"Elbow-room, in the name of God," she would beg.

Over all the room hung the warm steam from the kettles, and a delicious

odor, and peace.

Sara Lee had never heard of the word morale. She would have been

astonished to have been told that she was helping the morale of an

army. But she gave each night in that little house of mercy something

that nothing else could give--warmth and welcome, but above all a touch

of home.

That night Henri did not come back. She stood by her table bandaging,

washing small wounds, talking her bits of French, until one o'clock.

Then, the last dressing done, she went to the kitchen. Marie was there,

with Maurice, the miller's son.

"Has the captain returned?" she asked.

"Not yet, mademoiselle."

"Leave a warm fire," Sara Lee said. "He will probably come in later."

Maurice went away, with a civil good night. Sara Lee stood in the

doorway after he had gone, looking out. Farther along the line there

was a bombardment going on. She knew now what a bombardment meant and

her brows contracted. Somewhere there in the trenches men were enduring

that, while Henri-She said a little additional prayer that night, which was that she

should have courage to say to him what she felt--that there were big

things to do, and that it should not all be left to these smiling,

ill-clad peasant soldiers.

At that moment Henri, in his gray-green uniform, was cutting wire before

a German trench, one of a party of German soldiers, who could not know

in the darkness that there had been a strange addition to their group.

Cutting wire and learning many things which it was well that he should

know.

Now and then, in perfect German, he whispered a question. Always he

received a reply. And stowed it away in his tenacious memory for those

it most concerned.

At daylight he was asleep by Sara Lee's kitchen fire. And at daylight

Sara Lee was awakened by much firing, and putting on a dressing gown she

went out to see what was happening. Rene was in the street looking

toward the poplar trees.

"An attack," he said briefly.

"You mean--the Germans?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

She went back into the little ruined house, heavy-hearted. She knew now

what it meant, an attack. That night there would be ambulances in the

street, and word would come up that certain men were gone--would never

seek warmth and shelter in her kitchen or beg like children for a second

bowl of soup.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024