
 come straight from heaven. 
 
 But every man's work was waiting for him that 
 night, and from saviors they turned to slaughterers 
 again the moment they saw us free. They had no 
 time for idle congratulations. The rats were on the 
 run and their work was to kill as many as possible. 
 They dropped their pumps and buckets, and picked 
 up their guns, and rushed away to the red work of 
 extermination. And we, the redeemed, streamed out 
 into the night and scattered to the safest places we 
 could think of. 
 
 George and I hurried off to carry our own good 
 news to the hearts that we knew must be breaking 
 for us. 
 
 The ghastly sights which started out at us from 
 the flickering darkness will never leave us. Sure 
 Dante in his circles came upon no more woful 
 horrors. 
 
 Ever3rwhere blood and fire, and the stark bodies 
 of men and women and children, and of the houses 
 they had lived in. By the leaping flames of the 
 holocaust we picked precarious passage down the 
 Rue de la Roquette; scrambled through the breached 
 barricade, where the bodies were still warm and 
 limp; into the Place de la Bastille, where they lay 
 in heaps; out through the barricade facing the Rue 
 St. Antoine, where many houses were burning, and 
 the sides of them and the sidewalks were splashed 
 with blood; across the great blank space where the 
 charred husk of the Hotel de Yille was still smok- 
 ing; and so home, and very grateful we were to find 
 the house still standing. 
 
 We hammered on the door, and our hearts seemed 
 to beat louder than our fists. These were times of 
 
 r480] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 such dreadful possibilities. But the door opened 
 cautiously at last and Hugh Myrtle greeted us with 
 a great glad shout, and we knew that all was well. 
 I left the others to follow and went up the stairs 
 four at a time, and at the top the sweetest face in 
 all the world welcomed me back to life with a smile 
 of inexpressible thankfulness. 
 
 31 [ 481 J 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 Just a week later we were in the diligence;, grind- 
 ing along the high road between Canines and Dinan 
 as fast as two sturdy Breton horses could carry us, 
 Marie, George, and I. Hugh and Freda were away to 
 Cassel to interview papa. And the long plains of 
 Brittany, with the orchards shedding their blooms 
 like showers of belated snow round red-roofed ham- 
 lets and little pointed spires, and the serried rows of 
 poplars swaying stately in the breeze, and the lush 
 meadows where contemplative cattle whisked spas- 
 modic tails in shallow brown streams, seemed to us 
 like the plains of heaven — so very different from 
 that charred and blood-sprinkled city of palaces 
 from which we had come. 
 
 " They've been going a bit crazy la-bas," remarked 
 old Pinson the driver, meaning thereby Paris. 
 
 "Yes," we said, "they've been going a bit crazy." 
 
 "But we're rid of those pigs of Prussians anyhow," 
 he said, with the manner of one who defied con- 
 tradiction. 
 
 We acknowledged that he was right. We were rid 
 of those pigs of Prussians anyhow. 
 
 "And now, without doubt, we've got to pay the 
 bill." 
 
 That too we did not dispute. 
 
 "Nom d'un chien ! and it's we poor devils who 
 have to pay it !" 
 
 P^re Pinson's portion would not go a great way 
 towards the liquidation of the bill, but I doubt if 
 
 [482] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 we would have raised a dissenting finger if he had 
 accused us of being Prussians ourselves, which he 
 knew a great deal better than to do. We wanted 
 peace, peace for the rest of our lives and after. 
 For we knew of our own knowledge what war 
 meant, and there is no power on earth that makes 
 so strongly for peace as the actual intimate knowl- 
 edge of war. 
 
 We had wired the news of our coming from Ver- 
 sailles, and they were all at the office to meet us, 
 and Ptre Pinson drove up the street with so mighty 
 a whip-cracking that all the passers-by turned to 
 wonder whom he had got on board. 
 
 My mother looked younger and handsomer than 
 ever I had thought to see her. I had to ask myself 
 if it were possible that this old, old man of many 
 experiences could be that youthful lady's son? 
 
 Elrode Smartte was there, with his right sleeve 
 looped up and a slight limp in the right leg, but so 
 jubilantly happy that my heart went out to him 
 afresh for his cordiality. 
 
