CHAPTER XVII
I BURN MY BRIDGES
If I live to be a hundred, and it is not improbable since I am healthy,I shall never forget that little garden at the inn at Bleau. It was avegetable garden too, which is not in itself romantic. I recall vaguelythat there were beds all about us, which in due course would doubtlesssprout into rows of pale green objects--peas and artichokes, or beansand cabbages maybe; I don't know, I am sure. But then, there was thestream running just outside the wall of masonry; there was the sky,flushing with that faint, very delicate, very lovely pink that an earlyspring morning brings in France; there was the quaint building, wrappedup in slumber, beside us; and in the air a silent, fragrant dimness, thepromise of the dawn.
And then there was the girl. I suppose that was the main thing. Not thatI felt sentimental. I should have scouted the notion. If I meant to fallin love,--which, I should have said, I had no idea of doing,--I wouldcertainly not begin the process in this unheard-of spot. No; it wassimply that the whole business of caring for Miss Esme Falconer hadsuddenly devolved upon my shoulders; and that instead of my feelingbored, or annoyed, or exasperated at the prospect, my spirits roseinexplicably to face the need.
Here, if ever, was the time for the questions I had planned lastevening. But I didn't ask them; I knew I should never ask them. In thosefew long unforgetable moments when I stood in the gallery and wonderedwhether she were living, my point of view had altered. I was throughwith suspecting her; I was prepared to laugh at evidence, howeverdamning. As for the men in the gray car and their detailed accusations,I didn't give--well, a loud outcry in the infernal regions for them. Iknew the standards of the land they served, and I had seen their workthis morning. If they were French officers, I would do France a serviceby going after them with a gun.
The girl had sunk down on the ancient bench beside me. Her eyes, wideand distressed, yet resolute, went to my heart. Not a figure, I thoughtagain, for this atmosphere of intrigue and secrecy and danger. Rather agirl, beautiful, brilliant, spirited, to be shielded from every jostleof existence; the sort of girl whom men hold it a test of manhood toprotect from even the most passing discomfiture!
But time was moving apace. We must settle on something in short order. Ispoke in the most matter-of-fact tones that I could summon, not, heavenknows, out of a feeling of levity concerning what had happened, but totry to lighten the grim business a degree or so and keep us sane.
"I think, Miss Falconer," I began, standing before her, "that wehave got to thrash this matter out at last. You think I've behavedunspeakably, trailing you everywhere, and I don't deny I have, accordingto your point of view. But the fact is, I didn't follow you to annoyyou; I'm a half-way decent fellow. You have simply got to trust me untilI've seen you through this tangle. After that, if you like you neednever look at me again."
Her troubled eyes rested on me, half bewildered.
"Why, I'd forgotten all that," she murmured. "I do trust you, Mr. Bayne.Of course I must have misunderstood you to some way last evening, andI'm afraid I was disagreeable."
"Naturally. You had to be. Now, if that's all right and I'm forgiven,may I ask a question? About those men who arrived last night andapparently killed your chauffeur--can you guess who they are?"
"Yes," she faltered, looking down at the pebbled walk. "They must havebeen sent by the Government or the army or the police. If the Frenchknew what I was doing, they wouldn't understand my motives. I've beenafraid from the first that they would learn."
Another of my precious theories was going up in smoke. Not seeing why aset of bonafide officers should gratuitously murder a chauffeur, I hadbeen wondering whether the quartet might not be impostors, tricked outin uniforms to which they had no claim. Still, of course, I couldn'tjudge. If she would only confide in me! I was fairly aching to help her;yet how could I, in this blindfold way?
"I don't wish to be impertinent," I ventured at length, meekly, "and Igive you my word I'm not trying to find out anything you don't wantme to. Only, assuming I've got some sense,--in case you care to be soamiable,--I'd like to put it at your service. Do you think you couldgive me just a vague outline of your plans?"
She looked at me in a piteous, uncertain manner. I braced myself fora "No." Then, suddenly, she seemed to decide to trust me--in sheerdesperate loneliness, I dare say.
"I am going," she whispered, "to a village in the war zone--where thereis a chateau. There are things in it--some papers; at least I believethere are. It is just a chance, just a forlorn hope; but it meansall the world to certain people. I have to act in secret till I havesucceeded, and then every one in France, every one on earth may know allthat I have done!"
