mmmimimmiimi It illil.Hl' .M *>ti!i"mM mfi mQmmmi.^.:^:^m^mmmMmmmmM O T..K..Sca('ne. Cornell University Library PS 1284.L8 Lorraine :a romance /by Robert W. Cttambe 3 1924 022 044 964 a Cornell University f Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022044964 LORRAINE a IRomance BY ROBERT W. jJHAMBERS ACTHOK OF ' THE KING IN YKLLOW " " TllK RKD REPUBLIC " fn:C. NEW YORK AND LONDON HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISKBRS 1898 ,A.3?413o Copyright, 1897, by Harpek & Brothers. All ri^hu reserved. TO MY FATI-IER LORRAINE ! Wh€7i Yetty in the dog-cart." "She'll probably take the reins," said Sir Thorald, cynically- Cecil brandished his whip and looked determined ; but it was Betty who drove him to Saiiit-Lys station, after all. The adieux were said, even more tearfully this time. Jack kissed his sister tenderly, and she wept a little on his shoulder — thinking of IJickerl. One by one the vehicles rolled away down the gravel drive ; and last of all came Molly Hesketh in the coupe with Jack Marche. Molly was sad and a trifle distraite. Those peri- odical mental illuminations during which she discov- ered for the thousandth and odd time that she loved her husband usually left her fairly innocuous. But she was a born flirt ; the virus was bred in the bone, 5G LOKRAINE ! and after the first half-mile she opened her batteries — her eyes — as a matter of course on Jack. What she got for her pains was a little sermon end- ing, •' See here, Molly — three years ago you played the devil with me until I kissed yon, and then yon were furious and threatened to tell Sir Thorald. The truth is, you're in love with him, and there is no more harm in you tlian there is in a china kitten." " Jack I" she gasped. "And," he resumed, "you live in Paris, and you see lots of things and you hear lots of things that you don't hear and see in Lincolnshire. But you're Brit- ish, Molly, and you are domestic, although you hate the idea, and there will never be a desolated hearth in the Hesketh household as long as you speak your mother-tongue and read Anthony TroUope." The rest of the road was traversed in silence. They rattled over the stones in the single street of Saint- Lys, rolled into the gravel oval behind the Gare, and drew up amid a hubbub of restless teams, market- wagons, and station-trucks. " See the soldiers !" said Jack, lifting Lady Hes- keth to the platform, where the others were already gathered in a circle. A train was just gliding out of the station, bound eastward, and from every win- dow red caps projected and sunburned, boyish faces expanded into grins as they saw Lady Hesketh and her charges. " Vive I'Angleterre !" they cried. " Vive Madame la Heine ! Vive Johnbull et son rosbif !" the latter observation aimed at Sir Thorald. Sir Thorald waved his eye-glass to them conde- scendingly ; faster and faster moved the train ; the TRAINS EAST AND WEST 57 red caps and fresh, tanned faces, the laughing eyes became a blur and then a streak ; and far down the glistening track the faint cheers died away and were drowned in the roar of the wheels — little whirling wheels that were bearing them merrily to their graves at Wissembourg. "Here comes our train," said Cecil. "Jack, my boy, you'll probably see some fun ; take care of your hide, old chap !" He didn't mean to be patronizing, but he had Betty demurely leaning on his arm, and— dear me ! — how could he help patronizing the other poor devils in the world who had not Betty, and who never could have Betty ? '■■Jlontez, madame, s"il vous plait ! — Montez, mes- sieurs !" cried the Chef de Gare ; "last train for Paris until Wednesday ! All aboard !" and he slammed and locked the doors, while the engineer, leaning impa- tiently from his cab, looked back along the line of cars and blew his whistle warningly. "' Good-by, Dorrie !" cried Jack. "Good-by, my darling Jack! Be careful; you will, won't you ?" But she was still thinking of Rickerl, bless her little heart ! Lady Hesketh waved him a demure adieu from the open window, relented, and gave his hand a hasty squeeze with her gloved fingers. "Take care of Lorraine," she said, solemnly; then laughed at his telltale eyes, and leaned back on her husband's shoulder, still laughing. The cars were gliding more swiftly past the plat- form now ; he caught a glimpse of Betty kissing her hand to him, of Cecil bestowing a gracious adieu, of Sir Thorald's eye-glass — then they were gone; and far 58 LORRAINE I up the tracks the diminishing end of the last car dwindled to a dark square, a spot, a dot, and was in- gulfed in a flurry of dust. As he turned away and passed along the platform to the dog-cart, there came a roar, a shriek of a locomotive, a rush, and a train swept by towards the east, leaving a blear of scarlet in his eyes, and his ears ringing with the soldiers^ cheers : " Vive la France ! Vive I'Emjoereur ! A Ber- lin ! A Berlin ! A Berlin !" A furtive-eyed young peasant beside him shrugged his shoulders. " Bismarck has called for the menu ; his cannon are hungry,"' he sneered ; ''there goes the bill of fare." " That's very funny," said a fierce little man with a gray mustache, "but the bill of fare isn't complete — the class of '71 has just been called out !" and he pointed to a placard freshly pasted on the side of the station. "The — the class of '71 ?" muttered the furtive- eyed peasant, turning livid. " Exactly — the bill of fare needs the hors d'ceuvres ; you'll go as an olive, and probably come back a sar- dine — in a box." And the fierce