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“Why didn’t you tell me it was Scharlach who was here?” he brought out at last in a low voice.

She turned her eyes in my direction. “I was just explaining to Mr. Greer–“

“To Mr. Greer?” He looked at me too, half-angrily.

“I know the stories that are about,” she continued quietly; “and I was saying to your friend that, since we had been so happy as to be spared, it seemed useless to dwell on what has happened elsewhere.”

“Damn what happened elsewhere! I don’t yet know what happened here.”

I put a hand on his arm. Mlle. Malo was looking hard at me, but I wouldn’t let her see I knew it. “I’m going to leave you to hear the whole story now,” I said to Rechamp.

“But there isn’t any story for him to hear!” she broke in. She pointed at the serene front of the chateau, looking out across its gardens to the unscarred fields. “We’re safe; the place is untouched. Why brood on other horrors–horrors we were powerless to help?”

Rechamp held his ground doggedly. “But the man’s name is a curse and an abomination. Wherever he went he spread ruin.”

“So they say. Mayn’t there be a mistake? Legends grow up so quickly in these dreadful times. Here–” she looked about her again at the peaceful scene–“here he behaved as you see. For heaven’s sake be content with that!”

“Content?” He passed his hand across his forehead. “I’m blind with joy…or should be, if only…”

She looked at me entreatingly, almost desperately, and I took hold of Rechamp’s arm with a warning pressure.

“My dear fellow, don’t you see that Mlle. Malo has been under a great strain? La joie fait peur–that’s the trouble with both of you!”

He lowered his head. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He took her hand And kissed it. “I beg your pardon. Greer’s right: we’re both on edge.”

“Yes: I’ll leave you for a little while, if you and Mr Greer will excuse me.” She included us both in a quiet look that seemed to me extremely noble, and walked lowly away toward the chateau. Rechamp stood gazing after her for a moment; then he dropped down on one of benches at the edge of the path. He covered his face with his hands. “Scharlach–Scharlach!” I heard him say.

We sat there side by side for ten minutes or more without speaking. Finally I said: “Look here, Rechamp–she’s right and you’re wrong. I shall be sorry I brought you here if you don’t see it before it’s too late.”

His face was still hidden; but presently he dropped his hands and answered me. “I do see. She’s saved everything for me–my, people and my house, and the ground we’re standing on. And I worship it because she walks on it!”

“And so do your people: the war’s done that for you, anyhow,” I reminded him.

VII

The morning after we were off before dawn. Our time allowance was up, and it was thought advisable, on account of our wounded, to slip across the exposed bit of road in the dark.

Mlle. Malo was downstairs when we started, pale in her white dress, but calm and active. We had borrowed a farmer’s cart in which our two men could be laid on a mattress, and she had stocked our trap with food and remedies. Nothing seemed to have been forgotten. While I was settling the men I suppose Rechamp turned back into the hall to bid her good-bye; anyhow, when she followed him out a moment later he looked quieter and less strained. He had taken leave of his parents and his sister upstairs, and Yvonne Malo stood alone in the dark driveway, watching us as we drove away.

There was not much talk between us during our slow drive back to the lines. We had to go it a snail’s pace, for the roads were rough; and there was time for meditation. I knew well enough what my companion was thinking about and my own thoughts ran on the same lines. Though the story of the German occupation of Rechamp had been retold to us a dozen times the main facts did not vary. There were little discrepancies of detail, and gaps in the narrative here and there; but all the household, from the astute ancestress to the last bewildered pantry-boy, were at one in saying that Mlle. Malo’s coolness and courage had saved the chateau and the village. The officer in command had arrived full of threats and insolence: Mlle. Malo had placated and disarmed him, turned his suspicions to ridicule, entertained him and his comrades at dinner, and contrived during that time–or rather while they were making music afterward (which they did for half the night, it seemed)–that Monsieur de Rechamp and Alain should slip out of the cellar in which they had been hidden, gain the end of the gardens through an old hidden passage, and get off in the darkness. Meanwhile Simone had been safe upstairs with her mother and grandmother, and none of the officers lodged in the chateau had–after a first hasty inspection–set foot in any part of the house but the wing assigned to them. On the third morning they had left, and Scharlach, before going, had put in Mlle. Malo’s hands a letter requesting whatever officer should follow him to show every consideration to the family of the Comte de Rechamp, and if possible–owing to the grave illness of the Countess–avoid taking up quarters in the chateau: a request which had been scrupulously observed.