interlude(玛丽罗茨莱因哈特惊人的幕间表演)-第20章
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she shook her head。
〃You will think me most ungrateful and unkind。〃
〃You？ Kindness itself！〃
〃But this is different。 It is not for myself。 It is because I care a great
deal about … about …〃
〃Mademoiselle！〃
〃About your honor。 And somehow this morning； when I found you
here asleep； and those poor fellows in the trenches fighting …〃
Henri stared at her。 So that was it！ And he could never tell her。 He was
sworn to secrecy by every tradition and instinct of his work。 He could
never tell her； and she would go on thinking him a shirker and a coward。
She would be grateful。 She would be sweetness itself。 But deep in her
heart she would loathe him； as only women can hate for a failing they
never forgive。
〃But I have told you；〃 he said rather wildly； 〃I am not idle。 I do certain
things … not much； but of a degree of importance。〃
〃You do not fight。〃
In Sara Lee's defense many things may be urged … her ignorance of
modern warfare； the isolation of her lack of knowledge of the language；
but； perhaps more than anything； a certain rigidity of standard that
comprehended no halfway ground。 Right was right and wrong was wrong
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to her in those days。 Men were brave or were cowards。 Henri was worthy
or unworthy。 And she felt that； for all his kindness to her； he was
unworthy。
He could have set himself right with a word； at that。 But his pride was
hurt。 He said nothing except； when she asked if he had minded what she
said； to reply：
〃I am sorry you feel as you do。 I am not angry。〃
He went away； however； without breakfast。 Sara Lee heard his car
going at its usual breakneck speed up the street； and went to the door。 She
would have called him back if she could； for his eyes haunted her。 But he
did not look back。
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CHAPTER XIV
For four days the gray car did not come again。 Supplies appeared in
another gray car； driven by a surly Fleming。 The waking hours were full；
as usual。 Sara Lee grew a little thin； and seemed to be always listening。
But there was no Henri； and something that was vivid and joyous seemed
to have gone out of the little house。
Even Marie no longer sang as she swept or washed the kettles； and
Sara Lee； making up the records to send home； put little spirit into the
letter that went with them。
On the second day she wrote to Harvey。
〃I am sorry that you feel as you do；〃 she wrote； perhaps unconsciously
using Henri's last words to her。 〃I have not meant to be cruel。 And if you
were here you would realize that whether others could have done what I
am doing or not … and of course many could … it is worth doing。 I hear that
other women are establishing houses like this； but the British and the
French will not allow women so near the lines。 The men come in at night
from the trenches so tired； so hungry and so cold。 Some of them are
wounded too。 I dress the little wounds。 I do give them something； Harvey
dear … if it is only a reminder that there are homes in the world； and
everything is not mud and waiting and killing。〃
She told him that his picture was on her mantel； but she did not say
that a corner of her room had been blown away or that the mantel was but
a plank from a destroyed house。 And she sent a great deal of love； but she
did not say that she no longer wore his ring on her finger。 And of course
she was coming back to him if he still wanted her。
More than Henri's absence was troubling Sara Lee those days。 Indeed
she herself laid all her anxiety to one thing； a serious one at that。 With all
the marvels of Henri's buying； and Jean's； her money was not holding out。
The scope of the little house had grown with its fame。 Now and then there
were unexpected calls； too … Marie's mother； starving in Havre； sickness
and death in the little town at the crossroads： a dozen small emergencies；
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but adding to the demands on her slender income。 She had； as a matter of
fact； already begun to draw on her private capital。
And during the days when no gray car appeared she faced the situation；
took stock； as it were； and grew heavy…eyed and wistful。
On the fifth day the gray car came again； but Jean drove it alone。 He
disclaimed any need for sympathy over his wound； and with Rene's aid
carried in the supplies。
There was the business of checking them off； and the further business
of Sara Lee's paying for them in gold。 She sat at the table； Jean across； and
struggled with centimes and francs and louis d'or； an engrossed frown
between her eyebrows。
Jean； sitting across； thought her rather changed。 She smiled very
seldom； and her eyes were perhaps more steady。 It was a young' girl he
and Henri had brought out to the little house。 It was a very serious and
