The Rough Road Part 35

"There were papers of my father, share certificates, bonds--_que sais-je, moi_?"

Smithers opened the packet, which had already been examined.

"You're a witness, sir, to the identification of the property."

"No," said Willoughby, "I'm just a baby captain of infantry, and wonder why the brainy Intelligence department doesn't hand the girl her belongings and decently clear out."

"I've got to make my report, sir," said Smithers stiffly.

So the schedule was produced and the notes were solemnly counted, twenty-one thousand five hundred francs, and the gold four hundred francs, and the jewels were identified, and the bonds, of which Jeanne knew nothing, were checked by a list in her father's handwriting, and Jeanne signed a paper with Smithers's fountain-pen, and Willoughby witnessed her signature, and thus she entered into possession of her heritage.

The officers were about to depart, but Jeanne detained them.

"Messieurs, you must pardon me, but I am quite bewildered. As far as I can understand, Monsieur Trevor rescued the packet from the well at my uncle's farm of La Folette, and got wounded in doing so."

"That is quite so," said Smithers.

"But, monsieur, they tell me he was with a party in front of his trench mending wire. How did he reach the well of La Folette? I don't comprehend at all."

Smithers turned to Willoughby.

"Yes. How the d.i.c.kens did he know the exact spot to go for?"

"We had taken over a new sector, and I was getting the topography right with a map. Trevor was near by doing nothing, and as he's a man of education, I asked him to help me. There was the site of the farm marked by name, and the ruined well away over to the left in No Man's Land. I remember the beggar calling out 'La Folette!' in a startled voice, and when I asked him what was the matter, he said 'Nothing, sir!'"

Smithers translated, and continued: "You see, mademoiselle, this is what happened, as far as I am concerned. I belong to the Lancas.h.i.+re Fusiliers. Our battalion is in the trenches farther up the line than our friends. Well, just before dawn yesterday morning a man rolled over the parapet into our trench, and promptly fainted. He had been wounded in the leg, and was half dead from loss of blood. Under his tunic was this package. We identified him and his regiment, and fixed him up and took him to the dressing-station. But things looked very suspicious. Here was a man who didn't belong to us with a little fortune in loot on his person. As soon as he was fit to be interrogated, the C.O. took him in hand. He told the C.O. about you and your story. He regarded the nearness of the well as something to do with Destiny, and resolved to get you back your property--if it was still there. The opportunity occurred when the wiring party was alarmed. He crept out to the ruins by the well, fished out the packet, and a sniper got him. He managed to get back to our lines, having lost his way a bit, and tumbled into our trench."

"But he was in danger of death all the time," said Jeanne, losing the steadiness of her voice.

"He was. Every second. It was one of the most dare-devil, scatter-brained things I've ever heard of. And I've heard of many, mademoiselle. The only pity is that instead of being rewarded, he will be punished."

"Punished?" cried Jeanne.

"Not very severely," laughed Smithers. "Captain Willoughby will see to that. But reflect, mademoiselle. His military duty was to remain with his comrades, not to go and risk his life to get your property.

Anyhow, it is clear that he was not out for loot.... Of course, they sent me here as Intelligence officer, to get corroboration of his story." He paused for a moment. Then he added: "Mademoiselle, I must congratulate you on the restoration of your fortune and the possession of a very brave friend."

For the first time the red spots burned on Jeanne's pale face.

"_Je vous remercie infiniment, monsieur._"

"_Il sera_ all right," said Willoughby.

The officers saluted and went their ways. Jeanne took up her packet and mounted to her little room in a dream. Then she sat down on her bed, the unopened packet by her side, and strove to realize it all.

But the only articulate thought came to her in the words which she repeated over and over again:

"_Il a fait cela pour moi! Il a fait cela pour moi!_"

He had done that for her. It was incredible, fantastic, thrillingly true, like the fairy-tales of her childhood. The little sensitive English soldier, whom his comrades protected, whom she herself in a feminine way longed to protect, had done this for her. In a shy, almost reverent way, she opened out the waterproof covering, as though to rea.s.sure herself of the reality of things. For the first time since she left Cambrai a smile came into her eyes, together with grateful tears.

"_Il a fait cela pour moi! Il a fait cela pour moi!_"

A while later she relieved Toinette's guard in the sick-room.

"_Eh bien?_ And the two officers?" queried Aunt Morin, after Toinette had gone. "They have stayed a long time. What did they want?"

Jeanne was young. She had eaten the bread of dependence, which Aunt Morin, by reason of racial instinct and the stress of sorrow and infirmity, had contrived to render very bitter. She could not repress an exultant note in her voice. Doggie, too, accounted for something; for much.

"They came to bring good news, _ma tante_. The English have found all the money and the jewels and the share certificates that Pere Grigou hid in the well of La Folette."

"_Mon Dieu!_ It is true?"

"_Oui, ma tante._"

"And they have restored them to you?"

"Yes."

"It is extraordinary. It is truly extraordinary. At last these English seem to be good for something. And they found that and gave it to you without taking anything?"

"Without taking anything," said Jeanne.

Aunt Morin reflected for a few moments, then she stretched out a thin hand.

"_Ma pet.i.te Jeanne cherie_, you are rich now."

"I don't know exactly," replied Jeanne, with a mingling of truth and caution. "I have enough for the present."

"How did it all happen?"

"It was part of a military operation," said Jeanne.

Perhaps later she might tell Aunt Morin about Doggie. But now the thing was too sacred. Aunt Morin would question, question maddeningly, until the rainbow of her fairy-tale was unwoven. The salient fact of the recovery of her fortune should be enough for Aunt Morin. It was.

The old woman of the pain-pinched features looked at her wistfully from sunken grey eyes.

"And now that you are rich, my little Jeanne, you will not leave your poor old aunt, who loves you so much, to die alone?"

"_Ah, mais non! mais non! mais non!_" cried Jeanne indignantly. "What do you think I am made of?"

"Ah!" breathed Aunt Morin, comforted.

"Also," said Jeanne, in the matter-of-fact French way, "_Si tu veux_, I will henceforward pay for my lodging and nourishment."

"You are very good, my little Jeanne," said Aunt Morin. "That will be a great help, for, _vois-tu_, we are very poor."

"_Oui, ma tante._ It is the war."