I said, abruptly: "So you are not going to denounce me to the Prussian provost?"

He lifted his well-shaped head and gazed at the Countess with an admirable pathos which seemed a mute appeal for protection from brutality.

"That question is a needless one," said the Countess, quietly. "It was a cruel one, also, Monsieur Scarlett."

"I did not mean it as an offensive question," said I. "I was merely reciting a fact, most creditable to Mr. Buckhurst. Mon Dieu, madame, I am an officer of Imperial Police, and I have lived to hear blunt questions and blunter answers. And if it be true that Monsieur Buckhurst desires to atone for--for what has happened, then it is perfectly proper for me, even as a prisoner myself, to speak plainly."

I meant this time to thoroughly convince Buckhurst of my ability to gabble plat.i.tude. My desire that he should view me as a typical gendarme was intense.

So I coughed solemnly behind my hand, knit my eyebrows, and laid one finger alongside of my nose.

"Is it not my duty, as a guardian of national interests, to point out to Mr. Buckhurst his honest errors? Certainly it is, madame, and this is the proper time."

Turning pompously to Buckhurst, I fancied I could almost detect a sneer on that inexpressive mask he wore--at least I hoped I could, and I said, heavily:

"Monsieur, for a number of years there has pa.s.sed under our eyes here in France certain strange phenomena. Thousands of Frenchmen have, so to speak, separated themselves from the rest of the nation.

"All the sentiments that the nation honors itself by professing these other Frenchmen rebuke--the love of country, public spirit, accord between citizens, social repose, and respect for communal law and order--these other Frenchmen regard as the hallucinations of a nation of dupes.

"Separated by such unfortunate ideas from the nation within whose boundaries they live, they continue to abuse, even to threaten, the society and the country which gives them shelter.

"France is only a name to them; they were born there, they live there, they derive their nourishment from her without grat.i.tude.

But France is nothing to them; _their mother-land is the Internationale_!"

I was certain now that the shadow of a sneer had settled in the corners of Buckhurst's thin lips.

"I do not speak of anarchists or of terrorists," I continued, nodding as though profoundly impressed by my own sagacity. "I speak of socialists--that dangerous society to which the cry of Karl Marx was addressed with the warning, 'Socialists! Unite!'

"The government has reason to fear socialism, not anarchy, for it will never happen in France, where the pa.s.sion for individual property is so general, that a doctrine of brutal destruction could have the slightest chance of success.

"But wait, here is the point, Monsieur Buckhurst. Formerly the name of 'terrorist' was a shock to the entire civilized world; it evoked the spectres of a year that the world can never forget. And so our modern reformers, modestly desiring to evade the inconveniences of such memories among the people, call themselves the 'Internationale.'

Listen to them; they are adroit, they blame and rebuke violence, they condemn anarchy, they would not lay their hands on public or individual property--no, indeed!

"Ah, madame, but you should hear them in their own clubs, where the ladies and gentlemen of the gutters, the barriers, and the abattoirs discuss 'individual property,' 'the tyranny of capital,' and similar subjects which no doubt they are peculiarly fitted to discuss.

"Believe me, madame, the little coterie which you represent is already the dupe and victim of this terrible Internationale. Their leaders work their will through you; a vast conspiracy against all social peace is spread through your honest works of mercy. The time is coming when the whole world will rise to combat this Internationale; and when the mask is dragged from its benignant visage, there, grinning behind, will appear the same old 'Spectre Rouge,' torch in one hand, gun in the other, squatting behind a barricade of paving-blocks."

I wagged my head dolefully.

"I could not have rested had I not warned Mr. Buckhurst of this," I said, sentimentally.

Which was fairly well done, considering that I was figuratively lamenting over the innocence of the most accomplished scoundrel that ever sat in the supreme council of the Internationale.

Buckhurst looked thoughtfully at the floor.

"If I thought," he murmured--"if I believed for one instant--"

"Believe me, my dear sir," I said, "that you are playing into the hands of the wickedest villains on earth!"

