In after days, when Lucy had time to think it over, she dated from that hour the change in herself from a mere bewildered onlooker at the mighty struggle to a real sharer instead in the work that must be done. With that little part assigned to her she began dimly to understand the secret of the calm determined courage of those about her. They had their task to do, and nothing must turn them from it.
This work went on, uninterrupted, while the Germans took possession of the town. Not a very imposing possession with an almost decimated battalion of which the survivors had been hammered into exhaustion by the dogged French and American resistance. But their presence, nevertheless, meant everything of the bitter humiliation and helplessness of surrender to Château-Plessis. The hospital was now under German control, dependent on whatever supplies the conquerors accorded them, in fact, beneath the German heel. Just now, however, the hospital was as much a German as an Allied refuge. The major in command of the battalion assigned three German surgeons and a dozen orderlies to help in the enormous labor of caring for the five hundred patients crowded into the old town hall.
Early that afternoon Lucy started out under German orders on her first duty. In company with a French convalescent soldier, who carried two empty baskets like the one slung across her own shoulder, she left the hospital armed with permits from the German senior surgeon. She had faced the new chief, a big, gray-whiskered Boche with red face and bristling eyebrows, and had obtained his kind permission to walk two miles in the sun in search of dairy supplies to feed the German wounded. But if food for the enemy were not forthcoming the Allies’ wounded would be the first to suffer, so the two willing helpers, the little American and the poilu, he still pale and limping as he walked, did not linger on their errand. Beyond the square their way led through the desolate and deserted streets where the bombardment had been heaviest. This was the part of Château-Plessis from which the inhabitants had earliest fled, and not a human being was in sight, not even a pilfering German soldier, for the place had been in the German hands before, and they well knew there was little worth stealing left in it.
Lucy’s heart beat hard and painfully as she neared once more the broad meadows beyond the outskirts of the town. How short a time it was since she had gone free and unmolested to that field to give Bob joyful welcome. She had thought it hard that day to bear the ceaseless roar of the artillery in her ears, yet then she had been on Allied ground, safe in the power of those she loved and trusted, while now——She glanced up at the wounded poilu beside her and suddenly felt ashamed. He was breathing quickly as he limped along, for it was not a week since he had left his bed. Yet he had begged to do this little bit to help his comrades. She was so well and strong, surely she ought to be as brave as he. Just then he broke into her thoughts.
“Look, Mademoiselle,” he said, stopping to take breath as he pointed on ahead. “There is the Boche patrol. They’ll want our papers when we pass, so get ’em ready.”
At the corner of the last street before the lanes began, a little house remained almost undamaged. Before it paced a German sentry, and over the gabled roof the red, white and black flag hung lifeless in the warm, still air. Lucy hastily drew out the papers from her blouse, for the sentry, at sight of the pedestrians, stopped his march and stood in the narrow street to bar the way. Inside the open door of the house a half dozen gray-clad figures sat or stood, and one of them strolled to the doorway on hearing the sentry’s challenge. He was a short, burly captain of infantry, with keen, bright eyes and stiff, upstanding hair, his uniform, though lately brushed, still dirty and mud-stained after the desperate encounter of the past three days. He glanced down at Lucy with a look of surprise as he held out his hand for the papers which the sentry ran to present him. She kept her eyes on the ground, fearful lest some of her thoughts might show in her too expressive face, while the officer looked over the surgeon’s permits for Lucy Gordon, American non-combatant, and Jean Brêlet, French prisoner of war, to pass freely for the good of the German Hospital Corps. After a moment he gave a short nod and handed them back to the sentry. But as Lucy, with a deep sigh of relief, snatched the papers from the sentry’s hand and was starting on again, she was stopped by an imperious gesture from the doorway. A second officer had joined the first and while speaking he nodded his head inquiringly toward Lucy and her companion. The infantry captain motioned the two to approach the steps, and addressing the poilu, who had obeyed the summons with obvious reluctance, asked him in slow, labored French, “Do you speak any German?”
Brêlet shook his head with emphasis. “Not the least bit in the world!” he said exultantly.
The German gave him a quick, contemptuous look, and forbearing to continue his questions, turned to Lucy. “Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Fräulein?” he asked, with a shade more of civility in his masterful tone.
Lucy longed with all her heart to answer as the poilu had done. At that moment she bitterly repented of the once pleasant hours spent in the company of Elizabeth, a German servant at Governor’s Island, when she had learned something of the language Bob refused to bother with. In her uncertainty and confusion she stammered out the truth, “A little.”
The German gave a nod of approval, the irritation fading from his arrogant face. Without a word or glance vouchsafed to Brêlet he motioned Lucy to come into the house. Most unwillingly she obeyed, with a backward imploring glance at her companion, which had the effect of making the good fellow start boldly forward to accompany her, only to be thrust back into the street by the watchful sentry. With beating heart and knees that shook with apprehension, Lucy mounted the few steps that led into the principal room of the old house. The officers within made way for her with slight bows, and from the rear a Feldwebel, or Sergeant, brought a chair which he placed beside the table near the centre of the room. The captain signed to Lucy to sit down, and, taking a seat across the table from her, said at once, “You are American, Fräulein. What are you doing here?”