The last Sunday of Peace: Remembering July 26th, 1914
When they came back from Mass, up through the château woods and the park and across the gardens, Anne Marie and Raoul walked together, and Anne Marie knew how happy she was.
She had been happy every day of her eighteen years, but that day she realized it.
Before she was quite awake she had been happy because of birds and church bells and sunshine and the fragrances of the garden. Snuggled down in the pillows that smelled of rose petals, she was happy because of her new white dress and the poppy hat. And as she waked she had known that she was happy apart from all those things, those lovely accustomed things, and far, far beyond them, because of Raoul. Because Raoul would be waking there, under the same roof. Because he would be waiting for her when she went down the stairs in the white dress and poppy hat.
He had been waiting at the foot of the stairs. He had had a huge box of white orchids sent out for her from Paris.
He had gone to Mass with her and his mother, and her mother. She had sat three chairs away from him in the dusk of the château chapel.
After Mass the two mothers walked ahead together, and she and Raoul followed close behind, more nearly alone together than they had ever been before.
He talked all the time; and she dimpled and blushed and was happy, and knew that she was happy, but could not say a word.
They went slowly through the woods, where there were quantities of orange toadstools after the rain, and all the birds were singing; and along the avenues of the park, and across the stiff gardens.
Anne Marie's father was out on the terrace. He was walking up and down the terrace and gesturing very strangely all by himself as he walked.
Across the sunny spaces of lawn and gravel, box border and clipped yew and flowers, the château was all sunlit, its steep blue roofs and old soft yellow walls.
Anne Marie's father came down the terrace steps to meet her mother and Raoul's mother, and, as they stood together he seemed to be telling them something.
Anne Marie thought how odd of him to gesture like that. Suddenly a wonderful idea and daring came to Anne Marie. She stopped and stood still there in the little gravel path, between the box edges and beds of roses and heliotrope and petunias that were so sweet in the sunshine. She found herself possessed of a great courage. She would stand there, and Raoul would stand there, and they would be quiet, quite alone together. And she would dare to talk to him. She would dare to tell him things. There were so many things for her to tell and ask. Everything of life and of loving. She thought the droning of the bees was a hot and golden sound. It was the greatest, happiest, most wonderful moment of all her life.
But Raoul said, "Shall we not go on, Anne Marie; there is something the matter, shall we not go on and see what it is?"
His mother had turned around where she stood at the top of the steps and was looking at Raoul.
The grey stone flags of the terrace were scattered over with all the Paris papers, that Anne Marie's father must have thrown down, and trampled on as he walked up and down the terrace.
He said to Raoul, coming up the steps, "Well, this time it is certain. Whatever they try to show, every word in the papers means it. It will be inside the week, it is I who tell you."
"Raoul, Raoul," said Raoul's mother, very white.
But Raoul, up the steps in two bounds, did not hear her. "If only it may be! How we've hoped it! Oh, sir, do you really think it?"
Anne Marie's mother had put her parasol and Mass book down on the broad stone balustrade of the terrace. She stooped over and took up one of the papers that lay on the flags.
"It can't be," she said, reading. She spread the paper out on the top of the balustrade and stood pulling off her gloves as she read. "It can't be," she said again, pulling off first one soft grey glove and then the other.
"It can't be," said Raoul's mother, always looking at Raoul.
Anne Marie's father, beginning to pace the terrace again, said, "It will be, it will be!"
Raoul said, "It's got to be," standing very straight and looking at nobody.
Anne Marie thought, oh dear, oh dear, now they will talk and talk; and she had so wanted Raoul to stay with her down in the garden.