Chapter VII

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

　　Now up to this point Sara Lee's mind had come to rest at Calais. Shemust get there; after that the other things would need to be worriedover. Henri had already in their short acquaintance installed himselfas the central figure of this strange and amazing interlude—not as agood-looking young soldier surprisingly fertile in expedients, but as asort of agent of providence, by whom and through whom things were done.

　　And Henri had said she was to go to the Gare Maritime at Calais and makeherself comfortable—if she got there. After that things would bearranged.

　　Sara Lee therefore took a hot bath, though hardly a satisfactory one,for there was no soap and she had brought none. She learned later onto carry soap with her everywhere. So she soaked the chill out of herslim body and then dressed. The room was cold, but a great exultationkept her warm. She had run the blockade, she had escaped the WarOffice—which, by the way, was looking her up almost violently bythat time, via the censor. It had found the trunk she left at Morley's,and cross-questioned the maid into hysteria—and here she was,safe in France, the harbor of Calais before her, and here and therestrange-looking war craft taking on coal. Destroyers, she learned later.Her ignorance was rather appalling at first.

　　It was all unreal—the room with its cold steam pipes, the heavy windowhangings, the very words on the hot and cold taps in the bathroom. Agreat vessel moved into the harbor. As it turned she saw its nameprinted on its side in huge letters, and the flag, also painted, of aneutral country—a hoped-for protection against German submarines. Itbrought home to her, rather, the thing she had escaped.

　　After a time she thought of food, but rather hopelessly. Her attemptsto get savon from a stupid boy had produced nothing more useful thana flow of unintelligible French and no soap whatever. She tried apantomime of washing her hands, but to the boy she had appeared to bemerely wringing them. And, as a great many females were wringing theirhands in France those days, he had gone away, rather sorry for her.

　　When hunger drove her to the bell again he came back and found her withher little phrase book in her hands, feverishly turning the pages. Shecould find plenty of sentences such as "Garçon, vous avez renversé duvin sur ma robe," but not an egg lifted its shining pate above thepages. Not cereal. Not fruit. Not even the word breakfast.

　　Long, long afterward Sara Lee found a quite delightful breakfasthidden between two pages that were stuck together. But it was then fartoo late.

　　"Donnez-moi," began Sara Lee, and turned the pages rapidly, "this; doyou see?" She had found roast beef.

　　The boy observed stolidly, in French, that it was not ready until noon.She was able to make out, from his failing to depart, that there was noroast beef.

　　"Good gracious!" she said, ravenous and exasperated. "Go and get mesome bread and coffee, anyhow." She repeated it, slightly louder.

　　That was the tableau that Henri found when, after a custom that may bewar or may be Continental, he had inquired the number of her room andmade his way there.

　　There was a twinkle in his blue eyes as he bowed before her—and a vastrelief too.

　　"So you are here!" he said in a tone of satisfaction. He had put in anextremely bad night, even for him, by whom nights were seldom wasted ina bed. While he was with her something of her poise had communicateditself to him. He had felt the confidence, in men and affairs, thatAmerican girls are given as a birthright. And her desire for servicehe had understood as a year or two ago he could not have understood.But he had stood by the rail staring north, and cursing himself forhaving placed her in danger during the entire crossing.

　　There was nothing about him that morning, however to show his badhours. He was debonnaire and smiling.

　　"I am famishing," said Sara Lee. "And there are no eggs in thisbook—none whatever."

　　"Eggs! You wish eggs?"

　　"I just want food. Almost anything will do. I asked for eggs becausethey can come quickly."

　　Henri turned to the boy and sent him off with a rapid order. Then:"May I come in?" he said.

　　Sara Lee cast an uneasy glance over the room. It was extremely tidy,and unmistakably it was a bedroom. But though her color rose she askedhim in. After all, what did it matter? To have refused would havelooked priggish, she said to herself. And as a matter of fact one ofthe early lessons she learned in France was learned that morning—thatthough convention had had to go, like many other things in the war, menwho were gentlemen ignored its passing.

　　Henri came in and stood by the center table.

　　"Now, please tell me," he said. "I have been most uneasy. On the quaylast night you looked—frightened."

　　"I was awfully frightened. Nothing happened. I even slept."

　　"You were very brave."

　　"I was very seasick."

　　"I am sorry."

　　Henri took a turn up and down the room.

　　"But," said Sara Lee slowly, "I—I—can't be on your hands, you know.You must have many things to do. If you are going to have to order mymeals and all that, I'm going to be a dreadful burden."

