The Girl from Alsace Part 17

"She must, or risk annihilation. She will not dare oppose us. If she does, we shall crush her into the dust. She will belong to us, and we will take her. Moreover, we shall not repeat the mistake we made in Alsace-Lorraine. There will be no treason in Belgium!"

Stewart felt a little s.h.i.+ver of disgust sweep over him. So this was the German att.i.tude--treaties, solemn agreements, these were merely "sc.r.a.ps of paper" not worth a second thought; a small nation had no rights worth considering, since it lacked the power to defend them. Should it try to do so, it would "risk annihilation!"

He did not feel that he could trust himself to talk any longer, and rose suddenly to his feet.

"What are we going to do to-night?" he asked. "Not sit here in this shed, surely!"

"Certainly not," and the officer rose too. "I have secured a lodging for you with the woman who searched Madame. You will find it clean and comfortable, though by no means luxurious."

"That is very kind of you," said Stewart, with a memory of the rabble he had seen crowded into the waiting-room. And then he looked at his luggage. "I hope it isn't far," he added. "I've carried those bags about a thousand miles to-day."

"It is but a step--but I will have a man carry your bags. Here is your pa.s.sport, sir, and again permit me to a.s.sure you of my regret. You also, madame!" and he bowed ceremoniously above her fingers.

Three minutes later, Stewart and his companion were walking down the platform beside the pleasant-faced woman, who babbled away amiably in German, while a porter followed with the bags. As they pa.s.sed the station, they could see that it was still jammed with a motley crowd, while a guard of soldiers thrown around it prevented anyone leaving or entering.

"How fortunate that we have escaped that!" said Stewart. "Even at the price of being searched!"

"This way, sir," said the woman, in German, and motioned off into the darkness to the right.

They made their way across a net-work of tracks, which seemed to Stewart strangely complicated and extensive for a small frontier station, and then emerged into a narrow, crooked street, bordered by mean little houses. In front of one of these the woman stopped and unlocked the door with an enormous key. The porter set the bags inside, received his tip, and withdrew, while their hostess struck a match and lighted a candle, disclosing a narrow hall running from the front door back through the house.

"You will sleep here, sir," she said, and opened a door to the left.

They stepped through, in obedience to her gesture, and found themselves in a fair-sized room, poorly furnished and a little musty from disuse, but evidently clean. Their hostess hastened to open the window and to light another candle. Then she brought in Stewart's bags.

"You will find water there," and she pointed to the pitcher on the wash-stand. "I cannot give you hot water to-night--there is no fire.

Will these towels be sufficient? Yes? Is there anything else? No? Then good-night, sir, and you also, my lady."

"Good-night," they answered; and for a moment after the door closed, stood staring at it as though hypnotized.

Then the girl stepped to the window and pulled together the curtains of white cotton. As she turned back into the room, Stewart saw that her face was livid.

His eyes asked the question which he did not dare speak aloud.

She drew him back into the corner and put her lips close against his ear.

"There is a guard outside," she whispered. "We must be very careful. We are prisoners still."

As Stewart stood staring, she took off her hat and tossed it on a chair.

"How tired I am!" she said, yawning heavily, and turning back to the window, she began to take down her hair.

CHAPTER VIII

PRESTO! CHANGE!

The vision of that dark hair rippling down as she drew out pin after pin held Stewart entranced. And the curve of her uplifted arms was also a thing to be remembered! But what was it she proposed to do? Surely----

"If you are going to wash, you would better do it, Tommy," she said, calmly. "I shall be wanting to in a minute."

Mechanically, Stewart slipped out of his coat, undid his tie, took off his collar, pulled up his sleeves, and fell to. He was obsessed by a feeling of unreality which even the cold water did not dissipate. It couldn't be true--all this----

"I wish you would hurry, Tommy," said a voice behind him. "I am waiting for you to unhook my bodice."

Stewart started round as though stung by an adder. His companion's hair fell in beautiful dark waves about her shoulders, and he could see that her bodice was loosened.

"There are two hooks I cannot reach," she explained, in the most matter-of-fact tone. "I should think you would know that by this time!"

"Oh, so it's _that_ bodice!" said Stewart, and dried his hands vigorously, resolved to play the game to the end, whatever it might be.

"All right," and as she turned her back toward him, he began gingerly searching for the hooks.

"Come a little this way," she said; "you can see better," and, glancing up, Stewart suddenly understood.

They were standing so that their shadows fell upon the curtain. The comedy was being played for the benefit of the guard in the street outside.

The discovery that it _was_ a comedy gave him back all his aplomb, and he found the hooks and disengaged them with a dexterity which no real husband could have improved upon.

"There," he said; "though why any woman should wear a gown so fas.h.i.+oned that she can neither dress nor undress herself pa.s.ses my comprehension.

Why not put the hooks in front?"

"And spoil the effect? Impossible! The hooks must be in the back," and still standing before the window, she slowly drew her bodice off.

Stewart had seen the arms of many women, but never a pair so rounded and graceful and beautiful as those at this moment disclosed to him.

Admirable too was the way in which the head was set upon the lovely neck, and the way the neck itself merged into the shoulders--the masterpiece of a great artist, so he told himself.

"I wonder if there is a shutter to that window?" she asked, suddenly, starting round toward it. "If there is, you would better close it.

Somebody might pa.s.s--besides, I do not care to sleep on the ground-floor of a strange house in a strange town, with an open window overlooking the street!"

"I'll see," said Stewart, and pulling back the curtains, stuck out his head. "Yes--there's a shutter--a heavy wooden one." He pulled it shut and pushed its bolt into place. "There; now you're safe!"

She motioned him quickly to lower the window, and this he did as noiselessly as possible.

"Was there anyone outside?" she asked, in a low tone.

He shook his head. The narrow street upon which the window opened had seemed quite deserted--but the shadows were very deep.

"I wish you would open the bags," she said, in her natural voice. "I shall have to improvise a night-dress of some sort."

Although he knew quite well that the words had been uttered for foreign consumption, as it were, Stewart found that his fingers were trembling as he undid the straps and threw back the lids, for he was quite unable to guess what would be the end of this strange adventure or to what desperate straits they might be driven by the pressure of circ.u.mstance.

"There you are," he said, and sat down and watched her.

She knelt on the floor beside the bags and turned over their contents thoughtfully, laying to one side a soft outing s.h.i.+rt, a traveling cap, a lounging coat, a pipe and pouch of tobacco, a handful of cigars, a pair of trousers, a belt, three handkerchiefs, a pair of scissors. She paused for a long time over a pair of Stewart's shoes, but finally put them back with a shake of the head.