 " Just brought down your leg for you to look at, 
 my boy," was his greeting. "It's a leg any man 
 might be proud of," and he stuck it out for my 
 inspection. 
 
 Madame de Kerhuel was there, gravely happy, but 
 with the wave-marks of trouble very plainly visible 
 in her face. But her hand-clasp and welcome were 
 of the warmest, and her eyes were very bright as 
 she led us — Marie's hand and mine in one of her 
 hands and George's in the other — to the grave, bent 
 man who stood watching us all with much interest 
 but no recognition. 
 
 "Godefroi," she said softly, "this is George, our 
 son," and the two men looked for a moment into 
 
 [483] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 one another's eyes and then, French fashion, em- 
 braced one another. 
 
 "And this is our dear Marie," and the father's 
 eyes filled suddenly with new light as he found in 
 the sweet, shy face a near link with the past which 
 was his own. He embraced her warmly, and his 
 eyes wandered constantly back to her, and lingered 
 on her as though they found themselves more at 
 home there than anywhere else. Me, too, he wel- 
 comed warmly, as one receives a stranger with whom 
 one desires to be friendly. But I noticed that he 
 was a silent man and I was not surprised at it. 
 
 But there were other surprises in store for me. 
 
 "Well, Charles, my son," said Smartte, as we 
 strolled towards bur house, George with his father, 
 and Marie between the two ladies, "you have done 
 well, very well, and I am pleased with you. My 
 conscience ! boy, just suppose we had never met ! 
 Life on this little planet is the strangest hit-and- 
 miss business that ever was. A quarter of an hour 
 may change a man's whole life." 
 
 "You and I have seen less than that stop it 
 altogether." 
 
 " That's so. Less than no time does it and neither 
 of 'em knows anything about it. One pulls a trig- 
 ger at a mob half a mile away and the other gets 
 a bullet from he doesn't know where. It's the devil's 
 own game. You've had enough of it, I reckon." 
 
 "More than enough. A little goes a long way. 
 You seem fairly fit again. Rode." 
 
 "Fit? Never was fitter in my life, and never 
 thought to be so happy in this crooked little world, 
 and all your doing, my boy. You've picked out 
 a plum yourself," he said, after a pause. "I con- 
 gratulate you. She's a sweet-looking girl and worth 
 
 [484 J 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 all your trouble." Another pause, and I saw him 
 glance sideways at me, and then, "Well — and what 
 have you got to say about it? Not disappointed, 
 I hope?" and he looked a trifle anxious. 
 
 "Disappointed?" I said. "What, with my 
 wife " 
 
 "With j-oar wife?" he shouted. "Man alive! Do 
 you mean to say you never got our letters?" 
 
 "We've had no letters for eight weeks." 
 
 "Whoop!" and he dashed at the ladies in front. 
 "Kitty, they know nothing about it," and he 
 grabbed my mother by the arm and led her back to 
 me, all rosy with confusion, while the wondering 
 natives grinned at one another, "How droll they 
 are, these English, par exemple." 
 
 "Allow me," said Smartte, enjojdng himself ex- 
 ceedingly. "You have not been properly introduced, 
 you two. You had no right to speak to one an- 
 other. Mr. Charles Glyn— Mrs. Elrode E. Smartte. 
 You have met before, I believe. I hope you will be 
 good friends." 
 
 "Truly?" I asked. "Or is it only his fun?" 
 
 "Truly, my dear!" said my mother, still rosy red 
 but looking very happy, and still younger than be- 
 fore. "And we have to thank you for it." 
 
 "He's the very best fellow in the world," I said, 
 "and I am heartily glad you have come together. 
 What a day this is ! I knew Marie was finding 
 practically a new father, but I certainly had no idea 
 I was in the same lucky boat. My dear dad, I adopt 
 you on the spot." 
 
 "I adopted you, my son," he said solemnly, "on 
 a very much less pleasant spot. I judge a man by 
 his eyes, and I cottoned on to yours as soon as I 
 
 [485] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 saw them. If I knew the man that fired that shell 
 that brought me here I'd give him an annuity." 
 
