"It's enough," said Jack; "what a plucky girl you are, anyway!"
"I? You don't think so!do you?"
"You are the bravest, sweetest"
"Dear me! You must not say that! You are sadly uneducated, and I see I must take you under my control at once. Man is born to obey! I have decided about your answer to the Herald's telegram."
"May I know the result?" he asked, laughingly.
"To-morrow. There is a brook-lily on the border of the sedge-grass. You may bring it to me."
So began the education of Jack Marcheunder the yoke. And Lorraine's education began, toobut she was sublimely unconscious of that fact.
This also is a law in the world.
CHAPTER IX
SAARBRÜCK
On the first day of August, late in the afternoon, a peasant driving an exhausted horse pulled up at the Château Morteyn, where Jack Marche stood on the terrace, smoking and cutting at leaves with his riding-crop.
"What's the matter, Passerat?" asked Jack, good-humouredly; "are the Prussians in the valley?"
"You are right, Monsieur Marchethe Prussians have crossed the Saar!" blurted out the man. His face was agitated, and he wiped the sweat from his cheeks with the sleeve of his blouse.
"Nonsense!" said Jack, sharply.
"MonsieurI saw them! They chased methe Uhlans with their spears and devilish yellow horses."
"Where?" demanded Jack, with an incredulous shrug.
"I had been to Forbach, where my cousin Passerat is a miner in the coal-mines. This morning I left to drive to Saint-Lys, having in my wagon these sacks of coal that my cousin Passerat procured for me, à prix réduit. It would take all day; I did not careI had bread and red wineyou understand, my cousin Passerat and I, we had been gay in Saint-Avold, toodame! we see each other seldom. I may have had more eau-de-vie than anotherit is permitted on fête-days! Monsieur, I was tiredI possibly sleptthe road was hot. Then something awakes me; I rub my eyesbehold me awake!staring dumfounded at what? Parbleu!at two ugly Uhlans sitting on their yellow horses on a hill! 'No! no!' I cry to myself; 'it is impossible!' It is a bad dream! Dieu de Dieu! It is no dream! My Uhlans come galloping down the hill; I hear them bawling 'Halt! Wer da!' It is terrible! 'Passerat!' I shriek, 'it is the hour to vanish!'"
The man paused, overcome by emotions and eau-de-vie.
"Well," said Jack, "go on!"
"And I am here, monsieur," ended the peasant, hazily.
"Passerat, you said you had taken too much eau-de-vie?" suggested Jack, with a smile of encouragement.
"Much? Monsieur, you do not believe me?"
"I believe you had a dream."
"Bon," said the peasant, "I want no more such dreams."
"Are you going to inform the mayor of Saint-Lys?" asked Jack.
"Of course," muttered Passerat, gathering up his reins; "heu! da-da! heu! cocotte! en route!" and he rattled sulkily away, perhaps a little uncertain himself as to the concreteness of his recent vision.
Jack looked after him.
"There might be something in it," he mused, "but, dear me! his nose is unpleasantlysunburned."
That same morning, Lorraine had announced her decision. It was that Jack might accept the position of special, or rather occasional, war correspondent for the New York Herald if he would promise not to remain absent for more than a day at a time. This, Jack thought, practically nullified the consent, for what in the world could a man see of the campaign under such circumstances? Still, he did not object; he was too happy.
"However," he thought, "I might ride over to Saarbrück. Suppose I should be on hand at the first battle of the war?"
As a mere lad he had already seen service with the Austrians at Sadowa; he had risked his modest head more than once in the murderous province of Oran, where General Chanzy scoured the hot plains like a scourge of Allah.
He had lived, too, at headquarters, and shared the officers' mess where "cherba," "tadjines," "kous-kous," and "méchoin" formed the menu, and a "Kreima Kebira" served as his roof. He had done his duty as correspondent, merely because it was his duty; he would have preferred an easier assignment, for he took no pleasure in cruelty and death and the never-to-be-forgotten agony of proud, dark faces, where mud-stained turbans hung in ribbons and tinselled saddles reeked with Arab horses' blood.
War correspondent? It had happened to be his calling; but the accident of his profession had been none of his own seeking. Now that he needed nothing in the way of recompense, he hesitated to take it up again. Instinctive loyalty to his old newspaper was all that had induced him to entertain the idea. Loyalty and deference to Lorraine compelled him to modify his acceptance. Therefore it was not altogether idle curiosity, but partly a sense of obligation, that made him think of riding to Saarbrück to see what he could see for his journal within the twenty-four-hour limit that Lorraine had set.
It was too late to ride over that evening and return in time to keep his word to Lorraine, so he decided to start at daybreak, realizing at the same time, with a pang, that it meant not seeing Lorraine all day.
He went up to his chamber and sat down to think. He would write a note to Lorraine; he had never done such a thing, and he hoped she might not find fault with him.
He tossed his riding-crop on to the desk, picked up a pen, and wrote carefully, ending the single page with, "It is reported that Uhlans have been encountered in the direction of Saarbrück, and, although I do not believe it, I shall go there to-morrow and see for myself. I will be back within the twelve hours. May I ride over to tell you about these mythical Uhlans when I return?"
He called a groom and bade him drive to the Château de Nesville with the note. Then he went down to sit with the old vicomte and Madame de Morteyn until it came dinner-time, and the oil-lamps in the gilded salon were lighted, and the candles blazed up on either side of the gilt French clock.
After dinner he played chess with his uncle until the old man fell asleep in his chair. There was an interval of silence.
"Jack," said his aunt, "you are a dear, good boy. Tell me, do you love our little Lorraine?"
The suddenness of the question struck him dumb. His aunt smiled; her faded eyes were very tender and kindly, and she laid both frail hands on his shoulders.
"It is my wish," she said, in a low voice; "remember that, Jack. Now go and walk on the terrace, for she will surely answer your note."
"Howhow did you know I wrote her?" he stammered.
"When a young man sends his aunt's servants on such very unorthodox errands, what can he expect, especially when those servants are faithful?"
"That groom told you, Aunt Helen?"
"Yes. Jack, these French servants don't understand such things. Be more careful, for Lorraine's sake."
"ButI willbut did the note reach her?"
His aunt smiled. "Yes. I took the responsibility upon myself, and there will be no gossip."
Jack leaned over and kissed the amused mouth, and the old lady gave him a little hug and told him to go and walk on the terrace.
The groom was already there, holding a note in one hand, gilt-banded cap in the other.
His first letter from Lorraine! He opened it feverishly. In the middle of a thin sheet of note-paper was written the motto of the De Nesvilles, "Tiens ta Foy."
Beneath, in a girlish hand, a single line:
"I shall wait for you at dusk. Lorraine."
All night long, as he lay half asleep on his pillow, the words repeated themselves in his drowsy brain: "Tiens ta Foy!" "Tiens ta Foy!" (Keep thy Faith!). Aye, he would keep it unto deathhe knew it even in his slumber. But he did not know how near to death that faith might lead him.