Many fled from the city in the week that followed that memorable Sunday; but old Hélène remained in the Place Kleber. No word or argument would turn her from her purpose. The people looked to her for example. She would not fail them. Even the Bishop himself, who came daily to her house to counsel flight, could not persuade her.
“I have lived here for fifty years,” she said; “am I to run away now because the gates are closed to the enemies of France? Is that your advice, monseigneur? Shall we leave the sick in their beds and the wounded to die in the streets? Shall we say, ‘Good-bye, brave fellows; when the war is done we will come back from Geneva to thank you’? Is this our trust in the God of France? Ah, you do not think so, my good friend—you do not wish it.”
The Bishop shook his head, but could not gainsay her.
“You do not know what is about to happen to us,” he said gently; “every day there are more Prussians in the Ruprecht’s Au. Guns are coming always from Coblentz and Wesel and Magdeburg. They will not leave one stone upon another—I tremble for you and yours, my daughter. Yet, God knows, we should be grateful for your courage.”
There was no braver man in Strasburg, and he would leave the Place Kleber with a glad heart after such a talk as this. To all who doubted, or were craven or of little faith, he said—
“Go to Madame Hélène, my son. She is a woman, and she will protect you. While one stone stands upon another, the Mother of the City prays for her children. Go to her, and tell her that you wish the General to open the gates.”
They turned away ashamed, and went abroad to spread the good tidings. Everywhere the placid life of the great house was an example for the city. And never was example needed so sorely by a people. Day by day the news was more grave, the situation more hopeless. Now tidings of von Werder’s march, now news of the Prussian guns, now of the fall of villages—every hour added to the dismay and the panic. Unwillingly men and women began to realise that their mighty citadel, their ramparts, which had stood up during the centuries, were powerless to break the girdle of iron which cut them off from France and liberty and even the common things of life. They spoke of courage, of endurance, of resistance to the last man; yet this talk was for the café and the market-place. At home, with their children about them, they began to forget even the vocations which gave them bread. Unrest and doubt were everywhere. When the first of the guns was heard, and men knew that at last the hour was at hand, they went bravely through the streets; but the thought of each one was for the house which sheltered him, for the safety of those whom it had been his life’s task to foster.
Beatrix was often abroad in the streets of the city after the day of her meeting with Brandon North; but she did not fear as the others about her, nor share their apprehensions. The safety of Strasburg was no longer of moment to her. She counted the days which should bring her some news of Edmond or of her letter. There was always in her mind the thought that Brandon might come again, and that her secret would be discovered. She could imagine a guilt of that secrecy which others, perchance, would not lay to her charge. The doubt that Edmond might not approve, might even blame her for the friendship, was not to be satisfied. She did not know if Brandon had escaped again after his flight from the Rue de Kehl. Wherever, in the public places, she saw a concourse of people, then her heart faltered and her step trembled. She could not forget that white face in the café—the blood that trickled upon it, the merciless canes which beat it down. If that man had been her English friend!
Night and day she thought of these things, sleeping little, walking abroad for the very sake of solitude. It was a strain to eat at the great table, and to hear old Hélène’s brave words, and to realise how little she shared that enduring belief in the glory of France and the hopes for the days to come. Sometimes she had the impulse to tell all, to say, “I have seen Brandon in the Rue de Kehl, and he has taken my letter to Ulm.” Her promise remained, however. A whisper might endanger the life of the man who had risked so much to save her. She could satisfy her own conscience, but not the reason of others, she thought.
There were few of her friends in the city, but such as braved the siege she saw every day; and forgot her own care in the babble of news and scandal. Pretty Thérèse Lavencourt and Georgine took her to the gardens often; and it was in the gardens, just ten days after Brandon’s flight, that she first met the man Gatelet again, and found herself face to face with him. She knew that her cheeks flushed crimson, and she could hear her heart beating; but she was smiling when she took his hand, and she realised what part she must play.