interlude(玛丽罗茨莱因哈特惊人的幕间表演)-第16章
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village； after all； mademoiselle。 The miller has come back。 I shall visit him
now and explain。〃
He found Sara Lee； however； still depressed。 She was sitting in a low
chair in the kitchen gazing thoughtfully at the stove。
〃I am here；〃 she said。 〃And here is the house； and a stove； and …
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everything。 But there are no shops； and what shall I make my soup out
of？〃
Henri stared at her rather blankly。
〃True！〃 he said。 〃Very true。 And I never thought of it！〃
Then suddenly they both laughed； the joyous ringing laugh of
ridiculous youth； which can see its own absurdities and laugh at them。
Henri counted off on his fingers。
〃I thought of water；〃 he said； 〃and a house； and firewood； and kettles
and furniture。 And there I ceased thinking。〃
It was dusk now。 Marie lifted the lid from the stove； and a warm red
glow of reflected light filled the little kitchen。 It was warm and cozy； the
kettle sang like the purring of a cat。 And something else that had troubled
Sara Lee came out。
〃I wonder；〃 she said； 〃if you are doing all this only because I … well；
because I persuaded you。〃 Which she had not。 〃Do the men really need me
here？〃
〃Need you； mademoiselle？〃
〃Do they need what little I can give？ They were smiling； all the ones I
saw。〃
〃A Belgian soldier always smiles。 Even when he is fighting。〃 His voice
had lost its gayety and had taken on a deeper note。 〃Mademoiselle； I have
brought you here； where I can think of no other woman who would have
the courage to come； because you are needed。 I cannot promise you entire
safety〃 … his mouth tightened …〃but I can promise you work and gratitude。
Such gratitude； mademoiselle； as you may never know again。〃
That reassured her。 But in her practical mind the matter of supplies
loomed large。 She brought the matter up again directly。
〃It is to be hot chocolate and soup？〃 he asked。
〃Both； if I find I have enough money。 Soup only； perhaps。〃
〃And soup takes meat； of course。〃
〃It should； to be strengthening。〃
Henri looked up； to see Jean in the doorway smiling grimly。
〃It is very simple；〃 Jean said to him in French。 〃You have no other
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duties of course； so each day you shall buy in the market place at Dunkirk；
with American money。 And I shall become a delivery boy and bring out
food for mademoiselle； and whatever is needed。〃
Henri smiled back at him cheerfully。 〃An excellent plan； Jean；〃 he said。
〃Not every day； but frequently。〃
Jean growled and disappeared。
However； there was the immediate present to think of； and while Jean
thawed his hands at the fire and Sara Lee was taking housewifely stock of
her new home； Henri disappeared。
He came back in a half hour； carrying in a small basket butter； eggs；
bread and potatoes。
〃The miller！〃 he explained cheerfully to Sara Lee。 〃He has still a few
hens； and hidden somewhere a cow。 We can have milk … is there a pail for
Marie to take to the mill？ … and bread and an omelet。 That is a meal！〃
There was but one lamp； which hung over the kitchen stove。 The room
across from Sara Lee's bedroom contained a small round dining table and
chairs。 Sara Lee； enveloped in a large pinafore apron； made the omelet in
the kitchen。 Marie brought a pail of fresh milk。 Henri； with a towel over
his left arm； and in absurd mimicry of a Parisian waiter； laid the table； and
Jean； dour Jean； caught a bit of the infection； and finding four bottles set to
work with his pocketknife to fit candles into their necks。
Standing in corners； smiling； useless against the cheerful English that
flowed from the kitchen stove to the dining room and back again； were
Rene and Marie。 It was of no use to attempt to help。 Did the fire burn low；
it was the young officer who went out for fresh wood。 But Rene could not
permit that twice。 He brought in great armfuls of firewood and piled them
neatly by the stove。
Henri was absurdly happy again。 He would come to the door gravely；
with Sara Lee's little phrase book in hand； and read from it in a solemn
tone：
〃'Shall we have duck or chicken？' 'Where can we get a good dinner at
a moderate price？' 'Waiter； you have spilled wine on my dress。' 'Will you
have a cigar？' 'No； thank you。 I prefer a pipe。'〃
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And Sara Lee beat up the eggs and found； after a bad moment； some
salt in a box； and then poured her omelet into the pan。 She was very
anxious that it be a good omelet。 She must make good her claim as a cook
or Henri's sublime faith in her would die。
It was a divine omelet。 Even Jean said so。 They sat； the three of them；
in the cold little dining room and never knew that it was cold； and they ate
prodigious quantities of omelet and bread and butter； and bully beef out of
a tin； and drank a great deal of milk。
Even Jean thawed at last； under the influence of food and Sara Lee。
