The Golden Bough. Gibbs George

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ find meat, drink, a place to sleep in peace."

      He paused, waiting for the girl to speak, but she said nothing and only stood frowning toward the lights at the other side of the garden.

      "Of course, Mademoiselle, since I'm now safe from pursuit, if you wish it, I can retire by the way I came." He shrugged and turned half away when the sound of her voice halted him.

      "I-I do not wish to be inhospitable," she said softly. "It is your right to ask asylum of us. But you have come, Monsieur, upon cloistered soil-"

      "A convent?"

      "No, not a convent," she said "But private land, dedicated to solitude, and-and-" she paused uncertainly. "You would not understand."

      He waited for her to go on. But she stopped abruptly and said no more. The strangeness of her garb, the mingled frankness and reticence of her speech, which excited friendly curiosity while it repelled inquiry, gave the fugitive a new interest in the cowled figure, an interest in which even the pangs of hunger and weariness were forgotten. From the top step she towered above him, her dark robe hanging with a majestic stateliness which somehow belied the testimony of the curly reddish brown hair and the red lips which had already been perilously near a roguish smile. Something in the eager expression of the face of her guest as he looked at her made her suddenly aware of the exigencies of the occasion, for she drew the cowl about her head and came down the steps, leaving the lantern upon the stone bench beside the small tree.

      "Wait here," she said quietly, "at the foot of the steps. If you will promise me not to-" She turned and looked toward the mound. "If you will remain here without moving, I'll see what can be done."

      "I will promise anything, Mademoiselle."

      They looked into each other's eyes a moment, smiling in a friendly way, and then she passed him and vanished within the house.

      The soldier took off his cap and rubbed his head thoughtfully. "Cloistered soil-" The phrase hung in his ears. A queer place this, a queer creature this girl. To his western eyes she seemed better suited to a tennis match or a game of golf than to this mooning by lamp light, with shadows in eyes which were only meant for joy and laughter. What was her nationality? Not French, though she spoke it like a native, not Swiss, and surely not German, something more Easternly, Oriental almost. She was a paradox, a lovely paradox indeed to eyes long starved of beauty and gentleness.

      But other considerations were less important to the fugitive than the gnawing ache of his hunger and the demands of a body already taxed for many weeks to its utmost. Obeying the injunction of the girl not to move, he sank to the stone step. When she returned, she found him with his head bent forward upon his knees, already dozing; but at the light touch upon his shoulders he sprang to his feet, his club raised upon the defensive, almost oversetting the dish which carried his supper.

      "Be careful," said the girl.

      He stared at her in a moment of incomprehension, but the sight of the bread, meat and cheese, quickly restored him to sanity.

      "I-I beg pardon," he began, "I dreamed-"

      But his hands were already reaching forward toward the dish and with a smile she handed it to him.

      "Sit again, eat and drink. There is milk."

      He obeyed, wasting no words and she sat beside him, watching calmly while he bolted the food like a famished wolf. He finished what was on the platter and all of the milk before he spoke again. Then he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and gave a great grunt of satisfaction.

      "Shall I bring you more?" she asked.

      "No, no, thanks. You're very good, Mademoiselle. I didn't know I was so hungry."

      "Are you sure you've had enough?"

      "Oh yes."

      "When was the last time that you ate?"

      "The day before yesterday. I didn't dare to leave the woods, even at night."

      "You've traveled far?"

      "A million miles, I think. I don't know how far. They had me working on the railroad near Mannheim."

      "And you escaped?"

      "At night, from the pen. They shot at me, but I swam down a stream and got away. I lived on berries for a while-and potatoes, when I could steal them. I'm a living example of food conservation. It was risky work approaching the farm houses, on account of the dogs. Some of us may think Germany will go to the dogs, but I'm sure of one thing and that is that all the dogs in the world have gone to Germany. And they never sleep. I went miles out of my way to avoid the roads. You're the first human being I've spoken to for weeks. It's quite extraordinary to be able to talk again, to have some one listen. Sometimes in the deep woods I used to talk to myself just to hear the sound of my own voice."

      "I'm very sorry for you."

      There was no doubting the sincerity of her tone or the gentleness in her eyes.

      "Sorry? Are you? That's very wonderful. I thought that people had stopped being sorry for anything in this world."

      "It's terrible to be so bitter."

      He laughed. "I'm not bitter. I never felt more amiable in my life. But the world has gone mad, Mademoiselle."

      "The Germans treated you badly?"

      He smiled and shrugged.

      "What would you have? It is war."

      "It is terrible. And what will you do now that you are across the border? Will they not intern you?"

      "I must find civilian clothing."

      "And then?"

      He laughed joyously.

      "I will cross into France at the Swiss border, and rejoin my regiment. Parbleu! There are some there who will think I have risen from the dead."

      She was silent for a moment regarding him thoughtfully, her eyes brightening with a new interest. At first he had seemed a man of middle age, a broken man, such as passed begging along the roads of the village. And the dirt and the ragged beard that covered his face had done nothing to dispel the illusion. But she saw now how far she had been mistaken, for his laughter rippled forth from his lean muscular throat as though in pure joy at its own utterance. He was not bitter-he was merely experienced.

      "You're a Frenchman, Monsieur?"

      "No, Mademoiselle, an American."

      "American! And you've fought long for France?"

      "More than two years."

      "You were living in France?"

      "No, Mademoiselle, in America. But I could not stand what happened in Belgium. And so I came. It's very simple."

      "But you speak French-"

      "German and Italian. I've been much in Europe. I had a gift for languages. But I'm not of much account otherwise. I'm a ne'er-do-well-a black sheep." He grinned at her.

      "I do look rather black now, don't I? You'd be surprised to see how much better I look when I'm clean."

      "I don't doubt it, Monsieur."

      Youth СКАЧАТЬ