"I am arrested. They are letting me fetch some clothes."
The servant suppressed a cry. "Madame!" The old hands trembled upon her. "The colonel!—a note to him—he will come—give it to me!"
"But Marie——" They looked deep down into each other's soul. With a sudden movement of decision the countess ran into an adjoining room, scribbled "They are taking me. P." on a piece of paper, thrust it into the old woman's hand. "You are sure, Marie?" she asked wildly, seeking condonation for herself.
"Chère dame!" was the brief, eloquent reply. The old woman disappeared.
The countess ran upstairs to her bedroom, the one word "Delay!—delay!—delay!—delay!" beating in her brain.
Down in the salon the officer gave a few curt commands to his men, ordered the dog to be taken into the yard. Left alone, he strolled round the room examining the pictures, the bibelots, opening the drawers of the secretaire. The minutes passed. The house was in deep silence. He began to get impatient, to wonder if some trick——. But he was sure of the vigilance of his men. A quarter of an hour had elapsed when he heard a sharp little burst of fire from the German trenches above. It was not answered. The valley resumed its unwonted quiet. Exasperated at the delay he began to pace up and down the room, looked at his watch, gave his prisoner yet another five minutes.
Suddenly his eye was caught by a little piece of folded paper on the floor under the piano. He picked it up, opened it. It was a letter that had evidently fallen from the countess's dress when she ran from the room. He read it through, a gleam in his eyes. "So! meine Gräfin!" he murmured, and smiled.
The colonel's passionate outpouring awoke no sympathetic thrill of romance in his breast. The tip of a pink tongue protruding under his fair moustache, his clever blue eyes alight, he turned it over, pondering the signature. From many indications he deduced that the writer was in the trenches on the other side of the ravine, was of commanding rank. Even as he considered it there was a knock at the door.
"Herein!" A German soldier entered and saluted. He brought a message from the trenches above. It explained the little burst of fire, warned him. The officer stood for a moment in thought, then his face lit up with a malicious pleasure. The clever blue eyes saw a sequence of events—the messenger from the countess, whose sudden scramble over the opposing parapet had drawn the German fire, imploring rescue of the distressed; a French commander, intoxicated with love for a beautiful woman, catching fire at the news, issuing wild orders, seeing only his mistress in imminent danger; a reckless avalanche of French soldiery sweeping down the sides of the ravine in a blind quixotic chivalry. He saw——"Famos!" he ejaculated, and laughed softly to himself. He wrote out an answering message, a long one, and handed it to the orderly.