“Won’t you sit down?” and then, “Why are you here? You know the Germans may come any time now. Surely before morning.”
“As soon as that?” asked Lily indifferently. She had not thought of the Germans. Perhaps they would come. It did not matter greatly.
The old man bent his head over the table and began to turn the pages of the book. “Our soldiers are brave, Madame,” he said. “But there is too much against them. They were not ready. In the end we will win.... For the present....” He finished with a gesture implying that the matter lay in the hands of the good God. He was a simple man, a peasant trained for the priesthood by devout and adoring parents.
“It would be better if you would go away,” he said after a sudden pause. “I imagine it will not be pleasant.”
Lily laughed softly. For a moment something of her old gay indifference appeared to return, even a shade of the spirit with which she had met another adventure years before in the park at Cypress Hill.
“There is Madame Gigon,” she said. M. Dupont again bent over the table silently. It was a gesture of assent, of resignation, of agreement.
“Besides,” continued Lily, “I am not afraid. I think I may even enjoy the experience.... I should like to know what war is like.” And then, as if she feared that he did not understand her, she added, “Not, of course, because I like war. Oh! not at all! But you understand what it means for the men.... I have men in it.” She shivered a little and drew the black cape more closely about her. “I think it might be easier for the women if they could go into battle as well. It would be easier than waiting ... at home ... alone.”
The man closed his book. “Madame is a beautiful woman,” he said, softly.
Again Lily smiled faintly. “Oh, I understand what you mean ... perfectly.” A thoughtful expression entered her dark eyes. She seemed suddenly to be listening to the faint and distant thunder. “Yes,” she said with a sigh, “I understand. Fortunately I have no temptation to run away. I could not go if I chose. Madame Gigon, you understand, has given up her life to me.... It would be impossible to desert her now.”
She sat now with her back to the whitewashed wall of the little room; her black cape and her red hair carried the quality of a beautiful painting. All the color was gone from her face and beneath her eyes hung dark circles which somehow increased the brilliance of her eyes and the whiteness of her skin. She looked old but it was the oldness of beauty, possessing a clear refinement and delicacy.