 We passed the little house I knew so well, and 
 turned into a very much finer one, where Josephine 
 Druot stood on the top step full of smiles and con- 
 gratulations, and behind her in the front room a 
 breakfast awaited us that made our mouths water. 
 
 "How does that compare with stewed horse, Col- 
 onel?" asked Smartte, as he heaped George's plate 
 with a second serving of white spring chicken, and 
 delicate fringed salad. 
 
 "I shall never mount a horse again, I fear, without 
 thinking how much better he is to ride than to eat," 
 said George. "But there's one thing a shade worse 
 than horse to eat." 
 
 "What's that?" asked Smartte. "Mule?" 
 
 "No horse," said George, with extreme gravity. 
 "There have been times when I have been glad even 
 of horse. I remember, in one of the later sorties, 
 some artillery horses were shot close to us, and my 
 men broke ranks under fire to cut chunks out of 
 them, and ate them raw. It was a bitter, bad time. 
 Thank Heaven, it's past, and some of us are left 
 alive." 
 
 "Will you go back?" asked Smartte. 
 
 "Yes, I shall go back. They want me, and there 
 is a life's work to be done there in reorganizing 
 things." 
 
 "Well, I hope you'll start on a good square basis 
 this time. Things were very queer before." 
 
 "We have been sifted with steel and purged with 
 fire," said George. "I think things will be better 
 now. The price has been a heavy one, but we have 
 paid it and we start clear." 
 
 Our good friend, M. Renel, came in after break- 
 [486] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 fast. Smartte told me he had wanted him to join us 
 at it, but the good little pastor's native modesty 
 would not permit him to obtrude to such an extent 
 on our family meeting. His joy at our safe return 
 was full and deep, and our encomiums on his and 
 our friend, M. DelUeu, gave him the utmost satis- 
 faction. 
 
 "You have been led by strange and wonderful 
 paths," he said, as he stood on the sidewalk holding 
 Marie's hand and mine in his, before we joined her 
 father and mother in the carriage that was to take 
 us to Kerhuel, "but the end is peace. For which 
 God be thanked!" 
 
 The carriage was a new one, large and roomy and 
 well hung, and we bowled along between the poplars 
 at a great pace. It suited George's humor to go on 
 the box seat, though we could have found room for 
 him inside. 
 
 I asked Madame where and how Godefroi was. 
 
 "He is in Poitou, at the moment, looking after 
 some matters there," she said, and Marie looked up 
 at her quickly. 
 
 "Ah, you did not know," said Madame. "He 
 died"— referring to her father— "just a month ago, 
 and Godefroi is reheving me of most of the business 
 matters." 
 
 M. de Kerhuel was, as I have said, very silent, and 
 yet, under all the circumstances, I could not say 
 strangely silent. He sat now enjoying the easy 
 swing of the carriage, the sweet soft air and the sun- 
 shine, the fields and the trees. One could see by his 
 face how pleasant these things were to him, but he 
 never once opened his mouth between Dinan and 
 Kerhuel. 
 
 And that I found by experience was his habit. He 
 [ 487 1 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 had been so long out of the world that he had as 
 yet hardly got used to being in it again. To all in- 
 tents and purposes he had been dead for eighteen 
 years. In silence he found escape from slips and 
 anachronisms which to himself would doubtless have 
 been, painful, but which would have been received 
 with the tenderest sympathy by those who loved 
 him. 
 
 This, and his slightly bent figure, and the undue 
 aging of his looks, was the only reminder of the 
 tragedy in which he had figured. 
 
 Marie and I settled down quietly for a time at 
 Kerhuel, and by slow degrees I grew into very 
 friendly terms with my father-in-law, and came to 
 like and respect him much. 
 
 After a time he would talk to me as he talked to 
 no one else, and I think that he found much reUef 
 therein. He knew that as a doctor I would under- 
 stand him and his case, and he came to know that 
 as a son I bore him a very deep affection. 
 
 How often, sitting there with our cigars in the 
 tinkle of the weir, have we discussed that great 
 mystery of which he had been the victim. I think he 
 spoke of it to no other person. But with me he dis- 
 cussed it fully and freely, and we tried our best to 
 lift the veil and come at the meaning of it. 
 
