IX
The dread news came for which Beauty had been waiting many weeks. It was written by a comrade of Marcel's, a “ground man” whom he had pledged to this duty. The comrade regretted to inform Madame Budd that her friend had been severely injured; his “kite balloon” had been attacked by two enemy planes, and had been hauled down, but not quickly enough; some fifteen meters above ground it had caught fire, and Marcel had leaped out, and had been badly smashed up, also burned. He had been taken to the base hospital at Beauvais, and the writer could not say as to his present condition.
After her first collapse, Beauty's one idea was to get to him; she couldn't stop sobbing, and was in the grip of a sort of convulsion of shuddering — but she must go, she must go — right now, come on! She wouldn't even wait to put clothes into a suitcase. She had visions of her lover mutilated, defaced — he would be in agony, he might be dying at that moment. “Oh, God, my God, help me, help my poor Marcel!”
It happened that Jerry and M. Rochambeau were in the house, as well as Lanny. They tried to comfort her, but what could they say? They tried to restrain her,but she wouldn't listen to reason. “You must find out if you can get on the train,” argued the diplomat. But her answer was that she would motor. “Then you must arrange to get essence” — but she said: “I'll find a way — I'll pay what it costs — you can always get things if you pay.”
“But, my dear lady, you may not be able to get near the town-it's in the war zone, and they never allow relatives or visitors.”
“I'll find a way. I'll go to Paris and lay siege to the government.”
“There are many persons laying siege to the government right now — including the Germans.”
“I'm going to help Marcel. I'll find a way — I'll take a job as nurse with Emily Chattersworth. She'll get me there somehow. Who will come with me?”
Lanny had learned to drive a car, but hardly well enough for this trip. Jerry Pendleton was a first-class driver, and knew how to fix carburetors and those other miserable devices that were always getting out of order. Jerry would go; and the terrified maids would rush to pile some clothes into suitcases — warm things, for Madame was declaring hysterically that if they wouldn't let her into the town she would sleep in the car, or in the open like the soldiers. None of her pretty things — but then she changed her mind, if she had to call on government officials she would have to look her best — nothing showy, but that simplicity which is the apex of art, and which costs in accordance. A strange thing to see a woman, so choked with her own sobs that she could hardly make herself understood, at the same time trying to decide what sort of dress was proper to wear in approaching the war minister of a government in such dire peril of its existence that it had had to move to a remote port by the sea!
Lanny packed his suitcase, taking a warm sweater and the overcoat he had worn in Silesia; a good suit also, because he too might have to interview officials. Beauty sent a wire to Mrs. Emily, asking her to use her influence; M. Rochambeau sent a telegram to an official of his acquaintance who could arrange it if any man could. “Only woman can do the impossible,” added the old gentleman, parodying Goethe.