“No—General Clinton is at a farm only five miles behind us—between here and Cantigny. He has been inspecting along the line. Of course you may see him,” the lieutenant added, rather puzzled, “but must it be at once? You look used up, and the trip will be pretty uncomfortable after all this rain. The roads are a sea of mud—not to mention a walk through the trenches.”
Mud—discomfort—Lucy almost laughed aloud at his words. She had seen a good deal of both that night, and what were they compared to the anguish of mind she had borne in the past weeks? She could endure any hardships now with this glorious hope flooding her heart.
“I don’t mind how bad it is,” she said quickly. “I only want to see the General as soon as I can.”
The young officer read the clear, eager purpose in her eyes and gave a nod of consent. At his order a soldier led the way with alacrity, lantern in hand, along the trench. Lucy rose and followed, and the lieutenant came behind her, after stopping for a word with the sergeant.
“We have half a mile to walk,” he told Lucy, pointing ahead along the mud and water of the trench bottom.
She nodded, undismayed. The line of men standing behind their rifles at the parapet, of whom many turned to her with looks of astonishment and eager friendliness, were but dim figures that seemed a half-waking dream. “They’re Americans. I’m with Americans,” she repeated to herself, and the joy welling up at the thought made her almost dizzy as she trudged along the wet, slippery path.
It is at such moments that physical discomfort is hardly felt and, weary though she was, Lucy did not suffer greatly during the long hour’s journey. The tramp through the trenches was followed by a ride in the bottom of a motor-truck, along a dark road that the rain had transformed into a bog. The three passengers were flung from side to side as the heavy wheels struggled through the ruts, or careened into the deep gullies. The laboring motor stalled and missed fire, and the moon, hidden again behind a cloud, gave no light now when it was so sorely needed.
At last the truck reached drier ground, and stopped before a lighted house in the middle of a grassy meadow. Mud-splashed and bruised from the terrific jolting, Lucy was helped down, and the young officer took hold of her arm and led her inside the door. In the little hallway he left her to speak with an orderly, who preceded him to an adjoining room. Lucy heard murmurs of conversation and, beyond the doorway, saw a second officer standing, with papers in his hand. She took out the handkerchief from inside her dress, making also a futile effort to smooth her hair, which, drying during the long ride, had begun to curl in a tangled mass about her head. In another moment the young lieutenant who had brought her returned, saying:
“Come right in, the General will see you.”
Lucy followed him into the anteroom, whose farther door the other officer was holding open.