little man grinned, lighted a ciga- rette, and sauntered away, still grinning. AVhat did he care ? He waa a pompier and exempt. VII THE ROAD TO PARADISE The road between Saint-Lys and Morteyn was not a military road, but it was firm and smooth, and Jack drove back again towards the Chateau at a smart trot, flicking at leaves and twigs with Cecil's whip. The sun had brushed the veil of rain from the hori- zon ; the leaves, fresh and tender, stirred and sparkled with dew in the morning breeze, and all the air was sweet-scented. In the stillness of the fields, where wheat stretched along the road like a green river tinged with gold, there was something that troubled him. Silence is oppressive to sinners and proj)hets. He concluded he was the former, and sighed restless- ly, looking out across the fields, where, deep in the stalks of the wheat, blood-red poppies opened like raw wounds. At other times he had compared them to little fairy camp-fires ; but his mood was pessimistic, and he saw, in the furrows that the plough had raised, the scars on the breast of a tortured earth ; and he read sermons in bundles of fresh -cut fagots; and death was written where a sickle lay beside a pile of grass, crisping to hay in the splendid sun of Lorraine. What he did not see were the corn-flowers peeping at him with dewy blue eyes ; the vineyards, where the fruit hung faintly touched with bloom ; the field 60 LOKKAINE ! birds, the rosy-breasted finches, the thrush, as speckled as her own eggs — no, nor did he hear them; for the silence that weighed on his heart came from his heart. Yet all the summer wind was athrill with harmony. Thousands of feathered throats swelled and bubbled melody, from the clouds to the feathery heath, from the scintillating azure in the zenith to the roots of the glittering wheat where the corn-flowers lay like bits of blue sky fallen to the earth. As he drove he thought of Lorraine, of her love for her fatlier and her goodness. He already recog- nized that dominant passion in her, her unselfish ado- ration of her father — a father who sat all day behind bolted doors trifling with metals and gases and little spinning, noiseless wheels. The selfish to the unself- ish, the dead to the living, the dwarf to the giant, and the sinner to the saint — this is the world and they that dwell therein. He thought of her as he had seen her last, smiling up into the handsome, bearded face that questioned her. No, the wound was nothing — a little blood lost — enough to make her faint at his feet — that was all. But his precious box was safe — and she had flung her loy^al arms about the man who saved it and had kissed him before her father, because he had secured what was dearer to her than life — her father's happiness — a little metal box full of it. Her father was very grateful and very solicitous about her wounded shoulder; but he opened his box before he thought al;out bandages. Everything was intact, except the conservatory window and his daugh- ter's shoulder. Both could be mended — but his box ! ah, that, if lost, could never be replaced. TEE ROAD TO PA11A.DISB 61 Jack's throat was hard and dry. A Inmp came into it, and he swallowed with a shrug, and flicked at a fly on the headstall. A vision of Sir Thorald, bending over little Alixe, came before his eyes. " Pah !" he muttered, in disgust. Sir Thorald was one of those men who cease to care for a woman when she begins to care for them. Jack knew it ; that was why he had been so gentle with Molly Hesketh, who had turned his head when he was a boy and given him his first emotions — passion, hate — and then knowledge ; for of all the deep emotions that a man shall know before he dies the first consciousness of knowledge is the most profound; it sounds the depths of heaven and hell in the space of time that the heart beats twice. He was passing through the woods now, the lovely oak and beech woods of Lorraine. An ancient dame, bending her crooked back beneath a load of fagots, gave him " God bless you !'' and he drew rein and returned the gift — but his was in silver, with the head of his imperial majesty stamped on one side. As he drove, rabbits ran back into the woods, hoist- ing their white signals of conciliation. " Peace and good will" they seemed to read, '' but a wise rabbit takes to the woods." Pheasants, too, stepped daintily from under the filbert bushes, twisting their gorgeous necks curiously as he passed. Once, in the hollow of a gorge where a little stream trickled under layers of wet leaves, he saw a wild-boar standing hock-deep in the ooze, rooting under mosses and rotten branches, absorbed in his rooting. Twice deer leaped from the young growth on the edge of the fields and bounded lazily into denser cover, only to stop when half con- 62 LORRAINE ! cealed and stare back at him with gentle, curious eyes. The horse pricked np his ears at sncli times and introduced a few waltz steps into his steady if monotonous repertoire, but Jack let him have his fling, thinking that the deer were as tame as the horse, and both were tamer than man. Excepting the black panther, man has learned his lesson slowest of all, the lesson of acquiescence in the inevitable. '•I'll never learn it," said Jack, aloud. His voice startled him — it was trembling. Lorraine ! Lorraine ! Life has begun for a very young man. Teach him to see and bring him to ac- cept existence in the innocence of your knowledge ; for, if he and the world collide, he fears the result to the world. A few moments later he drove into