Chapter XXVII

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

　　Very pale and desperate, Henri took the night A train for Folkestoneafter he had said good-by to Sara Lee. He alternately chilled andburned with fever, and when he slept, as he did now and then, going offsuddenly into a doze and waking with a jerk, it was to dream of horrors.

　　He thought, in his wilder intervals, of killing himself. But his codedid not include such a shirker's refuge. He was going back to tell hisstory and to take his punishment.

　　He had cabled to Jean to meet him at Calais, but when, at dawn the nextmorning, the channel boat drew in to the wharf there was no sign ofJean or the car. Henri regarded the empty quay with apathetic eyes.They would come, later on. If he could only get his head down and sleepfor a while he would be better able to get toward the Front. For heknew now that he was ill. He had, indeed, been ill for days, but he didnot realize that. And he hated illness. He regarded it with suspicion,as a weakness not for a strong man.

　　The drowsy girl in her chair at the Gare Maritime regarded him curiouslyand with interest. Many women turned to look after Henri, but he didnot know this. Had he known it he would have regarded it much as hedid illness.

　　The stupid boy was not round. The girl herself took the key and led theway down the long corridor upstairs to a room. Henri stumbled in andfell across the bed. He was almost immediately asleep.

　　Late in the afternoon he wakened. Strange that Jean had not come. Hegot up and bathed his face. His right arm was very stiff now, and painsran from the old wound in his chest down to the fingers of his hand. Hetried to exercise to limber it, and grew almost weak with pain.

　　At six o'clock, when Jean had not come, Henri resorted to ways that heknew of and secured a car. He had had some coffee by that time, and hefelt much better—so well indeed that he sang under his breath astrange rambling song that sounded rather like René's rendering ofTipperary. The driver looked at him curiously every now and then.

　　It was ten o'clock when they reached La Panne. Henri went at once tothe villa set high on a sand dune where the King's secretary lived. Thehouse was dark, but in the library at the rear there was a light. Hestumbled along the paths beside the house, and reached at last, afterinterminable miles, when the path sometimes came up almost to his eyesand again fell away so that it seemed to drop from under his feet—atlast he reached the long French doors, with their drawn curtains. Heopened the door suddenly and thereby surprised the secretary, who was amost dignified and rather nervous gentleman, into laying his hand on aheavy inkwell.

　　"I wish to see the King," said Henri in a loud tone. Because at thatmoment the secretary, lamp and inkwell and all, retired suddenly to avery great distance, as if one had viewed them through the reverse endof an opera glass.

　　The secretary knew Henri. He, too, eyed him curiously.

　　"The King has retired, monsieur."

　　"I think," said Henri in a dangerous tone, "that he will see me."

　　To tell the truth, the secretary rather thought so too. There was astrange rumor going round, to the effect that the boy had followed awoman to England at a critical time. Which would have been a pity, thesecretary thought. There were so many women, and so few men like Henri.

　　The secretary considered gravely. Henri was by that time in a chair, butit moved about so that he had to hold very tight to the arms. When helooked up again the secretary had picked up his soft black hat and wasat the door.

　　"I shall inquire," he said. Henri saluted him stiffly, with his lefthand, as he went out.

　　The secretary went to His Majesty's equerry, who was in the next houseplaying solitaire and trying to forget the family he had left on theother side of the line.

　　So it was that in due time Henri again traversed miles of path andpavement, between tall borders of wild sea grass, miles which perhapswere a hundred yards. And went round the screen, and—found the Kingon the hearthrug. But when he drew himself stiffly to attention heoverdid the thing rather and went over backward with a crash.

　　He was up again almost immediately, very flushed and uncomfortable.After that he kept himself in hand, but the King, who had a way all hisown of forgetting his divine right to rule, and a great many otherthings—the King watched him gravely.

　　Henri sat in a chair and made a clean breast of it. Because he wasfeeling rather strange he told a great many things that an agent of thesecret service is hardly expected to reveal to his king. He mentioned,for instance, the color of Sara Lee's eyes, and the way she bandaged,like one who had been trained.

