The Little Moment of Happiness

by Clarence Budington Kelland

She laughed. “It ees the las’ half of the question you wish for to have answer.... I theenk it ees different weeth man and woman. The woman she love only one. She give all.... The man—maybe. It ees ver’ difficult. But I theenk if there ees one large love that it ees all.... And I theenk, Monsieur Ken, that one day you go away and leave me solitaire. Oh, I shall to weep.” She clenched her fists and dug them into her eyes, and then laughed up at him. “See, I am ver’ triste.... You mus’ make me to be joyous.”

She was right, he thought. There could be but one love, one great love. How could he think otherwise, for was she not there, close beside him, her breath upon his cheek, her wonderful eyes turning up to his face every now and then with that inquiring, wondering, speculating glance that spoke to his heart? ... One love, marvelous, sweet, good. He could even pause to assert its virtue.... Maude Knox became very dim, intangible. Andree was here, present, living—in all the mystery of her and all the foreign allurement.... This was love. This was an amazing sweetness without which his life would be immeasurably the poorer. It was a permanent thing—could not be uprooted at a moment’s notice. He knew that it had altered, was altering, his whole life, and he was glad. Whatever might come of it, he was glad.... Something had been given to him which would remain a miraculous possession so long as light entered his eyes or reason blossomed in his soul....

“Andree,” he said, tremulously. “Andree....”

She sighed with content. “I am ver’ happy,” she replied. “Ever’thing is ver’ well....”

CHAPTER XXI

Paris awoke to the 14th of July—Bastille Day—without knowing that, as it had marked the beginning of the end of the ancien régime, it was now to mark the last hour of the peril of France. It was fitting that this great national fête should bring to an end the days when the boche was to be feared, and that to-morrow was to see the beginning of the end. But Paris did not know. The air was heavy with portent; events impended.... There was present in every heart the apprehension that the unthinkable might happen, and that their beloved city might, within a period of days, fall into the hands of the enemy.... Bastille Day was the last day of the reign of fear.... The event was still on the knees of the gods; Paris could not read the future, but it could make holiday with destruction at its door. The heart of Paris was steadfast.... Its fortitude was on the eve of its reward.

Paris did not know that to-morrow the boche would lunge at its throat, throwing a weight into the thrust that it had never been able to throw before; nor did Paris know that its armies and its allies would receive that thrust without faltering, and would hurl upon it such rain of fire and steel as would crush it to the ground futile and staggering.... Paris did not know, nor did the brain of any human being know, that but three days must pass before that man of infinite patience and courage who was generalissimo of the forces which barred the path of the Hun would make his first mighty stride toward victory, a stride which should become a steady march, never flagging, never stopping, until his armies should have won the precious right to march with heads erect under that great pile which dominates their city—the Arc de Triomphe.

It was such events which impended on this 14th of July....

Kendall Ware and Andree had chosen the Place des Ternes as the most advantageous point from which to see the parade, and though it was raining a trifle when they started out, with skies which promised a drizzly day, they were not to be deterred. The little concrete oval which is the meeting-place of the Boulevard de Courcelles, the Avenue de Wagram, the Avenue des Ternes, and the rue du Faubourg St.-Honoré was already crowded. People splashed about in its shallow puddles and jostled one another between its flower-booths, which were doing a thriving business. The parade was already passing with martial music and amid much clapping of hands, but less shouting than would have obtained in an American city.

Ken edged Andree as near to the street as he could. For him it was easy to look over the heads of the people and to see the marching soldiers, but little Andree might as well have been at home across the river. She could see nothing, and there was no box nor chair to be had.