 At his urgent request I sought light on the sub- 
 ject from any and every source,— from Madame, from 
 M. Renel, from the old servants — the possible sources 
 of information were indeed neither far to seek nor 
 difficult to tap. But the holders of the actual keys 
 to the mystery were all gone, and all by sudden and 
 violent deaths, and their knowledge went with them. 
 
 We never have learned the meaning of it. But as 
 the result of my many discussions with M. de Ker- 
 
 [488] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 huel and my inquiries on his behalf, and a careful 
 turning over and piecing together of these things in 
 my mind, we arrived at a possible explanation. As 
 a possible explanation only do I offer it. The true 
 and full reason why Godefroi de Kerhuel was for 
 eighteen years detained a prisoner, in squalor and 
 misery, in the Chateau of Querhoal, within stone's 
 throw of his own home and wife and children, who 
 thought him dead, is one of those hidden things of 
 this world which only the opening of the books up 
 above will make plain. 
 
 Twenty-five years before this, M. Lesieur arrived in 
 Dinan, Jesuit to the core, and with his way to make 
 in the world. The two chief objects to be attained — 
 let us do him every justice, and say for his Church 
 and not for himself— were money and power, either 
 or both. The two things have become to all intents 
 and purposes identical, whence the Devil reaps a 
 plenteous harvest. 
 
 M. Lesieur found Godefroi de Kerhuel, the elder, a 
 widower with one son, little Godefroi, and Raoul de 
 Querhoal, the elder, both suitors for the hand of 
 Mile. Destoumelles, heiress to large estates in Poi- 
 tou, by descent a Huguenot, by religion a Protes- 
 tant, and so outside the sphere of his influence. 
 
 The de Querhoals were ever a wild, headstrong 
 race, and the old Count and his son showed no 
 signs of being more amenable to priestly guidance 
 than their forbears. De Kerhuel, on the other hand, 
 was good Catholic and of an easy-going and amia- 
 ble disposition. Lesieur's good wishes were therefore 
 doubtless with the latter, though he was powerless 
 to assist either one or the other. 
 
 De Kerhuel won the heiress and they were married, 
 M. le Curfe attending to the interests of th^ Church as 
 
 [489] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 regards the future disposition of the property, so far 
 as that was possible when everything depended on 
 children yet unborn. 
 
 De Querhoal departed, married, returned a year 
 later with his son Raoul, whose mother had died in 
 giving him birth, and then rambled off into far-away 
 countries, and was absent for some three or four 
 years. 
 
 M. Lesieur's influence then was strong at Kerhuel, 
 but less strong at Querhoal, where priestly influence 
 was at a discount. 
 
 When Raoul de Querhoal returned from his wander- 
 ings there were at Kerhuel three children bom of 
 Godefroi's second marriage. 
 
 All that is history, now We pass into the wider 
 realm of supposition. 
 
 Raoul's passion for Godefroi's wife revived in all 
 its force at sight of her. He lived a retired life at 
 the Chateau, shooting, fishing, and wandering in the 
 woods— possibly lying at times in the bushes on the 
 river bank above the weir, and watching with en- 
 vious eyes the happy family life at Kerhuel, and 
 greatly breaking the tenth commandment. 
 
 To a Querhoal so situated nothing was impossible. 
 
 Godefroi de Kerhuel, driving home from the market 
 at Caulnes one foggy night with his servant, Jean 
 Dobain, beside him, and his dog Bar running be- 
 tween the wheels, finds himself nearly in the river. 
 While continuing his journey at a cautious walk a 
 murderous blow from behind knocks him senseless, a 
 second blow fells his companion, and Raoul de Quer- 
 hoal, swinging one of the relics of his travels in his 
 hand, drops back into the road satisfied with his 
 work. All he has to do now is to dispose of the 
 bodies and in due time Godefroi's wife may be his. 
 [490] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 He is about to drive horse and cart and its dread- 
 ful contents over the steep river bank, when a hand 
 arrests him, and to his horror M. le Cure is at his 
 side. 
 