rather anxious young woman who sat across from him and piled up the
money he had brought back into little stacks。
〃Jean；〃 she said finally； 〃I am not going to be able to do it。〃
〃To do what？〃
〃To continue … here。〃
〃No？〃
〃You see I had a little money of my own； and twenty pounds I got in
London。 You and … and Henri have done miracles for me。 But soon I shall
have used all my own money； except enough to take me back。 And now I
shall have to start on my English notes。 After that …〃
〃You are too good to the men。 These cigarettes； now … you could do
without them。〃
〃But they are very cheap； and they mean so much； Jean。〃
She sat still； her hands before her on the table。 From the kitchen came
the bubbling of the eternal soup。 Suddenly a tear rolled slowly down her
cheek。 She had a hatred of crying in public； but Jean apparently did not
notice。
〃The trouble； mademoiselle； is that you are trying to feed and comfort
too many。〃
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〃Jean；〃 she said suddenly； 〃where is Henri？〃
〃In England； I think。〃
The only clear thought in Sara Lee's mind was that Henri was not in
France； and that he had gone without telling her。 She had hurt him orribly。
She knew that。 He might never come back to the little house of mercy。
There was； in Henri； for all his joyousness； an implacable strain。 And she
had attacked his honor。 What possible right had she to do that？
The memory of all his thoughtful kindness came back； and it was a
pale and distracted Sara Lee who looked across the table at Jean。
〃Did he tell you anything？〃
〃Nothing； mademoiselle。〃
〃He is very angry with me； Jean。〃
〃But surely no； mademoiselle。 With you？ It is impossible。〃
But though they said nothing more； Jean considered the matter deeply。
He understood now； for instance； a certain strangeness in Henri's manner
before his departure。 They had quarreled； these two。 Perhaps it was as well；
though Jean was by now a convert to Sara Lee。 But he looked out； those
days； on but half a world； did Jean。 So he saw only the woman hunger in
Henri； and nothing deeper。 And in Sara Lee a woman； and nothing more。
And … being Jean he shrugged his shoulders。
They fell to discussing ways and means。 The chocolate could be cut
out； but not the cigarettes。 Sara Lee； arguing vehemently for them and
trying to forget other things； remembered suddenly how Uncle James had
hated cigarettes； and that Harvey himself disapproved of them。 Somehow
Harvey seemed； those days； to present a constant figure of disapproval。 He
gave her no moral support。
At Jean's suggestion she added to her report of so many men fed with
soup； so much tobacco； sort not specified； so ‘many small wounds dressed
… a request that if possible her allowance be increased。 She did it nervously；
but when the letter had gone she felt a great relief。 She inclosed a snapshot
of the little house。
Jean； as it happens； had lied about Henri。 Not once； but several times。
He had told Marie； for instance； that Henri was in England； and later on he
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told Rene。 Then； having done his errand； he drove six miles back along the
main road to Dunkirk and picked up Henri； who was sitting on the bank of
a canal watching an ammunition train go by。
Jean backed into a lane and turned the car round。 After that Henri got
in and they went rapidly back toward the Front。 It was a different Henri；
however； who left the car a mile from the crossroads … a Henri in the
uniform of a French private soldier； one of those odd and mpracticable
uniforms of France during the first year； baggy dark blue trousers； stiff cap；
and the long…tailed coat； its skirts turned back and faced。 Round his neck
he wore a knitted scarf； which covered his chin； and； true to the instinct of
the French peasant in a winter campaign； he wore innumerable
undergarments； the red of a jersey showing through rents in his coat。
Gone were Henri's long clean lines； his small waist and broad
shoulders； the swing of his walk。 Instead； he walked with the bent…kneed
swing of the French infantryman； that tireless but awkward marching step
which renders the French Army so mobile。
He carried all the impedimenta of a man going into the trenches； an
extra jar of water； a flat loaf of bread strapped to his haversack； and an
intrenching tool jingling at his belt。
Even Jean smiled as he watched him moving along toward the
crowded crossroads … smiled and then sighed。 For Jean had lost everything
in the war。 His wife had died of a German bullet long months before； and
with her had gone a child much prayed for and soon to come。 But Henri
had brought back to Jean something to live for … or to die for； as might
happen。
Henri walked along gayly。 He hailed other French soldiers。 He joined a
handful and stood talking to them。 But he reached the crossroads before
the ammunition train。