Paradise, which is known to some as the Chateau de Xesville. VIII UNDER THE YOKE During the next two weeks Jack Marche drove into Paradise fourteen times, and fourteen times he drove out of Paradise, back to the Chateau ilorteyn. Heav- en is nearer than people suppose ; it was three miles ■ from the road shrine at Morteyn. Our Lady of Morteyn, sculptured in the cold stone above the shrine, had looked with her wide stone eyes on many lovers, and had known they were lovers be- cause their piety was as sudden as it was fervid. Twice a day Jack's riding-cap was reverently doffed as he drew bridle before the shrine, going and coming from Paradise. At evening, too, when the old vicomte slept on his pillow and the last light went out in the stables. Our Lady of Morteyn saw a very young man sitting, with his head in his hands, at her feet ; and he took no harm from the cold stones, because Our Lady of Morteyn is gentle and gracious, and the summer nights were hot in the province of Lorraine. There had been little stir or excitement in Morteyn. Even in Saint-Lys, where all day and all night the troop-trains rushed by, the cheers of the war-bound soldiers leaning from the flying cars were becoming monotonous in the ears of the sober villagers. When 64 LORRAINB ! the long, flat cars, piled with cannon, passed, the peo- ple stared at the slender gims, mute, canvas-covered, tilted skyward. They stared, too, at the barred cars, rolling past in interminable trains, loaded with horses and caavas -jacketed troopers who peered between the slats and shouted to the women in the street. Other trains came and went, trains weighted with bellowing cattle or huddled sheep, trains choked with small square boxes marked '' Cartouches" or '• Obrrs — 7""^"; trains piled high with grain or clothing, or folded tents packed between varnished poles and piles of tin basins. Once a little excitement came to Saint- Lys when a battalion of red-legged infantry tramped into the village square and stacked rifles and ' jeered at the mayor and drank many bottles of red wine to the health of the shy-eyed girls peeping at tliem from every lattice. But tliey were only waiting for the next train, and when it came their bugles echoed from the bridge to the square, and they went away — went where the others had gone — laughing, singing, cheering from the cur -windows, where the sun beat down on their red caps, and set their but- tons glittering like a million swarming fire-flies. The village life, the daily duties, the dull routine from the vineyard to the grain- field, and from the etang to the forest had not changed in Saint-Lvs. There might be war somewhere ; it would never come to Saint-Lys. There might be death, yonder towards the Ehine — probably beyond it, far beyond it. What of it ? Death comes to all, but it comes slowly in Saint-Lys ; and the days are long, and one must eat to live, and there is much to'be done between the ris- ing and the setting of a peasant's sun. UNDER THE YOKE G,3 There, below in Paris, were wise heads and many soldiers. They, in Paris, knew what to do, andithe war might begin and end with nothing but a soiled newspaper in the Cafe Saint-Lys to show for it — as far as the peojjle of Saint-Lys knew. True, at the summons of the mayor, the National Guard of ,Saint-Lys mustered in the square, seven strong and a bugler. This was= merely a display of force — it meant nothing — but let those across the Rhine beware ! The fierce little man with the gray mustache, who was named Tricasse, and who commanded the Saint- Lys Pompiers, spoke gravely of Francs - corps, and drank too much eau-de-vie every evening. But these warlike ebullitions simmered away peacefully in the sunshine, and the tranquil current of life flowed as smoothly through Saint-Lys as the river Lisse itself, limpid, noiseless, under the village bridge. • Only one man had left the village, and that was Brun, the furtive-eyed young peasant, the sole repre- sentative in Saint-Lys of the conscript class of 1871. And he would never have gone had not a gendarme pulled him from under his mother's bed and hustled him on to the first Paris-bound train, which happened to be a cattle train, where Brun mingled his lamenta- tions with the bleating of sheep and the desolate bel- low of thirsty cows. Jack Marche heard of these tilings but saw little of them. The great war wave rolling through the provinces towards the Ehiue skirted them at Saint- Lys, and scarcely disturbed them. They heard that Douay was marching through the country somewhere, some said towards Wissembourg, some said towards 66 I.OHRAINE ! Saarbriick. But these towns were names to the peas- ants of 8aint-Lys — tant pis for the two towns ! And (ieneral Uouay — who was he ? Probably a fat man in red breeches and polished boots, wearing a cocked- hat and a cross on his breast. Anyway, they would chase the Prussians and kill a few, as they had chased the Eussians in the Crimea, and the Italians in Rome, and the Kabyles in Oran. The result ':" Xothing but a few new colours for the ribbons in their sweethearts' hair — like that pretty ;\Iagenta and Solferino and !Se- bastopol gray. •'Fichtre ! Faut-il gaspiller tout de meme ! mais, a la guerre comme a la guerre !" which meant nothing in hiaint-Lys. It meant more to Jack Marche, riding one sultry afternoon through the woods, idly drumndng on his spurred boots with a battered riding-crop. It was his daily afternoon ride to the (Jhateau de Xesville ; the shy wood creatures were beginning to know him, even the younger