"Your earnestness almost converts me," he said, lifting his stealthy eyes.

The Countess appeared weary and perplexed.

"At all events," she said, "we must do nothing to embarra.s.s France now; we must do nothing until this frightful war is ended."

After a silence Buckhurst said, "But you will go to Paradise, madame?"

"Yes," replied the Countess, listlessly.

Now, what in Heaven's name attracted that rogue to Paradise?

VII

A STRUGGLE FORESHADOWED

I took my breakfast by the window, watching the German soldiery cleaning up Morsbronn. For that wonderful Teutonic administrative mania was already manifesting itself while ruined houses still smoked; method replaced chaos, order marched on the heels of the Prussian rear-guard, which enveloped Morsbronn in a whirlwind of Uhlans, and left it a silent, blackened landmark in the August sunshine.

Soldiers in canvas fatigue-dress, wearing soft, round, visorless caps, were removing the debris of the fatal barricade; soldiers with shovel and hoe filled in the trenches and raked the long, winding street clean of all litter; soldiers with trowel and mortar were perched on shot-torn houses, mending chimneys and slated roofs so that their officers might enjoy immunity from rain and wind and defective flues.

In the court-yards and stables I could see cavalrymen in stable-jackets, whitewashing walls and out-buildings and ill-smelling stalls, while others dug shovelfuls of slaked lime from wheelbarrows and spread it through stable-yards and dirty alleys. Everywhere quiet, method, order, prompt precision reigned; I even noticed a big, red-fisted artilleryman tying up tall, blue larkspurs, dahlias, and phlox in a trampled garden, and he touched the ragged ma.s.ses of bloom with a tenderness peculiar to a flower-loving and sentimental people, whose ultimate ambition is a quart of beer, a radish, and a green leaf overhead.

At the corners of the walls and blind alleys, placards in French and German were posted, embodying regulations governing the village under Prussian military rule. The few inhabitants of Morsbronn who had remained in cellars during the bombardment shuffled up to read these notices, or to loiter stupidly, gaping at the Prussian eagles surmounting the posters.

A soldier came in and started the fire in my fireplace. When he went out I drew my code-book from my breeches-pocket and tossed it into the fire. After it followed my commission, my memoranda, and every sc.r.a.p of writing. The diamonds I placed in the bosom of my flannel shirt.

Toward one o'clock I heard the shrill piping of a goat-herd, and I saw him, a pallid boy, clumping along in his wooden shoes behind his two nanny-goats, while the German soldiers, peasants themselves, looked after him with curious sympathy.

A little later a small herd of cattle pa.s.sed, driven to pasture by a stolid Alsatian, who replied to the soldiers' questions in German patois and shrugged his heavy shoulders like a Frenchman.

A c.o.c.k crowed occasionally from some near dunghill; once I saw a cat serenely following the course of a stucco wall, calm, perfectly self-composed, ignoring the blandishments of the German soldiers, who called, "Komm mitz! mitz!" and held out bits of sausage and black bread.

A German ambulance surgeon arrived to see me in the afternoon. The Countess was busy somewhere with Buckhurst, who had come with news for her, and the German surgeon's sharp double rap at the door did not bring her, so I called out, "Entrez donc!" and he stalked in, removing his fatigue-cap, which action distinguished him from his brother officers.

He was a tall, well-built man, perfectly uniformed in his double-breasted frocked tunic, blue-eyed, blond-bearded, and immaculate of hand and face, a fine type of man and a credit to any army.

After a brief examination he sat down and resumed a very bad cigar, which had been smouldering between his carefully kept fingers.

"Do you know," he said, admiringly, "that I have never before seen just such a wound. The spinal column is not even grazed, and if, as I understand from you, you suffered temporarily from complete paralysis of the body below your waist, the case is not only interesting but even remarkable."

"Is the superficial lesion at all serious?" I asked.

"Not at all. As far as I can see the blow from the bullet temporarily paralyzed the spinal cord. There is no fracture, no depression. I do not see why you should not walk if you desire to."

"When? Now?"