quartermaster almost choked himself with shouting: 'Open! open! you cursed fool! The fellow's a spy; I tell you, he's a spy!'
Maurice no longer doubted it. He had fully recognised the man who had been set at liberty at the camp of Mulhausen for lack of proof against him, and this man was Goliath, whom old Fouchard of Remilly had formerly employed. When the farmer, however, was at last prevailed upon to open his door, they searched the farm in vain, the so-called Alsatian had disappeared. That good-natured looking, fair-haired colossus, whom General Bourgain-Desfeuilles had questioned to no purpose whilst dining the day before, and in whose presence he had carelessly confessed his own ignorance and bewilderment, had gone off! The rascal had no doubt jumped out by a back window, which was found open, but it was in vain that they scoured the surrounding fields; huge though he was, the fellow had vanished like smoke.
Maurice was obliged to lead Honoré away, for in his despair the quartermaster was on the point of telling his comrades more than was advisable of certain sad family affairs which they had no need to know. 'Thunder! I should have so liked to strangle him!' said Honoré; 'I was the more enraged against him on account of the letter I've received.' Then, as they had both seated themselves against a rick at a few steps from the farmhouse, he handed the letter in question to Maurice.
That love affair between Honoré Fouchard and Silvine Morange was but the old, old story. She, a dark-complexioned girl, with beautiful submissive eyes, had, when very young, lost her mother, a workwoman employed at a factory at Raucourt. She was a natural child, and Dr. Dalichamp, her godfather, a worthy man who was always ready to adopt the offspring of the poor creatures he attended, had found her a situation as servant girl with Fouchard, the father. The old peasant, who in his eagerness for gain had turned butcher, hawking his meat through a score of surrounding villages, was certainly frightfully avaricious, and a pitiless hard master as well; but the doctor reasoned that he would watch over the girl, and that she, providing she worked well, would at all events not lack her daily bread. In any case, she would escape the loose life of the factory. Then it naturally came to pass that young Fouchard and the little servant girl fell in love with one another. Honoré was sixteen when she was twelve, and when she was sixteen he was twenty. Then, when he drew his number at the conscription, he was delighted to find it a good one, and determined to marry her. There had never been any impropriety between them; Honoré was, indeed, of a calm, thoughtful disposition, and at the most they had kissed each other in the barn. However, when Honoré broached the subject of the marriage to his father, the latter was exasperated, and stubbornly declared that it should not take place whilst he was living. Still, he kept the girl in his service, thinking, perhaps, that the young fellow's fancy would pass off; hoping, too, possibly, for things that did not happen. Two years went by, and Honoré and Silvine still loved each other, and longed to marry; but at last there was a terrible scene between the father and the son, and the latter, unable to remain any longer in the house, enlisted, and was sent to Algeria, whilst the old man obstinately kept his servant girl, with whom he was well satisfied.
Then came to pass that frightful thing that wrecked poor Silvine's life. She had sworn to wait for Honoré, but a fortnight after his departure she became the prey of Goliath Steinberg—the Prussian, as he was called—a tall, genial-looking chap, with short, fair hair, and a pink, smiling face, who had been in Fouchard's employ as farm-hand for some months already, and had become Honoré's comrade and confidant. Had old Fouchard stealthily brought this to pass? Had there been seduction or violence? Silvine herself no longer knew; she was overwhelmed. Becoming enceinte, however, she accepted the necessity of marrying Goliath, and he, with a smiling face, agreed to it; but he repeatedly postponed the date of the ceremony, until at last, on the very eve of Silvine's accouchement, he suddenly disappeared. It was reported later on that he had found a situation at another farm in the direction of Beaumont. Since then three years had elapsed, and nobody at Remilly imagined that this worthy fellow, Goliath, so attentive to the girls, was simply one of the spies with whom Germany had peopled the Eastern provinces of France. When Honoré in Algeria heard of what had happened, it was as if the fierce tropical sun had stretched him prostrate by dealing him a burning blow on the nape of the neck. He remained for three months in the hospital, but would never apply for a furlough to go home, through fear lest he should again meet Silvine and see her child.
The artilleryman's hands trembled whilst Maurice was reading the letter. It was a letter from Silvine, the first and only one she had ever written to him. What feeling had prompted her to write it—she, so submissive and silent, but whose beautiful black eyes acquired at times an expression of wondrous resolution, despite her perpetual servitude? She simply said that she knew he had gone to the war, and that as she might never see him again she felt too much sorrow at the thought that he might die fancying she no longer loved him; but she did love him, and had never loved anyone but him; and she repeated this, over and over again, throughout four long pages, constantly making use of the same words, but not seeking to excuse herself or even to explain what had happened. And not a word did she say of the child; her letter was but a farewell, full of infinite tenderness.
Maurice, in whom his cousin had formerly confided, felt deeply touched on reading what Silvine had written. On raising his eyes, he saw that Honoré was in tears, and he embraced him like a brother. 'My poor Honoré,' he said.
The quartermaster was already gulping down his emotion, however, and he carefully replaced the letter on his chest, and then again buttoned up his uniform. 'Yes,' he said, 'it upsets one. Ah! if I could only have strangled that bandit! Well, we shall see.'
The bugles were now sounding the signal for raising the camp, and they both had to run to their tents. The preparations for departure dragged on, however, and the men had to wait till nearly nine o'clock before receiving orders to start. Hesitation seemed to have again seized hold of the commanders: there was no more of that fine resolution shown during the first two days, when the Seventh Corps had covered eight-and-thirty miles in a couple of marches. Singular and disquieting information had been circulating since daybreak; the other three army corps, it appeared, had been marching northward, the First to Juniville, and the Fifth and the Twelfth to Rethel, an illogical march which could only be explained by a need of obtaining supplies. Were they not to continue their advance upon Verdun? Why was a day lost? The worst was that the Prussians could not be far off, now, for the officers had warned their men not to straggle, as any laggards might be carried off by the reconnoitring parties of the enemy's cavalry.
It was now the 25th of August, and subsequently, on recollecting Goliath's disappearance, Maurice felt convinced that this scamp was one of the men who supplied the enemy's staff with the precise information respecting the march of the army of Châlons, which determined the sudden change of front carried out by the third German army. The Crown Prince left Revigny on the very next day, and the necessary evolutions at once began for that flank attack, that gigantic scheme of encircling the French troops by dint of forced marches, effected in admirable order through Champagne and the Ardennes. Whilst the French were hesitating and oscillating on the spot where they found themselves, as though suddenly struck with paralysis, the Germans, surrounded by an immense circle of light cavalry beating the country, marched as many as twenty-five miles a day, driving the flock of men whom they were hunting towards the forests on the frontier.[21]
However, the Seventh Corps set out at last, on that morning of the 25th of August, and, wheeling to the left, simply covered the two short leagues separating Contreuve from Vouziers; whilst the Fifth and Twelfth Corps remained at Rethel, and the First halted at Attigny. Between Contreuve and the valley of the Aisne there were some more plains as barren as ever. As the men approached Vouziers, the road wound between stretches of grey soil and desolate hillocks, without a house or even a tree in sight, nothing but mournful desert-like scenery; and the march, short as it was, was accomplished in a weary, dispirited fashion, which lengthened it terribly. At noon the 106th halted on the left bank of the Aisne, the men forming their bivouacs on high barren ground, the last spurs of which overlooked the valley. Thence they kept watch over the Monthois road, which skirts the river, and by which they expected to see the enemy appear.
Maurice
