[CHAPTER IX]
BEHIND THE ENEMY'S LINES
In the village of Petit-Bois, on the street leading to the church, lived a grocer named Adler, a German by birth, who had plied his trade there for almost ten years before the war forced him to leave French territory. He was not kept away for long, however, for within a few weeks his countrymen had overrun Belgium and enough of northern France to include Petit-Bois, so Herr Adler came back and resumed business, with more Germans than French now for customers. He was a widower and lived alone until his uncle and aunt had come to Petit-Bois a month ago to keep him company. The grocery had become prosperous of late, since the victorious army had trebled the population of the village, and the grocer was glad of help in the time his uncle could spare from his work as company cook in an Infantry regiment. He was pleased also at having for lodger a relative in the army. Adler's aunt sat mostly in her room over the grocery knitting socks, except when she was called to wait upon customers in the shop.
She was seated there now in the early winter afternoon, the needles moving swiftly in her nimble fingers, though her eyes were not on her work but turned toward the window through which bare branches showed, and low, red roofs beneath the sullen, cloudy sky. Elizabeth was paler and thinner than she had been when the Gordons last saw her, and her face was serious and sad as she looked off into the distance. It was not her journeyings since leaving America that had wearied her—the journey into Mexico, the long sea voyage from Santa Cruz to Copenhagen, and again the tedious way from Denmark into Germany. It was the weeks passed in her native land which had done most to sadden her cheerful spirit.
The month she had spent in Germany had been strangely hard, and lately she had stayed more and more at work by herself, absorbed in perplexing and anxious thoughts. The grief and suffering she saw daily about her, without power to alleviate it, hurt her kind heart, and the great war seemed further than ever from her simple understanding. She saw Karl filling once more a humble place in Germany's mighty army, with a steadily growing pride in the victorious onslaught of which he had become a part. She heard the name of Germany and of German conquest on every tongue, or saw a silent witness of it in the vanquished people around her, and still her heart did not feel that overpowering thrill at her country's greatness that in Karl had been so quickly awakened. Elizabeth went among the Germans of the village and spoke with them in her native tongue. She worked willingly at warm garments for the soldiers and helped her nephew at every opportunity, but with a quiet sadness and reserve that any one who had known the old Elizabeth would have quickly wondered at.
The neighbors often asked her about her life in America, usually with bitter words and marveling at her safe return.
"How fortunate you were, Frau Müller, to get off so easily! I suppose our poor countrymen are suffering much at the hands of the Yankees now. Did you contrive long for your escape?"
Elizabeth had smiled the first time such questions were put to her, and had told frankly of the freedom with which she and Karl had left America. But later she did not go into such details, for she saw that she was not fully believed and that, moreover, her story lost interest since it contained no accusations against America.
She had heard before in Germany words of suspicion and dislike expressed against England, and she had not been familiar enough with England or English people to resent or disbelieve them. But she had spent a good part of the last twenty years in America, and had known too much happiness and kind companionship there to feel indifferent when malicious lies were told about its people. She had lived, too, much of that time, in the army, and knew enough of its officers and soldiers and their families not to be deceived into believing them greedy, money-mad or bloodthirsty, according to the imagination of her informer.
This sort of stupid abuse made Elizabeth acutely unhappy, and hurt her confidence in her native land, for which she had long had the tenderest affection. So rather than engage in arguments with strangers she remained alone a good part of the time and worked peacefully at her sewing and knitting, hoping, with as much cheerfulness as she could summon, for better days to come.