Before the meal was over he was planning how to get her supplies to her
and making notes on a piece of paper as to what she would need at once。
They adjourned to Sara Lee's bedroom； where Marie had kindled a fire in
the little iron stove； and sat there in the warmth with two candles； still
planning。 By that time Sara Lee had quite forgotten that at home one did
not have visitors in one's bedroom。
Suddenly Henri held up his hand。
〃Listen！〃 he said。
That was the first time Sara Lee had ever heard the quiet shuffling step
of tired men； leaving their trenches under cover of darkness。 Henri threw
his military cape over her shoulders and she stood in the dark doorway；
watching。
The empty street was no longer empty。 From gutter to gutter flowed a
stream of men； like a sluggish river which narrowed where a fallen house
partly filled the way； not talking； not singing； just moving； bent under their
heavy and mud…covered equipment。 Here and there the clack of wooden
sabots on the cobbles told of one poor fellow not outfitted with leather
shoes。 The light of a match here and there showed some few lucky enough
to have still remaining cigarettes； and revealed also； in the immediate
vicinity； a white bandage or two。 Some few； recognizing Henri's officer's
cap； saluted。 Most of them stumbled on； too weary to so much as glance
aside。
Nothing that Sara Lee had dreamed of war was like this。 This was
dreary and sodden and hopeless。 Those fresh troops at the crossroads that
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day had been blithe and smiling。 There had been none of the glitter and
panoply of war； but there had been movement； the beating of a drum； the
sharp cries of officers as the lines re…formed。
Here there were no lines。 Just such a stream of men as at home might
issue at night from a coal mine； too weary for speech。 Only here they were
packed together closely； and they did not speak； and some of them were
wounded。
〃There are so many！〃 she whispered to Henri。 〃A hundred such efforts
as mine would not be enough。〃
〃I would to God there were more！〃 Henri replied； through shut teeth。
〃Listen； mademoiselle；〃 he said later。 〃You cannot do all the kind work
of the world。 But you can do your part。 And you will start by caring for
only such as are wounded or ill。 The others can go on。 But every night
some twenty or thirty； or even more； will come to your door … men slightly
wounded or too weary to go on without a rest。 And for those there will be
a chair by the fire； and something hot； or perhapps a clean bandage。 It
sounds small？ But in a month； think！ You will have given comfort to
perhaps a thousand men。 You … alone！〃
〃I … alone！〃 she said in a queer choking voice。 〃And what about you？ It
is you who have made it possible。〃
But Henri was looking down the street to where the row of poplars hid
what lay beyond。 Far beyond a star shell had risen above the flat fields and
floated there； a pure and lovely thing； shedding its white light over the
terrain below。 It gleamed for some thirty seconds and went out。
〃Like that！〃 Henri said to her； but in French。 〃Like that you are to me。
Bright and shining … and so soon gone。〃
Sara Lee thought he had asked her if she was cold。
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CHAPTER XI
The girl was singularly adaptable。 In a few days it was as though she
had been for years in her little ruined house。 She was very happy； though
there was scarcely a day when her heart was not wrung。 Such young…old
faces！ Such weary men！ And such tales of wretchedness！
She got the tales by intuition rather than by words； though she was
picking up some French at that。 Marie would weep openly； at times。 The
most frequent story was of no news from the country held by the Germans；
of families left with nothing and probably starving。 The first inquiry was
always for news。 Had the American lady any way to make inquiry？
In time Sara Lee began to take notes of names and addresses； and
through Mr。 Travers； in London； and the Relief Commission； in Belgium；
bits of information came back。 A certain family was in England at a village
in Surrey。 Of another a child had died。 Here was one that could not be
located； and another reported massacred during the invasion。
Later on Sara Lee was to find her little house growing famous；
besieged by anxious soldiers who besought her efforts； so that she used
enormous numbers of stamps and a great deal of effort。 But that was later
on。 And when that time came she turned to the work as a refuge from her
thoughts。 For days were coming when Sara Lee did not want to think。
But like all big things the little house made a humble beginning。 A
mere handful of men； daring the gibes of their comrades； stopped in that
first night the door stood open； with its invitation of firelight and candles。
But these few went away with a strange story … of a beautiful American；
and hot soup； and even a cigarette
