MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY WARNER 
 AND DE WITTE KAPLAN
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN
 
 YOU!" SHE BREATHED. 
 
 Paye 300
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 By 
 WILLIAM HENRY WARNER 
 
 AND 
 
 DE WITTE KAPLAN 
 With Frontispiece by E. L. Blumenschein 
 
 NEW YORK 
 TEMPLE SCOTT 
 
 101 PARK AVENUE 
 1919
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY 
 TEMPLE SCOTT
 
 PS 
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MARIE sat staring at the thin, hard-featured man 
 opposite her. His eyes, through the great bone spec 
 tacles, were magnified till they looked like some 
 gigantic insect s, and his nervous hands shuffled 
 among the papers on the table before him. 
 
 "I m sorry, Miss Helmar," he said, "very sorry, 
 out that is all there is. Your father was a man who 
 indulged his hobbies, and you must admit that a 
 hobby which carries one into every country on the 
 globe is rather expensive." 
 
 Across the girl s mind came the image of her father, 
 whom she had followed weeping to the cemetery only 
 yesterday. His tall, thin figure, with its haggard, 
 pain-racked face, was clearly before her mental vision. 
 
 When her mother, who was now only a shadowy 
 remembrance, had faded out of her life, Marie had 
 been taken to the convent and left with the nuns. 
 Her childhood had been passed in even, colorless days, 
 in which the monotony had only been broken when 
 she had been called into the library once a week to 
 hear the letter from her father, who was wandering 
 in far countries, which, for her, meant only the 
 colored maps in her geography books. 
 
 1 
 
 93S765
 
 2 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 It seemed little longer than yesterday, when the 
 Mother Superior had sent for her that last time. She 
 could almost hear the gentle voice now. 
 
 "Your father is coming home to Vienna, Marie. 
 He writes he has had his solicitor take a house for 
 him on the Blumen Strasse. You are to leave us, dear 
 child, and make a home for him." 
 
 This wonderful father of whom she had been 
 dreaming, was going to take her with him to a home 
 of their own ! She had wanted so to belong to some 
 one. The holiday time had always meant heart 
 aches for her. She could remember how wistfully she 
 had stood with her small face pressed against the con 
 vent windows, watching her schoolmates as they left 
 to spend those days at home. She remembered hov 
 bare and empty the convent had looked after they 
 were gone, and she had been left to wander about 
 alone, till the school days should begin again. The 
 small, hard pillow on her narrow bed, would be soaked 
 with tears as she read and re-read the small packet 
 of letters from her father, that told her so little. 
 These quiet years, while they had succeeded in sup 
 pressing her natural affection, had only stored it 
 away as it were, and the girl was pathetically eager 
 to pour it out to the father whom she scarcely knew. 
 
 The wonder and interest of those first few months, 
 woke in her mind ideals and dreams she had never had 
 in the seclusion of the convent, where her day had 
 been bounded by prayers in the morning and the 
 vesper bell at night. 
 
 Professor Helmar s life had been wrapped up in 
 his pretty wife. She had been much younger than
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 3 
 
 the reticent, rather shy man, whose interests were 
 all centered in the dry dust of forgotten ages, 
 until the living sunshine of her own hair had flashed 
 across his gray vista. There had been six joyous, 
 wonderful years, and then suddenly she had gone, 
 leaving the place she had filled, empty indeed. Her 
 short illness and death had been a blow so severe to 
 him, that he hesitated only long enough to put their 
 little daughter, whose golden hair reminded him too 
 forcibly of his loss, in the care of the nuns, then threw 
 himself once more into his researches among the ruins 
 of antiquity. 
 
 That was twelve years ago, and weary at last, 
 longing for the companionship of the daughter who 
 was the symbol of the love that had meant so much 
 to him, he had come back. And in this short year, 
 Marie, wide-eyed and passionately eager to be all 
 that this wonderful father wanted her to be, had 
 blossomed from the shy convent child into the promise 
 of charming young womanhood. 
 
 The little house in the Blumen Strasse was filled 
 with his books, and the pictures her mother had loved. 
 The girl, inspired by her father, came to know and 
 understand art, for Professor Helmar s quest after 
 the evolution of beauty, had carried him through the 
 ages, from its shadowy beginning among the great 
 temples of Egypt, to its culmination in the Greece 
 of Pericles. Then, like a bolt out of the blue, had 
 come his last illness and death, and now she was 
 alone. 
 