 What passed between them none shall say. But we 
 can see the results. Jean Dobain's body is found 
 many days afterwards in St. Malo Bay, bruised out 
 of recognition, but, by reason of certain belongings 
 of Godefroi's found upon it, is taken for his master's, 
 and as such is buried at Dinan, and the widow is 
 free to marry again, if she can be prevailed upon to 
 do so. 
 
 Why then the change of bodies? Why was the 
 work not finished? 
 
 Because Godefroi de'Kerhuel, senseless, with his 
 skull beaten in, was not dead. And M. le Curfe, with 
 lightning forethought, saw more personal advantage 
 in keeping him alive than in becoming accessory to 
 his murder. So far the Curfe was guiltless, unless, 
 indeed, he could have restrained the murderer before 
 he struck those fatal blows. We may give him the 
 benefit of the doubt. 
 
 But now his keen wits were at work. Here was 
 broth, not of his brewing, which he could stir to 
 advantage. De Querhoal was his, body and soul, 
 from that night forth. He would have De Kerhuel 
 too and so hold all the trumps. And in any case he 
 could not, as a priest of Mother Church, stand by 
 and permit murder. But to keep his hold on De 
 Querhoal he must assist him to cover up his crime. 
 That his elastic conscience would permit. The end 
 justifies the means. Jean Dobain's body is clothed 
 to the last minutest detail in Godefroi's garments 
 and ornaments, possibly the face is made unrecog- 
 nizable. Then cart, horse, and body are launched 
 [491] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 into the river. Bar, the dog, has run howling off into 
 the fog and finds his way home. Godefroi de Ker- 
 huel is conveyed by the two men to the Ch§.teau and 
 there kept prisoner. When he recovers from the out- 
 ward effects of the onslaught his brain is found to 
 be injured. Raoul's deed elevates the aspiring Cnri 
 to supreme power at Querhoal, and leaves him a 
 card in reserve for Kerhuel if he should ever care to 
 play it. 
 
 A dangerous game ! — a very dangerous game, but 
 one that might well appeal to such a mind. And 
 then, as a simple matter of humanity— shall he con- 
 sign Raoul to the guillotine ? And Madame surely is 
 happier as a widow than incumbered with a husband 
 whose brain is at fault, and who is at times — in fact, 
 always, at sight of a priestly robe— dangerously 
 savage? The lives of Madame and the children 
 would not be safe for a moment if he were free, and 
 the care of such a case would bow her life to the 
 ground. Let the author of the injury bear the brunt 
 of it— and let M. le Curi rule the roost. 
 
 If Raoul in time succeeds in winning Madame de 
 Kerhuel, M. le Cure holds them all in the hollow of 
 his hand. The power is his, he can dictate his own 
 terms by threatening disclosures, the money will 
 follow. Raoul, undoubtedly with the Curd's consent, 
 did his best to win Madame. But, as we know, she 
 would have none of him. What they would have 
 done with M. de Kerhuel had he succeeded, I do not 
 venture to say. That would probably have de- 
 pended on the terms Raoul made with M. le Cure. 
 
 Time passed on. Raoul at last gave the matter 
 up as a bad job and went away on his travels 
 again, and finally got killed at Solferino, but it was 
 too late now to return the injuried man to his home. 
 
 [492] 
 
FLOWERS OF THE DUST 
 
 M. le Curb's reputation would suffer, as well as that 
 of the house of Querhoal. And so he was kept 
 prisoner in the Chateau, and the crime of that foggy 
 night by the river spread out over eighteen years, 
 and might never have been revealed but for the 
 accident of the fire. 
 
 That is the explanation we finally arrived at of the 
 mystery of Querhoal. And, since M. Lesieur chose to 
 die in La Roquette, biting his tongue through lest 
 it should wag when his will failed him, I fear no 
 other explanation will ever be forthcoming. 
 
 A few days after we reached Kerhuel I received the 
 following telegram from Cassel — 
 
 "Papa says Yes. Freda — Hugh." 
 
 To which we replied. 
 
 " God bless you ! Marie — Charles." 
 
 And so in the dust of the mills the white flowers 
 blossomed. 
 
 And they have never ceased to flourish, for their 
 roots strike down to the eternal springs. 
 
 [493]