The Green Bay Tree (Bromfield, Frederick A. Stokes Company, printing 11)/Chapter 77
THERE was no answer, but before he called again a tall figure in a black cloak ran from the doorway and hurried toward him.
"Césaire! . . . Césaire!" were the only words she spoke. She clung against him, the metal of his bright cuirass pressing her lovely, soft body. For a time Césaire kissed her passionately and at length, without a word, she led him away from the house to the pleached walk that led from the château garden down to the river. They walked sadly with arms encircling each other's waists.
"I have but a moment," said the Baron. "At most, ten minutes. I have no right even to that."
She told him that Madame Gigon was dying. She explained that old Pierre had not appeared to help them to escape and that he would have been of no use since it was impossible to move her companion. And, when she had wasted three precious minutes in these explanations, she said, "You need not worry for me . . . I shall be quite safe. . . . If only I could be as certain of you."
At this he laughed softly, reassuring her and pulling his fierce mustachios in warlike fashion.
"You need not fear for me," he said. "I have had such great luck . . . always." And he looked at her closely with shining eyes.
Then they sat for a time in silence, clinging closely to each other. Presently he took off his helmet and rested it in her lap allowing her to twist her fingers in and out among the long black hair of the plume.
"And Jean," she said, after atime. "He is with you?"
"He is with me. He passed with the others beneath your window. He sent you his love. He would have come too, but he knew it was unsoldierly to break the ranks. . . . He is a good soldier," he added softly. "A valiant fellow. With me it is different. I am an old fellow. I have learned that there are times when one must break the ranks. There are times when even breaking ranks does not matter."
In the darkness Lily's eyes closed as if she felt a sharp, sudden pain. "Ellen advised me," she said, "never to be too fond of my child."
Her lover kissed her and answered, "Come, you must not think of it like that. You must understand he is a boy . . . an ardent boy."
And then he fell again to talking of her danger. He urged her not to remain.
"I have the curé here . . . M. Dupont," she said.
"Leave him with Madame Gigon."
"No. That I will not do. . . . Besides the Germans may never arrive here after all."
"No," he said, gravely. "Perhaps not. We shall try to prevent them."
Then they walked back again to the gateway. The house was silent now and the voice of M. Dupont no longer to be heard. The Baron replaced his helmet, untied his horse and swung himself on the back of the animal. Leaning down, he kissed her again and then turned through the gateway into the road. She listened to the sound of the black horse's hoofs as he galloped past the moving columns, and at last when the echo was no longer audible she reentered the house and flung herself down upon the bed. Throughout the brief visit, she had restrained herself. Now she wept quietly, almost in peace, as if she were enveloped already by a great resignation.