little Mireille in her pink frock, looking like a blossom blown from a peach-tree, came running in to call her. The door-bell had rung and there was no one to answer it, since Marie and Mariette had gone and Frieda was locked in her room and Fritz had vanished. So the two ran lightly downstairs and opened the door to Lucile and Cri-cri, radiant in pale blue muslin; and soon Cécile and Jeannette and Verveine arrived too, and they all tripped into the drawing-room with light skirts swinging and buoyant curls afloat.
Verveine sat at the piano and the others danced and sang.
Sur le pont
D'Avignon
On y danse
On y danse,
Sur le pont
D'Avignon
On y danse
Tout en rond!
The laughing treble voices could be heard through the windows, thrown wide open to the mild evening air, and a young soldier on horseback galloping through the quiet village heard the song before he pulled up at Dr. Brandès's door. It was Florian Audet keeping his promise.
He slipped his bridle over the little iron gate and rang the bell. Louise herself came down and opened the door to him.
"Ah, Florian! How glad Chérie will be!" she exclaimed. Then, as the light from the hall beat full on his set face, "Why, how pale you are!" she cried.
"I must speak to you," said Florian drawing her into the doctor's surgery and shutting the door.
Louise felt her heart drop like a stone within her. "Is there worse news?"
"The worst possible," said Florian. Then his eyes wandered over the pretty, helpless figure before him. "Why are you dressed up like this?" he asked harshly.
"Why, Florian …" stammered Louise, "it is Chérie's birthday … and...."
Sur le pont
D'Avignon
On y danse
On y danse,
sang the girlish voices upstairs.
Florian turned away with a groan. "What shall I do?" he muttered. "What will be the end of it?" Turning he saw Louise's stricken eyes gazing at him, and he took her hand. "Marraine," he said, "you will be very brave—it is best that I should tell you–"
"Yes, Florian," said Louise, and the colour ebbed slowly from her face, leaving it as white as milk.
"The country is invaded at all points. There has been fighting at Verviers...."
"At Verviers!" gasped Louise, and her large eyes were like inkblots in her colourless face.
"Yes, and at Fleron."
There was silence. Then Louise spoke. "What—what will happen to us? What does it mean … to our country?"
"It means ruin and butchery," muttered Florian through his clenched teeth; "it means violence, carnage, and devastation." Then he walked up and down the room. "We are holding Visé," he muttered, "we are holding it against Von Emmich's hell-hounds. And when we cannot hold it any longer we will blow up the bridge on the Meuse."
Louise had sunk into a chair. For a few moments neither spoke. Then Louise looked up.
"Will they—is it likely that they will come here?"
"They may," said Florian gravely, and as he looked at her and thought of her alone in the house with Chérie and Mireille a spasm crossed his face and tightened his lips.
"Will you be with us?" asked Louise, gazing at his stalwart figure and strong clenched hands. "How long can you stay here?"
"Forty minutes," replied Florian bitterly.
Again there was silence. Then he said, "What about that Dutchman—Claude's servant? Where is he?"
"Fritz?" said Louise, trembling. Then she told him what had taken place the night before, and also the events at Roche-à-Frêne. Florian listened to her with grim face. Then he strode up and down the room again in silence.
"Well," he said at last, "you have promised to be brave. You must listen to what I tell you and obey me."
He gave her brief, precise instructions. They were to pack their few most valuable possessions at once, and leave for Bomal early next morning for Brussels, via Marché and Namur—not Liège. "Remember," he added, "not Liège." If no trains were available they must hire a carriage, or a cart, or anything they could get. If no vehicle could be found, then they must go on foot to Huy and thence to Namur. "Do you understand?"
Yes, Louise understood.
Why not start now,—this evening? he suggested. They could go through the wood to Tervagne–
Through the wood to Tervagne!… in the dark! Louise looked so terrified that he did not insist. Besides, he reflected, there might be Uhlans scouting in the woods tonight. No. They must leave at dawn. At three or four o'clock in the morning. Was that understood?
Yes, it was understood.
"And—and–" asked Louise, "what are we to do with Frieda?"
"Don't trust her. But take her with you if she wants to go. Otherwise leave her alone. Keep your doors locked."
"Yes."
"And have you got money?"
Yes, they had plenty of money.
"And now," said Florian, looking at his watch, which told him that twenty of the forty minutes had passed, "I should like to see Chérie."
"I will call her," said Louise; then, at the door she turned to question him with her fear-stricken eyes, "Shall I tell them—shall I tell the children of the danger that threatens us?"
"Yes, you must tell them," said Florian. "And send them to their homes at once."
"Oh, what will Mireille do?" gasped Louise. "What if she were to cry? What if she were to fall ill with fear?"
"Little Mireille is braver than we are," he said, smiling and putting his arm around her drooping shoulders. "Courage, petite marraine" and he bent over her with fraternal tenderness and kissed her cheek.
He was left alone for a few moments; he heard the singing overhead stop suddenly. Light fluttering footsteps came running down the stairs; the door opened and Chérie stood on the threshold.
He caught his breath. Was this vision of beauty in the floating silken draperies his little friend Chérie? How had she been transformed without his noticing it from the awkward little school-girl he had known into this enchanting flower-like loveliness? She noticed his wonder and stood still, smiling and drawing a diaphanous scarf that floated mistily about her somewhat closer over her pearly shoulders. Her limpid eyes gazed up at him with blue and heavenly innocence.
A shudder passed through the man as he looked at her—a shudder of prescient horror. Were not the wolves on the way already? Were not the blood-drunken hordes already tearing and slashing their way towards this virginal flower? Must he leave her to the mercy of their foul and furious lust?
Again the fearful shudder passed through him. And still those limpid, childish eyes gazed up at him and smiled.
"Chérie!"