If I had not burned my bridges, this announcement might have worried me;it was too vague, and what little I grasped tallied startlingly with VanBlarcom's rigmarole. However, having bowed allegiance, I didn't blink aneyelid.
"Yes," I said encouragingly. "Is it very far?"
Her eyes went past me anxiously, watching the inn and its blank windows,as she fumbled in her coat and brought forth a motor map.
"Take it," she breathed, thrusting it toward me. "Look at it. Do yousee? The route in red!"
As I realized the astounding thing I choked down an exclamation. There,beneath my finger, lay the village of Bleau, a tiny dot; and from it,straight into the war zone, the traced line ran through Le Moreau andCroix-le-Valois and St. Remilly; ran to--what was the name? I spelled itout: P-r-e-z-e-l-a-y.
Though it was early in the game to be a wet blanket, I found myselfgasping.
"But," I protested weakly, "you can't do that! It's in the warcountry; it's forbidden territory. One has to have safe-conducts,_laissez-passers_, all sorts of documents to get into that part ofFrance."
"I didn't come unprepared," she answered stubbornly. "Before I startedI knew just what I should need. I can get as far as the hospital atCarrefonds; and Carrefonds is beyond Prezelay, ten miles nearer to theFront!"
"But--" The monosyllable was distinctly tactless.
She straightened, challenging me with brave, defiant eyes.
"I know," she flashed. "You mean it looks suspicious. Well, it does;and if I told you everything, it would look more suspicious still. Youshouldn't have followed me; when they learn that we both spent the nighthere they will think you are my--my accomplice. The best advice I cangive you, Mr. Bayne, is to go away."
"Perhaps we had better," I agreed stolidly. I had deserved the outburst."Shall we be off at once, before the servants come downstairs?"
She drew back, her eyes widening.
"We?" she repeated.
"Naturally!" I replied, with some temper. "I _must_ have disgustedyou last night. What sort of a miserable, spineless, cowardly, caddishtravesty of a man do you take me for, to think I would let you goalone?"
"Please don't joke," she urged. "It simply isn't possible. You would getinto trouble with the French Government, and--"
"Do you know," I grinned, "it is rather exhilarating to snap one'sfingers at governments? Just see what success I made of it with GreatBritain and Italy, on the ship!"
"You don't realize what you are laughing at," she pleaded. "It isdangerous."
"I won't disgrace you. I seldom tremble visibly, Miss Falconer, though Ioften shake inside."
Her great gray eyes were glowing mistily.
"Mr. Bayne, this is splendid of you. I--I shall go on more bravelybecause you have been so kind. But I won't let you make such a sacrificeor mix in a thing that others may think disloyal, treacherous. You knowhow it looks. Why, on the steamer and on the way up to France and evenlast evening--you see I've guessed now why you followed me--you didn'ttrust me yourself."
"I know it," I confessed humbly. "I can't believe I was such an idiot.Somebody ought to perform a surgical operation on my brain. I apologize;I'm down in the dust; I feel like groveling. Won't you forgive me? Ipromise you won't have to do it twice."
This time it was she who said: "But--" and paused uncertainly. I couldsee she was waveri
ng, and I massed my horse, foot, and dragoons for theattack.
"You'll please consider me," I proclaimed firmly, "to be a tyrant. Iam so much bigger than you are that you can't possibly drive me off. Idon't mean to interfere or to ask questions, or to bother you. But I vowI'm coming with you if I cling to the running-board!"
Her lashes fluttered as she racked her brains for new protests.
"The car is a French make," she urged,--"which you couldn't drive--"
"I can drive any car with four wheels!" I exclaimed vaingloriously."It's kismet, Miss Falconer; it's the hand of Providence, no less. Now,we'll leave these notes in the _salle a manger_ to pay for our lodging,which would have been dear at twopence, and be off, if you please, forPrezelay."
She had yielded. We were standing side by side in the silence of themorning, the dimness fading round us, the air taking a golden tinge.My surroundings were plebeian; my costume was comic; yet I felt oddlyuplifted.
"Jolly old garden, isn't it?" said I.
The Firefly of France Page 17