 Something of all this flashed across her mind in the 
 few seconds the solicitor waited for his answer, much
 
 4 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 as a man s life passes before him when he is drowning. 
 She looked about her helplessly. 
 
 "But," she scarcely recognized her own voice, 
 "what am I to do?" 
 
 "That, my dear young lady," this time the solici 
 tor looked over the great spectacles, "is something 
 you will have to decide for yourself. Your father 
 gave you a very good education, I believe." 
 
 "I was at the Sacred Heart Convent from the 
 time I was six until just about a year ago. They 
 taught me French and music, and a little drawing. I 
 never thought I should have to use them." Indeed, 
 the idea that the necessities of life were not one s by 
 right, had never entered her mind. 
 
 The solicitor was beginning to gather up the 
 papers. 
 
 "We never know, my dear young lady, when we 
 will be overtaken by adversity. It is always well to 
 have something to fall back upon. Couldn t you 
 teach er say French ? Music ?" 
 
 Marie s tear-filled eyes wandered about the taste 
 ful room. With what happiness she had come 
 here, and after so brief a space of time, this over 
 whelmingly crushing blow. All her brief life, shel 
 tered as it had been in the convent, her mind had never 
 dwelt upon the nature of material things. There 
 had always been new, clean frocks for her. There 
 had always been sufficient food to eat without the 
 thought of how it had been provided, always the 
 haven of her scrupulously clean, little white room. 
 These things all were, there was no thought in her
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 5 
 
 mind of how they came to be, nor the possibility that 
 they would ever cease to exist. 
 
 But now, the meaning of the shriveled old solicitor s 
 words were making themselves plain to her. The 
 means of a livelihood had been taken away. She 
 must, in order to live, provide for herself, either 
 through some physical exertion, or some mental 
 effort. What was she to do? 
 
 She had never learned to walk alone. The quiet 
 cloisters, the sweet-faced nuns, had been a prop on 
 which she had leaned. When her father had returned 
 from those journeys into foreign lands, where his dis 
 coveries and scientific studies had furnished dreams 
 for her lonely childhood, she had leaned as heavily on 
 him, and now that this support had been taken away, 
 she stood like one swaying dizzily on the edge of a 
 precipice. 
 
 It was so short a time ago, only a year, that he 
 had returned, but how different from the strong, 
 stalwart, handsome man she had been expecting. 
 
 Again his face seemed to float before her, pale, 
 thin, drawn with suffering, with its sad eyes always 
 seeming to ask for something. Her poor father! 
 The love and companionship she had dreamed of had 
 been too long deferred, and he had gone away on that 
 last great j ourney, only to leave her worse than alone 
 in the end. 
 
 "I suppose you will not want to keep up this 
 place," the solicitor s voice broke in on her thoughts, 
 "it will be quite beyond your affording." 
 
 She looked about her at the things she had learned 
 to love. After the bare convent walls, the simple
 
 6 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 beauty of this little home, had seemed luxury itself. 
 The really fine etchings which had been her mother s, 
 the delicate little Tanagra figurines her father had 
 brought her, the bits of Pompeiian glass flashing back 
 the prismatic colors of the tears that must once have 
 filled them, the little bronze Narcissus, which she had 
 loved above everything, must she give them all up? 
 
 Through the long windows she caught a glimpse of 
 the tiny garden where her father and she had always 
 had their coffee. The old locust tree was even now 
 dropping its fragrant white petals on the flagging. 
 He had loved the scent of these white blossoms ! How 
 could she leave it all? 
 
 "Where shall I go? Where can I go?" She was 
 frightened ; the world seemed such a vast, unexplored 
 place to her who had known only the convent and 
 these sheltered walls. 
 
 The papers were all gathered together now, and 
 the hands of the solicitor were busy putting them 
 carefully into his black leather portfolio. 
 
 "You have about two thousand crowns, Miss Hel- 
 mar," he told her, "to be exact, I should say, that 
 after all expenses are paid, there will be about one 
 hundred crowns a month for you, for a year. That 
 is not a munificent sum, but it will maintain you 
 until you begin to earn your living." 
 
