Captain Lucy in France

by Aline Havard

The château! That was a part of the line of defense, and to pass through it would be to pass the trenches. However full of unknown perils it might be, she thought she could face them better there than in this gloomy and terrifying wood. But here difficulties again confronted her. Was the château inhabited? She had seen no lights, but surely the sentries would be likely to take refuge in it from the storm. Could she possibly get through that great building unseen, since not a step of the way would be familiar? But think as she would no other solution came to her. Even in her dark dress she dared not try to cross the open lawns. The wind was bending the pliant pine boughs in every direction, and some of them struck against her as she rose to her feet and started back the way she had come. In a few minutes she paused uncertainly, for she no longer felt the path beneath her feet. Fearful of completely losing her way, she turned directly toward the château and presently came out at the edge of the lawn not far from the avenue. The château was approached by a drive winding up the gentler slope on the side of the hill toward the town. This road became the pine-bordered avenue that ran over the lawns, offering Lucy shelter from near where she stood to the terrace at the rear of the building.

A flash of lightning cut through the dark clouds as she reached the avenue. By that flash she saw the road stretching empty before her. She began running, oblivious to prowling sentries, the only sounds in her ears the sigh of the swaying branches on each side and the distant rumbling thunder. In five minutes she stopped, panting, a few yards from the terrace at the back of the château. Long French windows opened on to it, but their glass had long ago been shattered, and in the wind the neglected shutters were banging to and fro. Lucy stole up the steps of the terrace, and, approaching one of the windows, flattened herself against the wall and glanced back about the lawns and gardens. By the lake the sentry was still pacing. She could see the faint gleam of his bayonet as he moved. But he had not discovered her. No other sentry was in sight, so far as she could pierce the shadows. She turned to the window and peeped cautiously through. Darkness reigned within, and the wind, whistling through the rooms, made the heavy hangings against the walls flap like sails in a storm. With a quick sigh that was something like a gasp at thought of the unknown dangers before her, Lucy stepped through the window, shrinking from the jagged edges of the broken glass that caught at her hands and clothing.

Inside, she stopped for a second, making sure of her direction, then moved on through the room, feeling every step of the way and more than once narrowly avoiding a collision with some piece of furniture in her path. She reached the opposite side and saw an open doorway leading onward. Beyond it was a large hall or drawing-room, for at the far end were windows, and the lightning playing against them showed the vast interior, filled with the débris of broken furniture, but quite deserted. Enormously relieved, Lucy started quickly forward, urged by a rising hope of success. In her impulsive haste she ran full against a stool or small table. Startled, she sprang back, and the object, flung aside by her sudden movement, fell to the floor with a noise that echoed through the building. Almost with the sound a door was thrown open somewhat on her right. As she stood frozen to the spot with horror, a candle shone out of the darkness and a loud, commanding voice shouted, “Wilhelm! Wilhelm!”

Scarcely were the words spoken when Lucy, recovering her power of motion, fled across the room, glancing wildly about her for some way out. The windows in front were raised from the floor, and she dared not try to climb through one and risk showing herself against a glare of lightning. On her left she dimly saw an open doorway. With pounding heart she darted to it, and, arms outstretched before her, passed through the opening, down a corridor, and found herself before an arched entrance lighted by a faint red glow.

The room beyond, into which she ran, mortal fear of what lay behind driving her on, was huge and lofty, with narrow, pointed windows whose leaded panes were imitated in the glass doors of the countless bookcases which lined the walls. The fire which gave light to see burned faintly in a massive marble chimney-place and was mostly fed by some of the priceless books torn from these very shelves. Before the chimney were several pots and kettles, and other evidences that the fire was used by the sentries to cook their food, since an abundance of fuel lay close at hand in the thousands of volumes the library contained. They were strewn all over the polished floor, and Lucy stumbled over them as she stopped in the middle of the room, looking desperately around her for some place of concealment or escape.

There were no hangings on the walls and the bookcases seemed to offer no safe hiding-place. She approached the chimney, with a vague idea of crouching behind its shadowy columns. By the flickering firelight the motto cut into the marble caught her eyes: En avant pour le droit.

SHE APPROACHED THE CHIMNEY

But now, hearing no sound of pursuit, her terrified mind regained a little power of thought. She stole over toward the windows on the right, one of which was entirely shattered. Fearful of listening ears she moved with infinite caution, and reaching the window, stood aside from it to peer out on to the terrace and lawns in front of the château. A clearing had been cut in the trees that crowned the hilltop, to open a view of the valley below. Just now the trees were only dark blotches framing a stormy sky. Lucy drew back after one swift glance. A sentry was walking across the lawn beyond the terrace. Struggling with the confusion that began to take possession of her, she looked toward the windows at the far end of the room. At that moment heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor, with the gruff murmur of conversation between two advancing men. Then the voice from which she had fled, raised more angrily than before against the increasing noise of the wind, shouted:

“Wilhelm! Wilhelm! Sehen sie!”