rabbits of the most re- cent generation sat up and mumbled their prehensile lips, watching him with large, moist eyes. As for the red squirrels in the chestnut-trees, and the dap- jAed deer in the carrefours, ami the sulky boars that bristled at him from the overgrown sentiers, they accepted him on condition that he kept to tlie road. And he did, head bent, thoughtful eyes fixed on his saddle-bow, drumming aljsently with his riding-crop on his spurred boots, his bridle loose on his horse's neck. There was little to break the monotony of the ride ; a sudden gush of song from a spotted thrush, the rus- tle of a pheasant in the brake, perhaps the modest greeting of a rare keeper patrolling his beat — nothing UNDER THE YOKE 07 more. He went armed ; he carried a long Colt's six- shooter in his holster, not because he feared for his own skin, but he thought it just as well to be ready in case of trouble at the Chateau de Xesville. How- ever, he did not fear trouble again ; the French ar- mies were moving everywhere on the frontier, and the spies, of course, had long ago betaken themselves and their projects to the other bank of the Khine. The Marquis de Nesville himself felt perfectly se- cure, now that the attempt had been made and had failed. He told .Tack so on the few occasions when he de- scended from his room during the young fellow's vis- its. He made not the slightest objections to Jack's seeing Lorraine when and where he pleased, and this very un-Gallic behaviour puzzled Jack until he l)egan to comprehend the depths of the man's selfish ab- sorption in his balloons. It was more than absorp- tion, it was mania pure and simjole, an aljsolute ina- bility to see or hear or think or understand anything except his own devices in the little bolted chamber above. He did care for Lorraine to the extent of providing for her every want — he did remember her existence when he wanted something himself. Also it was true that he would not have permitted a Frenchman to visit Lorraine as Jack did. He hated two persons ; one of these was Jack's uncle, the Yicomte de Mor- teyn. On the other hand, he admired him, too, be- cause the vicomte, like himself, was a royalist and shunned the Tuileries as the devil slums holy water. Therefore he was his equal, and he liked him because he could hate him without loss of self-respect. The 68 LORRAINE ! reason he hated him was this — the Yicomte de IMor- teyn had pooh-poohed the balloons. That occurred years ago, but he never forgot it, and had never seen the old vicomte since. Whether or not Lorraine vis- ited the old people at Mortej-n, he had neither time nor inclination to inquire. This was the man, tall, gentle, clean-cut of limb and feature, and bearded like Jove — this was the man to whom Lorraine devoted her whole existence. Every heart-beat was for him, every thought, every prayer. And she was very devout. This also was why she came to Jack so confidently and laid her white hands in his when he sjjrang from his saddle, his heart in flames of adoration. He knew this, he knew that her undisguised pleas- ure in his company was, for her, only another link that welded her closer to her father. At night, often, when he had ridden, back again, he thought of it, and paled with resentment. At times he almost hated her father. He could have borne it easier if the Mar- quis de Xesville had been a loving father, even a tyrannically solicitous father; but to see such love thrown before a marble -faced man, whose expres- sion never changed except when sj^eaking of his im- becile machines! "How can he! How can lie!" muttered Jack, riding through the woods. His face was sombre, almost stern ; and always he beat the devil's tattoo on his boot with the battered riding- crop. But now he came to the park gate, and the keeper touched his cap and smiled, and dragged the heavy grille back till it creaked on its hinges. Lorraine came down the path to meet him ; she VNDER THE YOKE C9 had never before done that, and he brightened and sprang to the ground, radiant with happiness. She had brought some sugar for the horse ; the beautiful creature followed her, thrusting its soft, satin muzzle into her hand, ears pricked forward, wise eyes fixed on her. " None for me ?"' asked Jack. " JSugar ?"' AVith a sudden gesture she held a lump oxit to him in the centre of her pink palm. Before she could withdraw the hand he had touched it with his lips, and, a little gravely, she withdrew it and walked on in silence by his side. Her shoulder had healed, and she no longer wore the silken support for her arm. !She was dressed in black — the effect of her glistening hair and blond skin was dazzling. His eyes wandered from the white wrist, dainty and rounded, to the full curved neck — to the delicate throat and proud little head. Her body, supple as perfect Greek sculpture ; her grace and gentle dignity ; her innocence, sweet as the light in her blue eyes, set him dreaming again as he walked at her side, preoccupied, almost saddened, a little afraid that such happiness as was his should provoke the gods to end it. He need not have taken thought for the gods, for the gods take thought for themselves ; and they were already busy at Saarbriick. Their mills are not al- ways slow in grinding; nor, on the other hand, are they always sure. They may have been ages ago, but now the gods are so out of date that saints and sin- ners have a chance about equally. They traversed the lawn, skirted the tall wall of 70 LORRAINE ! solid masonry that separated the chase from