 Marie looked helplessly about her. Her knowledge 
 of money was not very extensive, but she knew that 
 one hundred crowns a month would not even begin to 
 pay the rent of this little nest her father had brought 
 her to. And there was the housekeeper to be paid, 
 food to be bought, clothes. She sighed.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 7 
 
 "Where shall I go to live?" she faltered. 
 
 "You will find many places, many places," reas 
 sured the solicitor, "I dare say I may be able to find 
 you er one or two pupils er if you are not ex 
 orbitant in your prices." 
 
 "Oh, no, I ll not be," she answered him eagerly. 
 "I ll ask the least possible, Herr Gutman. I I sup 
 pose I had better seek a room for myself this this 
 afternoon ?" 
 
 "The sooner, the better," the tone was unsympa 
 thetic, there were too many cases such as this, stored 
 away among his files. "The less time you stay here, 
 the more kronen you will have for the year." He 
 picked up his shining black hat, "I must bid you good 
 morning, Miss Helmar. If there is anything I can 
 do, let me know. Of course, I shall want to know 
 your new address," and with a slight bow he left her. 
 
 Unpleasant as his crabbed features were, they were 
 better than no one, and after the door had closed on 
 his thin figure, she felt terrifyingly alone. 
 
 All her life she had been led to believe that Hunger 
 and Want, those two cruel sisters, would never knock 
 at her door, but here they were, actually grinning at 
 her elbow. When this small sum that stood between 
 her and starvation was gone, what was she to do? 
 Suppose she couldn t get any pupils? Suppose she 
 could find no way of earning her living. The thought 
 sent her blond head down on her arms, and shook 
 her slender, black-clad figure with sobs. 
 
 "Ach, Fraulein !" it was old Minna, the house 
 keeper, who found her, and whose broad hand tried 
 to pat some comfort into the shaking shoulders.
 
 8 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "Ach, Fraulein, you must not cry so, it is much 
 better for the good Herr to be at rest. He was in 
 pain so long, it is much better so. ? 
 
 "I am alone, Minna, I am alone," sobbed the girl, 
 "nobody wants me, nobody needs me, I m alone." 
 
 Minna dabbed her eye with the corner of her stiff 
 white apron. 
 
 "You must not cry, Fraulein,** she begged, "you 
 must not cry! Come, lie down awhile, and when you 
 are rested, you will feel better!" 
 
 "I must leave here, Minna, * sobbed the girl, "I 
 have no money now I m I m poor I must go 
 away to-day. I don t know where! I don t know 
 where !" 
 
 Minna s broad bosom heaved sympathetically. 
 
 "Why not go back to the good sisters at the 
 Sacred Heart?" she suggested. 
 
 "That was my thought," replied Marie between 
 her sobs, and indeed, all that first bitter night after 
 her father s death, she had longed for the comfort 
 ing arms of the Mother Superior, and the little 
 French sister who had been her dearest friend. 
 
 "Why not go there, then?" The problem seemed 
 so simple to the good German woman. 
 
 "I promised father," explained Marie, "that I 
 wouldn t. You see, he was always afraid I would be 
 come a nun. He said I was never meant to be shut 
 away from the world ; but, oh, Minna, I m so afraid." 
 
 "Tut-tut, Fraulein, what need you fear?" For 
 Minna there was no danger that she could not meet 
 with the aid of her ready tongue and able arms. 
 "Can t you keep this pretty house?"
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 9 
 
 "I am poor now, Minna," Marie told her sadly. 
 "I must find a place not so expensive, I must find 
 pupils," and at the thought the golden head went 
 down again on her folded arms. 
 
 The old woman stared at her. 
 
 "What about me?" she asked. 
 
 Marie lifted her head, startled. 
 
 "I don t know," she said, "I hadn t thought !" 
 
 Minna pursed her lips, her brow wrinkling into a 
 heavy frown for a moment, then suddenly, her face 
 cleared. 
 
 "Don t mind about me, Fraulein," she said. "I 
 have been wanting a rest. I shall take it for a week. 
 After that there are plenty of places for good house 
 keepers." 
 
 "But where can I go?" The blue eyes were very 
 wistful, the world seemed so terrifyingly large and 
 strange. 
 