　　"But you will learn very quickly."

　　"I'm stupid about languages."

　　Henri dismissed that with a gesture. She could not, he felt, be stupidabout anything. He went to the window and looked out. The destroyerswere still coaling, and a small cargo was being taken off the boat atthe quay. The rain was over, and in the early sunlight an officer inblue tunic, red breeches and black cavalry boots was taking the air, hishead bent over his chest. Not a detail of the scene escaped him.

　　"I have agreed to find the right place for you," he said thoughtfully."There is one, but I think—" He hesitated. "I do not wish to placeyou again in danger."

　　"You mean that it is near the Front?"

　　"Very near, mademoiselle."

　　"But I should be rather near, to be useful."

　　"Perhaps, for your work. But what of you? These brutes—they shellfar and wide. One can never be sure."

　　He paused and surveyed her whimsically.

　　"Who allowed you to come, alone, like this?" he demanded. "Is there noone who objected?"

　　Sara Lee glanced down at her ring.

　　"The man I am going to marry. He is very angry."

　　Henri looked at her, and followed her eyes to Harvey's ring. He saidnothing, however, but he went over and gave the bell cord a violent jerk.

　　"You must have food quickly," he said in a rather flat voice. "You arelooking tired and pale."

　　A sense of unreality was growing on Sara Lee. That she should be alonein France with a man she had never seen three days before; that she knewnothing whatever about that man; that, for the present at least, she wasutterly and absolutely dependent on him, even for the food she ate—itwas all of a piece with the night's voyage and the little room at theSavoy. And it was none of it real.

　　When the breakfast tray came Henri was again at the window and silent.And Sara Lee saw that it was laid for two. She was a little startled,but the businesslike way in which the young officer drew up two chairsand held one out for her made protest seem absurd. And the flat-facedboy, who waited, looked unshocked and uninterested.

　　It was not until she had had some coffee that Henri followed up hisline of thought.

　　"So—the fiance did not approve? It is not difficult to understand.There is always danger, for there are German aëroplanes even in remoteplaces. And you are very young. You still wish to establish yourself,mademoiselle?"

　　"Of course!"

　　"Would it be a comfort to cable your safe arrival in France to thefiancé?" When he saw her face he smiled. And if it was a rather heroicsmile it was none the less friendly. "I see. What shall I say? Orwill you write it?"

　　So Sara Lee, vastly cheered by two cups of coffee, an egg, and a veryconsiderable portion of bread and butter, wrote her cable. It was tobe brief, for cables cost money. It said, "Safe. Well. Love." AndHenri, who seemed to have strange and ominous powers, sent it almostimmediately. Total cost, as reported to Sara Lee, two francs. He tookthe money she offered him gravely.

　　"We shall cable quite often," he said. "He will be anxious. And Ithink he has a right to know."

　　The "we" was entirely unconscious.

　　"And now," he said, when he had gravely allowed Sara Lee to pay her halfof the breakfast, "we must arrange to get you out of Calais. And that,mademoiselle, may take time."

　　It took time. Sara Lee, growing accustomed now to little rooms entirelyfilled with men and typewriters, went from one office to another, walkingalong the narrow pavements with Henri, through streets filled withsoldiers. Once they drew aside to let pass a procession of Belgianrefugees, those who had held to their village homes until bombardmenthad destroyed them—stout peasant women in short skirts and with hugebundles, old men, a few young ones, many children. The terror of theearly flight was not theirs, but there was in all of them a sort ofsodden hopelessness that cut Sara Lee to the heart. In an irregularcolumn they walked along, staring ahead but seeing nothing. Even thechildren looked old and tired.

　　Sara Lee's eyes filled with tears.

　　"My people," said Henri. "Simple country folk, and going to England,where they will grieve for the things that are gone—their fields andtheir sons. The old ones will die, quickly, of homesickness. It isdifficult to transplant an old tree."

　　The final formalities seemed to offer certain difficulties. Henri, wholiked to do things quickly and like a prince, flushed with irritation.He drew himself up rather haughtily in reply to one question, and glanceduneasily at the girl. But it was all as intelligible as Sanskrit to her.

　　It was only after a whispered sentence to the man at the head of thetable that the paper was finally signed.

　　As they went down to the street together Sara Lee made a little protest.

　　"But I simply must not take all your time," she said, looking upanxiously. "I begin to realize how foolhardy the whole thing is. I meantwell, but—it is you who are doing everything; not I."

　　"I shall not make the soup, mademoiselle," he replied gravely.