“That is why I make haste to tell you,” said Michelle, nodding. “Better you get the English Capitaine to write you what he knows, and you bring it here; for though Armand wear the German uniform, he dare not show himself about the streets. Look,” she added, pointing through the window, “there is the German woman come for you. Poor thing, she has the heavy basket.”
Lucy was not sure whether Michelle really believed in Elizabeth or not, but more than satisfied in any case with her morning’s visit, she got up, nodding to Elizabeth that she was coming. Michelle, rising too, slipped an arm through Lucy’s with shy friendliness as they went out toward the door.
CHAPTER IX
THE FIGHT OVER ARGENTON
Bob Gordon was reading a letter from his mother as he sat in the principal room of a little farmhouse outside of Cantigny. The place had long been abandoned by its owners, and now sheltered a dozen American airmen and as many mechanics, in spite of the serious damage it had suffered when the town was taken. Bob was seated on a three-legged stool, tilted dangerously as he propped his feet against the chimneypiece—or what was left of it in a heap of brick and mortar fragments. The morning sun streamed in on the earthen floor and fell across his face as he read the closely written lines. His thin, brown cheeks were tinged with healthy color, and his whole lean figure in its well-worn khaki looked full of life and vigor. But just now his face was serious and sad, and the eyes he raised from the letter toward the sunny window were darkened with painful anxiety.
He could see his mother’s pale face before him as he read, her lips set with that brave firmness that war-time women learned to keep in the midst of fear and suffering. Even in her letter she tried to hide her thoughts, and to write hopefully for Bob’s sake, though she spoke frankly of the trouble they shared together.
“I can think of nothing but Lucy, Bob, wondering when the time will ever come that I shall see her safe and beyond the power of the enemy. But since that night you saw her with Elizabeth, I can find courage to hope again. How strange things are—the dreadful and the good all mixed together! For I feel so sure that your father would not have made his wonderful recovery if dear little Lucy had not been there beside him.”
Bob looked up once more, pondering. His reveries these days were one long rebellion against his helplessness. All his courage and strength of purpose were not enough to bring his little sister out of Château-Plessis across the hotly contested battle line. He and his comrades had all they could do to hold back the German tide, without yet advancing to retake the town. The success of the American troops at Cantigny could be repeated at Château-Plessis—must be—but not without adequate plans of attack and further reinforcements—those reinforcements that every one wanted at once. “Thank heaven, our men are coming overseas now at a good rate,” he thought with a sudden hope illuminating his dejection. “And things seem just endurable in Château-Plessis. The Boches are few enough there, except those who are flat on their backs.” For Bob had news from inside the captured town of which Lucy never guessed.
His restless and unsatisfactory thoughts were cut short by the sound of a footstep on the stone threshold behind him. He swung around toward the door, while the newcomer at sight of him exclaimed:
“Here you are, Bob! I’ve been looking for you on the field. We’re to go up at once. The sergeant is running around with orders just telephoned from up the line.” The speaker was a young aviator about Bob’s age, so wrapped up in his leather helmet that little of his face could be seen but a pair of twinkling blue eyes.