"Champagne and beefsteak!" she retorted, contemptuously.
"Well, and why not? Haven't I promised you all the dresses you can pack in two trunks? I haven't had a decent meal or a good cup of coffee since the war began."
"New York!... after all these years!"
"Bah! Who in the world will recognize you? We are a good many miles away from that gambling-house in the Honan Road. You're moody. You've missed the parade for nearly five weeks. You'd be all right if you could walk through the cars to the diner and have them gape in wonder at you. Somewhere between Chicago and Buffalo we'll use that crook scheme. Now I'm going in next door for a few rubbers at bridge."
She did not reply. She turned her face toward the window and stared out into the night. New York! What was the matter with her that she did not blaze with pleasure at the thought of New York? Fifth Avenue, Broadway, the theaters, the brilliant restaurants, the shops—why did the thought of New York set a little chill in her heart? Were they alive or dead? In all these years she had not made the least effort to find out. New York ... youth that had known nothing but poverty! With a repellent gesture she cast out these thoughts and picked up a fashion magazine.
In compartment 6, the young woman read a manuscript, while the elderly maid with the broad, stolid countenance of the Breton peasant, brushed the golden hair tenderly. By and by the manuscript fluttered to the floor. She knew it so absolutely, even after these months. She stared at the partition. She saw in fancy a window-curtain, forms swaying back and forth, then darkness. She would never be able to identify the men. She had cried and shaken the iron bars of the gate until her palms had peeled.
"Sarah, dear, am I tiring you out?"
"I love to brush your hair, madame."
"I mean the slaving I've set you to."
"No, madame. The only happiness I know rests in serving madame faithfully. Besides, madame has told me that all this is for France; and that is enough for me, who am Breton."