“It is much better now than when the Boches make their first capture of the town,” said Michelle, the brightness dying out of her face with the words. “Then there were many more here—a regiment. They were proud with victory and cared for no one’s prayers. They went into the houses, stealing all they found. Maman and I for two days hid in the hospital. When the officers made again a little order in the town we returned to poor Clemence—for she would not leave the house, rather, she tell us, she will stay and fight the Boches who enter. But for all her scolding they take away the little food we have, and Maman and I must go and beg for bread from the sergeant at the Commissariat. For wood, also, we must beg, for the soldiers take all we have, and it was February—very cold—with snow upon the ground.”
As Michelle spoke her quiet voice became filled with trembling indignation. She let fall her hair upon her shoulders and pressed her hands together, while her blue eyes shone with the bitter resentment reawakened. She had told Lucy but a tenth part of the suffering and humiliation of those days which, far from being safely past, might be repeated at any moment. Lucy’s indignant sympathy was for an instant too strong for words, and the next Michelle had regained her self-control. Rising from the bed she exclaimed with a kind of scornful impatience at herself:
“It is no good to think of those bad times! Enough that is bad we have still with us.” She turned to smile faintly back at Lucy as she said more cheerfully, “We must have a pleasant breakfast together, so you will like to come and give me your company again.”
Lucy dressed very thoughtfully, her mind filled with the glimpse Michelle had given her of that terrible past which had been even harder to endure than the uncertain present. Now Lucy better understood the look that had arrested her attention at first sight of Michelle’s face. Lucy had thought that she herself was bearing much, and with passable courage. But how much smaller her trials seemed when compared with Michelle’s long years of suffering and anxiety, borne with no other companion than her frail little mother.
When she finished dressing and ran down-stairs Michelle was already in the dining-room, engaged in setting the table with a breakfast of hot pea soup and two slices of coarse black bread. Lucy knew it was the best the house afforded, and she felt reluctant to eat of the precious little store. But evidently her company was worth far more to Michelle than a few mouthfuls of food. The French girl had cheered up from her melancholy, and greeting Lucy with a bright smile, made place for her at the bare wooden table.
“Oh, Lucy,” she exclaimed, “if only you had come to see me four years ago, what a nice breakfast I should have given you!” This was the first reference Michelle had ever made to her beautiful old home which was now a ruin. “But perhaps,” she added thoughtfully, “you never would have come to France without this war.”
“But after the war I’ll come again, Michelle,” said Lucy eagerly. “I don’t think a friendship begun like ours can ever be forgotten. France and America will never seem so far apart as they did. We won’t think of France any more as a foreign country.”
She looked across the table at her friend for response to her sincere enthusiasm, for Michelle had fallen suddenly silent. Lucy followed her eyes in astonishment, to where they were fixed on the little door which led from the back of the room down to the cellar. As she looked closely at it, trying to discover the cause of Michelle’s motionless attention, she saw that it was not quite shut. Before she had time to think further, she saw the door pushed open, and a German soldier entered the room.
The spoon in Lucy’s hand dropped on the table. A bewildered fear took possession of her. The soldier was a tall, stalwart blond, with dusty and mud-stained uniform, as though fresh from active duty. As he stood there against the door he had closed behind him he panted a little, and his face, seen in the shadowy light, though young, looked haggard and lined with weariness. This picture formed itself in an instant on her mind. The next she heard a trembling cry from Michelle’s lips. The soldier pushed off his little round cap and held out his arms. “Michelle!” he said.
“Armand!” Michelle answered, in a voice that was half a sob. With one bound she had crossed the floor and thrown her arms about the soldier’s neck, while over his tired face broke a smile as sweet and radiant as her own. “Oh, Armand, cheri, why did you come? Mon Dieu, why did you come!” was all she could say in the first moment of her joy and terror.