As he spoke, her eyelids drooped, and she swayed back on to his shoulder. He swung her into his arms as I had seen him do once before, on that memorable summer night more than three months ago, when I thought I had looked my last on her; and, as the women gave way before him, he strode off, carrying his precious burden as easily as if she had been a little child.
We followed closely, revolvers in hand; but there was no need to use them. The few streets we traversed on the route Loris took were deserted; and though the houses on either side were smouldering ruins, we passed but few corpses, and some of those were Russians. The worst of the carnage had been in the streets further from the synagogue.
“You came just in time,” remarked Vassilitzi. “We were expecting the door to be burst in or burnt every moment; so we packed the women and children up into the women’s gallery again—we’d been firing from there till the ammunition was gone—and waited for the end. Most of the Jews were praying hard; well, I suppose they think their prayers were efficacious for once.”
“Without doubt,” I answered. His cynical tone jarred on me, somehow.
“They will need all their prayers,” he rejoined, shrugging his shoulders. “To-night is but a foretaste of what they have to expect. But perhaps they will now take the hint, and learn to defend themselves; also they will not have the soldiers to reckon with, if they can hold out a little longer.”
“How’s that?” I asked, because he seemed to expect the question; not because I was particularly interested; my mind was concentrated on those two in front.
“Why, because the soldiers will be wanted elsewhere, as I think you know very well, mon ami,” he laughed. “Well, I for one am glad this little affair is over. I could do with some breakfast, and you also, eh? Anna is worn out; she will never spare herself. Ma foi! she is a marvel; I say that always; and he is another. Now if I tried to do that sort of thing”—he waved his hand airily towards Loris, tramping steadily along. “But I should not try; she is no light weight, I give you my word! Still they make a pretty picture,—eh? What it is to be a giant!”
I’d have liked to shake him, and stop his irresponsible chatter, which seemed out of place at the moment. I knew he wouldn’t have been able to carry Anne half across the street; he was a little, thin fellow, scarcely as tall as Anne herself.
But I could have carried her, easily as Loris was doing, if I’d had the chance and the right.
Yet his was the right; I knew that well, for I had seen the look in her eyes as she greeted him just now. How could I have been such a conceited fool as to imagine she loved me, even for a moment! What I had dared to hope—to think—was love, was nothing of the kind; merely frank camaraderie. It was in that spirit she had welcomed me; calling me “Maurice,” as she had done during the last week or two of her stay at Mary’s; but somehow I felt that though we had met again at last, she was immeasurably removed from me; and the thought was a bitter one! She loved me in a way,—yes, as her friend, her good comrade. Well, hadn’t I told myself for months past that I must be content with that?