"Ah, Alfred, think of the suffering. O! I have seen suffering in the hospitals, but a whole nation to be made into one huge hospital. Mon Dieu, c'est incroyable!"
"Wait, Gabrielle. Don't borrow trouble. The world cannot afford war now. La Guerre est un peu passée aujourd'hui. Eh?"
"Alfred, the devil is never sick, and never tired, and never asleep."
That night the news was confirmed. Then came Austria's demands; and then a chasing hither and thither of couriers; the wires hot with messages; lights in the embassies all night; rage, dismay; in the cities the people silent or cheering in the streets; houses closed or hidden in flags; in the ministries forebodings; feverish despatches; and almost always hopelessness. Peace was impossible; everywhere the "mailed fist"—poing armée—of the Kaiser. Then came Austria's declaration of war against Servia on July 29th. The detonation was at hand which would burst Europe asunder.
Capitaine Bleu-Pistache asked me to go to Paris at once, so did Père Grandin, so did Privat Deschat, and although father and mother seemed listless about it I, thoroughly awake now to the disaster, was impatient to visit the capital, and see how things were going. But Gabrielle did not wish me to go.
"Alfred, is it not best to hear the news here? You cannot enlist. Alfred you know that is impossible." She suddenly checked herself. I knew her thought, and my cheeks grew crimson—my weakness and physical deficiency now cut me off from service—"No, Alfred it was not that, not that," her embarrassment brought tears to her eyes. "No not that, but I am afraid of some danger. Now it is everywhere, an explosion, a chance shot, a street quarrel. Alfred let me go too."
"Gabrielle I shall be quite safe. I shall be O! so very timid."
She smiled.
"Not so timid alone Alfred, as if I were there too."
"Nonsense Gabrielle, is it not written, la femme fait le coeur intrépide. But really it would be very foolish for you to come. Watch here. I will be so careful."