 Minna thought a moment. 
 
 "If the Fraulein would not find it too plain," she 
 ventured, "I can take her to a nice place." 
 
 "Nothing is too plain, Minna; don t you under 
 stand that I am poor? Will you take me there, 
 now?" 
 
 "Of course, I will." Minna was all eagerness. "It 
 is quite on the other side of the city, Fraulein, but 
 it is clean, and I think we can get it cheap. My 
 friend is a musician," this with some pride, "he and 
 his wife live there. I ll get my bonnet. We ll go 
 right away !" and she bustled out to prepare for the 
 journey. 
 
 Marie sat a moment looking about her. The things
 
 10 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 she loved and which her father had taught her to 
 understand, everything that had grown dear to her, 
 she must leave them all, for the grim-faced Herr 
 Gutman had made it very plain to her that it was 
 only by selling all these that she was to have the 
 means to live at all. 
 
 Slowly, she rose to her feet, and went into her little 
 room with its pretty pink and white hangings, its 
 dainty bed. For a long time she stood and stared at 
 herself in the mirror. The sad face stared back at 
 her, made whiter by the black of her mourning frock. 
 There were deep shadows under her blue eyes, one 
 or two strands of fair hair had escaped from their 
 fastenings. Wearily she brushed them back and dried 
 her tears. She pulled a small black leather trunk 
 out of the cupboard and began packing it. The tears 
 started afresh as she laid her belongings neatly in 
 the trays and put in the dainty piles of lingerie. 
 Marie loved beautiful things; she loved to feel the 
 touch of fine linen next to her white skin. She loved 
 the dainty ribbons, tied across her young breast. 
 But ribbons, bows and silk stockings would be im 
 possible in the future. 
 
 The last frock packed, the last pair of shoes put 
 in, she closed and locked the little trunk, then, with 
 trembling lips, she pinned on her black hat and 
 slipped into her coat. 
 
 "I m ready, Minna," she called, as she came back 
 into the living-room, "we must waste no time." 
 
 The good woman bustled in, resplendent in her 
 Sunday bonnet. 
 
 "I m ready too, Fraulein," she said as she but-
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 11 
 
 toned across her ample bosom the jacket that had 
 evidently been made for her in less buxom days. "I m 
 ready too, shall we start?" 
 
 With a last look back, Marie went down the 
 stairs and out into that world of which she knew so 
 little.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 DUEING the long ride across the city, old Minna 
 kept up a steady chatter. Her one idea was to com 
 fort the girl. There was no thought of her own 
 necessity for seeking a new position. There were 
 plenty of places for cooks and housekeepers, but this 
 frail little creature, who sat beside her with the black 
 veil drawn down over her face to hide the tears, what 
 could she do ? 
 
 Presently they got off the tram, and Minna lead 
 ing the way, hurried up a narrow street, filled with 
 children and gossiping women. They turned in at a 
 doorway next to a delicatessen shop. On the steps, a 
 little girl of about eight, with very tightly braided 
 hair, was hushing a fat baby to sleep. The child 
 moved aside for them to pass, and they made their 
 way up the long, dark stair. The air was heavy with 
 the smell of cooking, mixed with that of hot soapsuds. 
 
 Two flights up, Minna knocked loudly at a door, 
 in front of which a tiny point of gas was sputtering 
 in a crooked jet. 
 
 The door was opened by a thin, little woman, in a 
 clean calico dress, with a small black apron tied over 
 it. She wore great round spectacles, through which 
 her sharp black eyes twinkled. She tipped her chin 
 in a curious way, as she looked at them. 
 
 "Ach, Minna," she cried, cordially, "come in, come 
 in. It is so long since Shatzi and I have seen you." 
 
 12
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN IS 
 
 She held the door wide, and Minna stood aside for 
 Marie to enter. 
 
 "I have brought a young lady," she said, "who 
 wants a room to live in. I told her I thought you 
 might have a place for her." 
 
 Their hostess pushed forward a chair for Marie 
 and motioned Minna to a seat on the sofa. 
 
 "Sit down, sit down," she said hospitably, "I ll 
 get a cup of coffee and some kuchen, and then we can 
 talk," and she bustled out to prepare refreshments 
 for her guests. 
 