the park, and, jiassing a gate at the hedge, came to a little stone bridge, heneath which the Lisse ran dimpling. They watched the horse pursuing his own way tranquilly towards the stables, and, when they saw a groom come out and lead him in, they turned to each other, ready to begin another day of perfect contentment. First of all he asked about her shoulder, and she told him truthfully that it was well. Then she in- quired about the old vicomte and ^Madame de [Mortcyn, and intrusted pretty little messages to him for them, which lie, unlike most young men, usually remem- bered to deliver. '■ 'SU' father,'' she said, "has not been to breakfast or dinner since the day before yesterday. I should have been alarmed, but I listened at the door and heard him moving about with his machinery. I sent him some very nice things to eat ; I don't know if he liked them, for he sent no message back. Do you sujjpose he is hungry ?" '■'Xo," said Jack; "if he were he would say so." He was careful not to speak bitterly, and she noticed nothing. "I believe,"' she said, "that he is about to make another ascension. He often stays a long time in his room, alone, before he is ready. AVill it not be de- lightful? I shall perhaps be permitted to go up with him. Don't you wish you might go with us ?" •• "^'es," said Jack, with a. little more earnestness than he intended. "Oh ! you do ? If you are very good, perhaps — perhaps — but I dare not promise. If it were my bal- loon I would take you." UNDER THE YOKE 71 '• Would you — really ?" "Of course — you know it. But it isn't my balloon, you know. ' After :i moment slie went on ; ''I have been thinking all day how noble and good it is of my father to consecrate his life to a purpose that shall be of use to France. He has not said so, but I know that, if the next ascension proves that his discovery is beyond the chance of failure, he will notify the government and place his invention at their disposal. ]\lonsieur ]\Iarche, when I think of his unselfish no- bleness, the tears come — I cannot help it." " You, too, are noble," said Jack, resentfully. '•I ? Oh, if you knew ! I — I am actually wicked I Would you believe it, I sometimes think and think and wish that my father could spend more time with me — with me ! — a most silly and thoughtless girl who would sacrifice the welfare of France to her own ca- price. Think of it ! I pray — very often — that I may learn to be unselfish ; but 1 must be very bad, for I often cry myself to sleep. Is it not wicked ?'" "Wery," said Jack, but his smile faded and there was a catch in his voice. "You see," she said, with a gesture of desjiair, "even you feel it, too !" "Do you really wish to know wdiat I do think — of you ?" he asked, in a low voice. It was on the tip of her tongue to say " Yes." She checked herself, lips apart, and her eyes became troubled. There was something about .Jack Marche that she had not been able to understand. It occupied her — it took up a good share of her attention, but she did not know where to begin to philosophize, nor yet (2 lorraixe! where to end. He was different from other men — that she understood. But where was that difference ? — in his clear, brown eyes, sunny as brown streams in October ? — in his serious young face ? — in his mouth, clean cut and slightly smiling under his short, crisp mustache, burned blond by the sun ? Wlierc was the difference? — in his voice ? — in his gestures? — in the turn of his head ? Lorraine did not know, but as often as she gare the riddle up she recommenced it, idly sometimes, sometimes piqued that the solution seemed no nearer. Once, the evening she hud met him after their first encounter in the forest carrefour — that evening on the terrace when she stood looking out into the dazzling Lorraine moonlight — she felt that the solution of the riddle had been very near. But now, two weeks later, it seemed further off than ever. And yet this prob- lem, that occupied her so, must surely be worth the solving. What was it, tlien, in Jack Marche that made him what he was ? — gentle, sweet-tempered, a delight- ful companion — yes, a ctjmpanion that she would not now know how to do without. And yet, at times, there came into his eyes and into his voice something that troubled her — she could not tell why — something that mystified and checked her, and set her thinking again on the old, old prob- lem that had seemed so near solution that evening on the moonlit terrace. That was why she started to say " Yes " to his ques- tion, and did not, but stood with lips half parted and blue eyes troubled. He looked at her in silence for a moment, then, with a half-impatient gesture, turned to the river. UNDER THE YOKE 73 " Shall we sit down on the moss ?" she asked, vaguely conscious that his sympathies had, for a mo- ment, lost touch with hers. He followed her down the trodden foot-path to the bank of the stream, and, when she had seated herself at the foot of a Imden-tree, he threw himself at her feet. They were silent. He picked up a faded bunch of blue corn-flowers which they had left there, forgotten, the day before. One by one he broke the blossoms from the stalks and tossed them into the water. She, watching them floating away under the bridge, thought of the blue bits of paper — the telegram — that she had torn up and tossed upon tlie water two weeks before. He was thinking of the same thing, for, when she said, abruptly: "I should not have done that I" he knew what she meant, and replied : "Sui'li things are always your right — if