　　Once, in the very middle of his narrative, where he had put the letterfrom the Front in his pocket and decided to go to England anyhow, hestopped and hummed René's version of Tipperary. Only a bar or two.Then he remembered.

　　But one thing brought him round with a start.

　　"Then," said the King slowly, "Jean was not with you?"

　　Only he did not call him Jean. He gave him his other name, which, likeHenri's, is not to be told.

　　Henri's brain cleared then with the news that Jean was missing. When,somewhat later, he staggered out of the villa, it was under royalinstructions to report to the great hospital along the sea front andnear by, and there to go to bed and have a doctor. Indeed, because theboy's eyes were wild by that time, the equerry went along and held hisarm. But that was because Henri was in open revolt, and while walkingsteadily enough showed a tendency to bolt every now and then.

　　He would stop on the way and argue, though one does not argue easilywith an equerry.

　　"I must go," he would say fretfully. "God knows where he is. He'dnever give me up if I were the one."

　　And once he shook off the equerry violently and said:

　　"Let go of me, I tell you! I'll come back and go to bed when I'vefound him."

　　The equerry soothed him like a child.

　　An English nurse took charge of Henri in the hospital, and put him tobed. He was very polite to her, and extremely cynical. She sat in achair by his bed and held the key of the room in her hand. Once hethought she was Sara Lee, but that was only for a moment. She did notlook like Sara Lee. And she was suspicious, too; for when he asked herwhat she could put in her left hand that she could not put in her right,she moved away and placed the door key on the stand, out of reach.

　　However, toward morning she dozed. There was steady firing at Nieuportand the windows shook constantly. An ambulance came in, followed by astirring on the lower floor. Then silence. He got up then and securedthe key. There was no time for dressing, because she was a suspiciousperson and likely to waken at any time. He rolled his clothing into abundle and carried it under his well arm. The other was almost useless.

　　The ambulance was still waiting outside, at the foot of the staircase.There were voices and lights in the operating room, forward along thetiled hall. Still in his night clothing, Henri got into the ambulanceand threw his uniform behind him. Then he got the car under way.

　　Outside the village he paused long enough to dress. His head wasamazingly clear. He had never felt so sure of himself before. As tohis errand he had no doubt whatever. Jean had learned that he hadcrossed the channel. Therefore Jean had taken up his work—Jean, whohad but one eye and was as clumsy as a bear. The thought of Jeancrawling through the German trenches set him laughing until he endedwith a sob.

　　It was rather odd about the ambulance. It did not keep the road verywell. Sometimes it was on one side and sometimes on the other. It slidas though the road were greased. And after a time Henri made an amazingdiscovery. He was not alone in the car.

　　He looked back, without stopping, and the machine went off in a wide arc.He brought it back again, grinning.

　　"Thought you had me, didn't you?" he observed to the car in general, andthe engine in particular. "Now no tricks!"

　　There was a wounded man in the car. He had had morphia and he was verycomfortable. He was not badly hurt, and he considered that he was beingtaken to Calais. He was too tired to talk, and the swinging of the carrather interested him. He would doze and waken and doze again. But atlast he heard something that made him rise on his elbow.

　　It was the hammering of the big guns.

　　He called Henri's attention to this, but Henri said:

　　"Lie down, Jean, and don't talk. We'll make it yet."

　　The wounded man intended to make a protest, but he went to sleep instead.

　　They had reached the village now where was the little house of mercy.The ambulance rolled and leaped down the street, with both lights fullon, which was forbidden, and came to a stop at the door. The man insidewas grunting then, and Henri, whose head had never been so clear, gotout and went round to the rear of the car.

　　"Now, out with you, comrade!" he said. "I have made an error, but it isimmaterial. Can you walk?"

　　He lighted a cigarette, and the man inside saw his burning eyes andshaking hands. Even through the apathy of the morphia he felt a thrillof terror. He could walk. He got out while Henri pounded at the door.

　　"Attention!" he called. "Attention!"

　　Then he hummed an air of the camps:

　　Trou là là, ça ne va guère;

　　Trou là là, ça ne va pas.