“Au revoir, mademoiselle!”
I was shocked then at the callousness of the lady. It seemed to me incredible. Now I am no longer shocked, but understand the horror that was hers, the loathing, for a daughter of France who had—if the mob were not mistaken!—violated the code of honour which enabled the French people to resist German brutality, even German kindness, which they hated worse, with a most proud disdain. That girl outside, bleeding and senseless in the car, had been friendly with German officers, notorious in her company with them. Otherwise she would not have been seized by the crowd and branded for shame. There was a fierce protective instinct which hardened Madame Chéri against charity. Only those who have seen what war means to women close to it, in enemy hands, may truly understand, and, understanding, curse war again for all its destruction of souls and bodies.
XIII
Brand and Dr. Small were both astonished and indignant.
“Do you mean to say she shuts her door against this poor bleeding girl?” said Brand.
The American doctor did not waste words. He only used words when there was no action on hand.
“The next place?” he said. “A hospital?”
I had the idea of the convent where Eileen O’Connor lodged. There was a sanctuary. Those nuns were vowed to Christian charity. They would understand and have pity.