you care to use it." She laughed. " Then you believe still in the feudal system ? I do not ; I am a good republican." "It is easy," he said, also laughing, "for a young lady with generations of counts and vieomtes behind her to be a republican. It is easier still for a man with generations of republicans behind him to turn royalist. It is the way of the world, mademoiselle." " Tiien you shall say : ' Long live the king I' " she said ; "' say it this instant !" " Long live — your king I" "My king ?" " I'm his subject if you are ; I'll shout for no other king." " Xow, whatever is he talking about ?" thought Lor- raine, and the suspicion of a cloud gathered in her 74: LOKRAINE 1 clear eyes again, bnt was dissipated at once when he said : '•' I have answered the JL/nihrs telegram." '' What did you say ?'" she asked, quickly. " I accepted — "' " What !" There was resentment in her voice. She felt that he had done something which was tacitly understood to be against her Avishes. True, what difference did it make to her ? Kone ; slie would lose a delightful companion. Suddenly, something of the significance of such a loss came to her. It was not a revelation, scarcely an illumination, but she understood that if he went she should be lonely — yes, even unhappy. Then, too, unconsciously, she had assumed a men- tal attitude of interest in his movements — of partial proprietorship in his thoughts. She felt vaguely that she had been overlooked in the decision he had made ; that even if she had not been consulted, at least he might have told her whaL he intended to do. Lorraine was at a loss to understand herself. But she was easily understood. For two weeks her atti- tude had been that of every innocent, lovable girl when in the presence of the man whom she frankly cares for ; and that attitude was one of mental pro- j)rietorsliip. Xow, suddenly finding that his symj^a- thics and ideas moved independently of her sympa- thies — that her mental influence, which existed until now unconsciously, was in reality no influence at all, she awoke to the fact that she perhaps counted for nothing with him. Therefore resentment appeared in the faintest of straight lines between her eyes. " Do you care ?" he asked, carelessly. ■•I ? "why, no." UNDEll THE YOKE If she had smiled at him and said " Yes,"' he would have despaired ; but she frowned a trifle and said "Xo," and Jack's heart began to beat. "I cal)led them two words: 'Accept — provision- all}'.' " he said. '• Oh, what did you mean ?" '■ Provisionally meant — with your consent." '■ ^[y — my consent ?" ' Yes — if it is your pleasure."' Pleasure ! Her sweet eyes answered what her lips withheld. Her little heart beat high. tSo then she did influence this cool young man, with his brown eves faintly smiling, and his indolent limbs crossed on the moss at her feet. At the same moment her instinct told her to tighten her hold. This was so perfectly feminine, so instinctively human, that she had done it before she herself was aware of it. " I shall think it over," she said, luukiug at him, gravely ; " I may permit you to accept." So was accomplished the admitted subjugation of Jack jMarclie — a stroke of diplomacy on his part ; and he passed under the yoke in such a manner that even the blindest of maids could see that he was not vault- ing over it instead. Having openly and admittedly established her sov- ereignty, she was happy — so hajDpy that she began to feel that perhaps the victory was not unshared by him. " I shall think it over very seriously," she rej^eated, watching his laughing eyes ; " 1 am not sure that I shall permit you to go." " I only wish to go as a special, not a regular cor- respondent. I wish to be at liberty to roam about and 76 LORRAINE ! sketch or write what I please. I tl)iuk my material will always be found in yonr vicinity."' Her heart fluttered a little ; this surprised her so much that her cheeks grew suddenly warm and pink. A little confused, she said what she had not dreamed of saying : " You won't go very far away, will you ?" And before she could modify her speech he had an- swered, imjDetuously : " Xever, until you send me away I" A mottled thrush on the top of the linden-tree sur- veyed the scene curiously. She had never beheld such a pitiably embarrassed young couple in all her life. It was so different in Thrushdom. Lorraine's first impulse was to go away and close several doors and sit down, very still, and think. Her next impulse was to stay and see what .Jack would do. He seemed to be embarrassed, too — he fidgeted and tossed twigs and pebbles into the river. She felt that she, who already admittedly was arbiter of his goings and comings, should do something to relieve this un- easy and strained situatiim. So she folded her hands on her black dress and said ; "There is something I have been wishing to tell you for two weeks, but I did not because I was not sure that I was right, and I did not wish to trouble you unnecessarily. Xow, perhaps, you would be willing to share the trouble with me. Would you ?" Before the eager answer came to his lips she con- tinued, hastily : "The man who made maps — the man whom you struck in the carrefour — is the same man who ran away with the box ; I know it !" " Tliat spy? — tliat tall, square -shouldered fellow with the pink skin and little, pale, pinkish eyes ?" UNDER THE TOKK 77 " Yes. I know his name, too." Jack sat np on the moss and listened anxiously. "■ Ilis name is Von Steyr — Siiird von Steyi-. It was written m pencil on the back of one