CHAPTER II
First came a letter from my husband. He had written it in the first fever of war. The letter was a week late, and he marvelled at the splendid eagerness and union of France. "'Tis the world upside down," he wrote. "In my detachment, out of 1200 seamen, not one was missing or drunk on getting to Cherbourg. As to myself, I am more decided than ever not to go to sea. I will see the Prussians face to face. Yesterday I had a talk with a field officer, and he promised to get me an interesting post. That is a good thing; I now depend only on him."
I thought I saw him rubbing his hands with satisfaction. An interesting post! It means, doesn't it, to run into jeopardy, to seek after perilous missions? Oh, dare-devil! oh, heart of stone! Wrapped up in his joy, he has no thought for the pangs of those whose hearts are hanging upon his life!
Soon after there arrived unexpectedly Mme. Valaine and Antoinette, whose journey had been greatly delayed by the mobilisation. We had got but scanty news from Paris, and listened in amazement to their descriptions of the capital, the fine frenzy of the soldiers leaving for the front, the plunder of German shops, and then in our turn told them the little that we had seen in the country.
When our stories and greetings were finished, it was time to prepare rooms for the travellers.
I will seize upon the occasion to give a short description of our dear old house. Notched like a saw, the gabled front presents a row of shutters, which, like grey eyelids, secure us from indiscreet looks. To the right and the left two large iron gates, always carefully closed, lead one into a paved yard, the other into a narrow road, planted with trees. The side of the house, looking out on the high-walled garden, throws off the reserve in which the front is shrouded; windows and doors are always wide open to the air, the sun, and the creepers, whose branches penetrate even the rooms themselves. Inside, a passage separates the house into two parts, the dining- and the drawing-rooms on one side, and on the other the bedrooms and the kitchen. Geneviève, Colette, and Mme. Valaine have their rooms downstairs. Upstairs the attic has been cut up pleasantly into three. Outside, parallel with the house, a small building opens into the yard, containing a wash-house, a room—the small room—a coach-house, a stable, and the whole is topped by an attic.
The house—this does not allow of discussion—is too small, or the family is too large, and Antoinette, who wanted a room to herself, declared: "I will settle in 'the small room,'" and we could not get it out of her head, although we enlarged,—with some complacency—upon the dangers she might run alone by night.
"The walls are high, the doors strong. I am not afraid, and then there are the dogs."