CHAPTER IX
Marguerite Lambert
The rumours of the camp were proved true the next morning and the preparations for provisioning and concentrating so large a force were swiftly pushed forward. Gerard de Montignac was to march with his squadron in a week’s time by Rabat and Saller to Kenitra. Paul was to rejoin his battalion a few days later. Half of that battalion, Paul’s company included, was to form part of the escort of Colonel Gouraud’s huge supply column, which with its hundreds of camels was beginning to assemble at Meheydia at the mouth of the Sebou.
Paul was now a full Captain in command of that company of the Tirailleurs which he had led during the last engagements of the Chaiouïa campaign, and marked out by his superiors as an officer likely to reach the high ranks and responsibilities. He had still a few days of his leave and he spent the greater part of them in the careful revision of his report. Gerard de Montignac, on his side was engaged in the supervision of the equipment of his squadron and was busy from morning until night. Two or three times during the course of the week, he went down between nine and ten at night to the Villa Iris, and sat or danced for half an hour with Marguerite Lambert. But he never saw Paul Ravenel there and through the week the two friends did not meet except for a moment or two in the thronged streets.
“Le grand serieux!” said Gerard, speaking of Paul to Marguerite Lambert with an affectionate mockery. “He will be a General when I am an old Major dyeing my moustache to make myself look young. But meanwhile, whilst we are both Captains, I should like to see more of him than I do. For, after all, we go out with our men—and one never knows who will come back.”
Marguerite’s face lost its colour at his words and she drew in her breath sharply. “Oh, it is our business of course,” he continued, taking her sympathy to himself. “Do you know, Marguerite, that for a second, I though you had stirred that thick soup in Paul’s veins which he calls his blood? But no, he never comes here.”
Marguerite laughed hurriedly, and asked at random, “You have seen him to-day?”
“Yes. He was coming out of a house close to the port with the agent who looks after his property, a little Italian. Paul was talking very earnestly and did not notice me. He has a good deal of property in Casablanca and was making his arrangements no doubt for a long absence.”
Marguerite looked down at the table, tracing a pattern upon its surface with her finger. When she spoke again her voice broke upon her words and her lips quivered.
“I shall lose all my friends this week,” she said.