map. Tlie morning after the assault on the house, when they thought I was ill in bed, I got up and dressed and went down to examine the road where you caught the man and saved my father's little steel box. There I found a strip of cloth torn from your evening coat, and — oh. Monsieur Marche ! — I found the great, flat stone with which he tried to crush you, just as my father fired from the wall I" The sudden memory, the thought of what might have happened, came to her in a flash for the first time. She looked at him — her hands were iu his be- fore she could understand why. " Go on," he whispered. Her eyes met his half fearfully — she withdrew her fingers with a nervous movement and sat silent. '■Tell me,"' he urged, and took one of her hands again. She did not withdraw it — she seemed con- fused ; and presently he dropped her hand and sat waiting for her to speak, his heart beating furiously. '• There is not much more to tell," she said at last, in a voice that seemed not quite under control. "I followed the broken bushes and his footmarks along the river until I came to a stone where I think he sat down. He was bleeding, too — my father shot him — ■ and he tore bits of paper and cloth to cover the wound — he even tore up another map. I found part of it, with his name on the back again — not all of it, though, but enough. Here it is.'' She handed him a bit of paper. On one side were 78 LORRAINE I the fragments of a map in water-colour ; on the other, written in (i-erman script, lie read " fSiurd von Steyr."' "It's enough," said Jack; "what a plucky girl you are, anyway I" "I ? You don't think so ! — do you ?'" " You are the bravest, sweetest — " " Dour me ! You must not say that I You are sadly uneducated, and I see I must take you under my control at once. Jlau is born to obey ! I have de- cided about your answer to the Jlcriihl's telegram." '• j\Iay I know the result ?" he asked, laughingly. '•To-morrow. There is a brook-lily on the border of the sedge-grass. You may bring it to me. ' So began the education of Jack .'\Iar(.he — under the yoke. And Lorraine's education began, too — but tlie was sublimely unconscious of that fact. This also is a law in the world. IX SAARBIlt'CK 0]sr tlie first day of August, lute in tlie afternoon, a peasant driving- an exliausted liorse pulled up at the Chateau Morteyn, where Jack ^larche stood on the terrace, smoking and cutting at leaves with his riding- crop. "What's the matter, Passerat ?'" asked Jack, good- humouredly ; " are the Prussians in the valley ?'" "You are right, ilonsieur ^Marche — the Prussians have crossed the Saar I" blurted out the man. His face was agitated, and he wiped the sweat from liis cheeks with the sleeve of his blouse. " Xonsense !" said Jack, sharply. " ilonsieur — I saw them ! They chased me — the Uhlans with their spears and devilish yellow horses.'' "Where?" demanded Jack, with an incredulous shrug. "' I had been to Forbach, where my cousin Passerat is a miner in the coal-mines. This morning I left to drive to Saint -Lys, having in my wagon these sacks of coal that my cousin Passerat procured for me, a prix reduit. It would take all day ; I did not care — I had bread and red wine — you understand, my cousin Passerat and I, we had been gay in Saint-Avoid, too — dame ! we see each other seldom. I niav have had 80 LOKRA.INE ! more eau-de-Yio tliau another — it is iDermitted on fete- days ! Monsieur, I was tired — I possibly slejDt — the road was hot. Then something awakes me ; I rub my eyes — behold me awake ! — staring dumfounded at what ? Parbleu ! — at two ugly Uhlans sitting on their yellow horses on a hill ! 'No ! no 1' I cry to myself; 'it is impossible !' It is a bad dream ! Dieu de Dieu 1 It is no dream ! ily Uhlans come galloj)- ing down the hill ; I hear them bawling ' Halt ! AVer da !' It is terrible ! ' Passerat !' I shriek, 'it is the hour to vanish I' " The man paused, overcome by emotions and eau- de-vie. "AVell," said Jack, "go on !" "And I am here, monsieur,"' ended the peasant, hazily. " Passerat, you said you had taken too much eau-de- vie ?" suggested Jack, with a smile of encouragement. " j\Iuch ? Monsieur, you do not believe me ?" "I believe you had a dream." "Bon," said the peasant, "I want no more such dreams." " Are you going to inform the mayor of Saint-Lys ?"' asked Jack. "Of course, ' muttered Passerat, gathering up his reins; " heu ! da-da! lieu I cocotte ! en route!" and he rattled sulkily away, perhaps a little uncertain himself as to the concreteness of his recent vision. Jack looked after him. " There might be something in it," he mused, " but, dear me ! his nose is unpleasantly — sun-burned." That same morning, Lorraine had announced her decision. It was that Jack might accept the position SAARBItUCK 81 of special, or rather occasioiia], war correspondent for the Xcw York IJcrald if ho wonUl promise not to I'e- main absent for more tlian a day at a time. Tliis, Jack tlionght, practically nullified the consent, for what in the world could a man see of the campaign under such circumstances ? Still, he did not object ; he was too happy. '•However,"' he thought, "I might ride over to Saarbriick. Suppose I should be on hand at the first battle of the war ?" As a mere lad he had already seen service with the Austrians at Sadowa ; he had risked his modest head more than once in the murderous province of Oran, where (leneral Chanzy scoured the hot plains like a scourge of Allah. He had lived, too, at headquarters, and shared the officers' mess where " cherba." •■ tadjines,"' " kous- kous,"' and "meehoin" formed the menu, and a '•'Kreima Kebira'" served as his roof. He had done his duty as correspondent, merely liecause it was his duty ; he would have preferred an easier assignment, for he took no pleasure in cruelty and death and the never-to-be-forgotten agony of proud, dark faces, where mud-stained turbans hung in ribbons and tin- selled saddles reeked with Arab horses" blood. War correspondent ? It had happiened to be his call- ing ; but the accident of his profession had been none of his own seeking. Xo w that he needed nothing in the way of recompense, he hesitated to take it np again. Instinctive loyalty to his old newspaper was all that had induced him to entertain the idea. Loyalty and deference to Lorraine compelled him to modify his acceptance. Therefore it was not altogether idle Xi LORRAINE ! curiosity, but partly a sense of obligation, that made him think of riding to Saarbrilck to see what he could see for his iournal within the twenty-four-hour limit that Lorraine had set. It was too late to ride over that evening and return in time to keep his word to Lorraine, so he decided to start at daybreak, realizing at the same time, with a pang, that it meant not seeing Lorraine all day. He went up to his chamber and sat down to think, lie would write a note to Lorraine ; he had never done such a thing, and he hoped she might not find fault with him. He tossed his riding-crop on to the desk, picked up a pen, and wrote carefully, ending the single page with, •'It is reported that Ulilans have been encountered in the direction of Saarlnlick, and, although I do not believe it, I shall go there to-morrow and see for my- self. I will be back within the twelve hours. May I ride over to tell you about these mythical Uhlans when I return ?"' He called a groom and bade him drive to the Cha- teau de Xesville with the note. Then he went down to sit with the old vicomte and ]\Iadame de Morteyn until it came dinner-time, and the nil-lamps in the gilded salon were lighted, and the candles blazed up on either side of the gilt French clock. After dinner he played chess with his uncle until the old man fell asleep in his chair. There was an interval of silence. '■'Jack,"' said his aunt, '" you are a dear, good boy. Tell me, do you love our little Lorraine ?" The suddenness of the f|uestion struck him dumb. His aunt smiled ; her faded eyes were very tender SAARBEUCK 83 and kindly, and she laid both frail hands on his shoul- ders. •' It is my wish," she said^ in a low voice ; " remem- ber that. Jack. Xow go and walk on the terrace, for she will surely answer your note." " How — how did you know I wrote her ?" he stam- mered. '• When a young man sends his aunt's servants on such very unorthodox errands, what can he expect, especially when those servants are faithful ?" '■ That groom told you, Aunt Helen ?" •'Yes. Jack, these French servants don't under- stand such things. Be more careful, for Lorraine's sake." " But — I will — but did the note reach her ?" His aunt smiled. " Yes. I took the responsibility upon myself, and there will be no gossip.'' .Tack leaned over and kissed the amused mouth, and the old lady gave him a little hug and told him to go and walk on the terrace. The groom was already there, holding a note in one hand, gilt-banded cap in the other. His first letter frozn Lorraine ! He opened it fever- ishly. In the middle of a thin sheet of note-paper was written the motto of the De Xosvilles, "Tiens ta Foy." Beneath, in a girlish hand, a single line : " I shall wait for you at dusk. Lorraine." All night long, as he lay half asleep on his pillow, the words rejieated themselves in his drowsy brain : " Tiens ta Foy !" "Tiens ta Foy !" (Keep thy Faith !). Aye, he would keep it unto death— he knew it even 8t LORRAINE ! in his slumber. But lie did not know how near to death that faith might lead him. The wood -sparrows were chirjoing outside his win- dow wlien he awoki'. It was scarcely dawn, but ho heard the maid knocking at his door, and the rattle of silver and china announced the morning coffee. He stepped from liis bed into the tub of cold water, yawning and shivering, but the pallor of his skin soon gave phice to a healthy plow, and his clean-cut body aird strong young limbs hardened ami grew pink and firm again under the coarse towel. Breakfast he ate hastily by candle-light, and pres- ently he dressed, buckled his spurs over the insteps, caught up gloves, cap, and riding-crop, and, slinging a field-glass over his A'orfolk jacket, lighted a pipe and went noiselessly down-stairs. There was a chill in the gray dawn as he mounted and rode out through the shadowy portals of the wrought-iron grille ; a vapour, floating like loose rob- v,-elis, undulated above the placid river; the tree-tops were festooned with mist. Save for the distant chat- ter of wood-sparrows, stirring under the eaves of the Chateau, the stillness was profound. As he left the park and cantered into the broad red highway, he turned in his saddle ami looked towards the Chateau de Kesville. At first he could not see it, but as he rode over the bridge he caught a glimpse of the pointed roof and single turret, a dim silhouette through the mist. Theii it vanished in the films of fog. The road to Saarbriick was a military road, and easy travelling. The cbarnc'ter of the (■ountry had changed as suddenly as a drop-scene falls in a theatre ; SAAltEIu'CK 85 for now all around strcteluMl fields cut into squares by hedges — fields dee|i-la