It was fully ten minutes before he had recovered sufficiently to think with any degree of calmness. The fresh air, however, the slowly-awakening day, and the sound of birds singing in the trees all combined to soothe his overwrought nerves.
"Well, that was certainly a peach of a row!" he muttered, at length. He began to laugh softly. "Another illustration of the strangeness of human nature! I suppose if either of us had only remained cool a few words of explanation might have prevented such a miniature war. Now, I wonder who in the world that poilu can be! Strange—incomprehensible! 'First learn to whom you are talking!' Well, if there is one certain thing in the world, I will learn to whom I was talking. Ah! Deserter, eh?"
He clenched his fists. The hot blood mounted to his face. He came to a halt and looked back.
The old château appeared very dim and shadowy; for the cold, cheerless light in the eastern sky was just beginning to steal over the mist-covered landscape. Everything was reeking with moisture; vegetation faintly glimmered; every gust of wind seemed to bring down pattering drops of water from the leaves. Presently, he stood in a streamer of mist, and between him and the distance were others. The world that surrounded him was gray and melancholy-looking. Boughs and branches bestrewed the carriage road, and in whatever direction he turned there seemed to be nothing but dampness, desolation and cheerlessness.
Chase had been so concerned with his own personal affairs as to be almost unmindful of everything else; now he realized that the guns of both armies were pounding away at a fearful rate. The perplexing question of what he should do came back to him. To steer in the direction of the road seemed like madness; and yet the word "deserter—deserter!" could not be banished from his mind. The thought made him clench his fists again. Ah! he would show them—he would show anybody whether such a word could truthfully be applied to him! He was in a mood to welcome danger—to defy it. A new spirit seemed to have been awakened within him. Notwithstanding the roar of the artillery, he started off at a rapid rate. Not long afterward the great park lay to the rear and he was traveling upon the road along which he had come during the night.
Slowly the light of day crept across the landscape, though the mists, which continued to hang low over the earth, occasionally prevented him from seeing very far.
"Whew! What a night!" muttered Chase. "Shall I ever forget it? And how singular a wind-up!"
The boy indulged in a train of reflections concerning the Château de Morancourt and the mysterious poilu until he approached a zone in which lay the gravest dangers.
The barrage, rising to tremendous heights, was making a din that rivaled thunder in its intensity.
At last he was brought to a halt. To continue any further toward that raging tornado of shot and shell would have been both foolhardy and useless. Seating himself on a rock by the roadside he listened and marveled at the fury of the bombardment. Though terrible and tragic, there seemed to be in it something of the magnificent and sublime. And the raging conflict had the effect of making him forget himself and his worries.