 Marie glanced about the neat little room. Against 
 the walls were arranged stiffly, old-fashioned black 
 horsehair chairs, each with a white knitted antima 
 cassar pinned neatly on the back. In the window a 
 canary fluted, his tiny throat swelling with ecstatic 
 trills as he swung in his cage over the shining leaves 
 of a little rubber tree. Primly in its corner stood the 
 sofa, place of honor, where Minna now sat, her holi 
 day finery spread out about her. 
 
 On the tiny mantel stood a crowd of china orna 
 ments, jolly looking little dogs with huge bows about 
 their necks, gilt and blue shepherdesses, very small 
 vases, decorated with very large roses. In the center, 
 a faded photograph of an empty-faced little girl with 
 two blond braids over her shoulders, stared stiffly 
 out of a frame made of sea shells and dried flowers 
 twined about the ornately lettered phrase, "In lie- 
 bender Erinnerung." Marie, reading the tender 
 phrase, smiled wistfully. No one was so plain or so 
 unimportant but that in some heart they were 
 enshrined "in loving memory."
 
 14 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 She was impressed by the spotlessness of every 
 thing. She found herself wondering, if each little 
 object had its place marked on the shelf so that it 
 could be put back when it had been dusted. 
 
 Over the mantel hung a brilliantly colored chromo 
 of a sad-eyed Christ, His blue robe opened at the 
 breast, showing a gilt and bleeding heart. There 
 were two or three other religious pictures, but every 
 other available space on the dingy little walls was 
 hung with photographs of the same empty-faced little 
 girl, in various stages of growth. 
 
 Old Minna, her hands, in their brown thread mit 
 tens, folded in her lap, sat blinking her lashless eye 
 lids. There was always a certain dignified manner 
 which accompanied the wearing of her best clothes, 
 and she was wrapped in it to-day, so that Marie 
 scarcely knew her for the same, plain-spoken, good 
 humored old woman who had taken care of the little 
 house in the Blumen Strasse. 
 
 Once or twice the girl opened her lips by way of 
 starting a conversation, but closed them again and 
 relapsed into an uneasy silence, suppressed by the 
 majestic dignity of the old housekeeper. 
 
 Presently, the hostess returned with a tray, which 
 she set on the center table, first having carefully re 
 moved the lamp and a large embossed album, and 
 folded up into a neat square the red-fringed cloth. 
 There was coffee in a highly decorated pot, cups 
 equally ornate, one with a gilt initial on its side, a 
 plate of plain cake, with a richly sugared top, and a 
 small pitcher of milk.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 15 
 
 "Now," she said, "while we have our coffee, we can 
 talk. Is it a room to live in, you want?" 
 
 Marie opened her lips to answer, but Minna 
 broke in. 
 
 "The Fraulein is the daughter of my poor master, 
 who has just died," she said. The little old woman 
 shook her head in pity, glancing at Marie over the 
 edge of her spectacles like a bright-eyed bird. "She 
 is quite poor now," continued the housekeeper, "ach, 
 yes, even rich folks can spend all their money, and 
 now she s all alone. I think it would be nice for you 
 to have her here." 
 
 Their hostess tilted her chin grotesquely as she 
 eyed the girl through her thick glasses. 
 
 "We have an extra room, yes, it would be company 
 for me while Shatzi is away," and then quite sud 
 denly she turned to Minna. "She looks like Frieda," 
 she said softly, her eyes straying mistily to the many 
 pictures of the empty-faced little girl, "she can stay 
 with us." 
 
 Marie smiled at her gratefully, glancing somewhat 
 dubiously at Frieda s photograph. This would be 
 much better than going out among people of whom 
 she knew nothing. Herr Gutman was to attend to 
 the selling of her few belongings. Minna could 
 close the house and send her trunk. She would go 
 now to the solicitor s office and make arrangements. 
 
 Frau Schultz showed them the little room she was 
 to occupy. There was a narrow yellowish wooden 
 bed in it, with a starched counterpane and a stiffly 
 frilled pillow sham across which was embroidered in 
 red, "Guten Morgen." Over the yellow wooden
 
 16 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 dresser hung a cheap mirror. The glass was wavy 
 and blotched in places where the mercury had worn 
 away. Marie wondered, as she saw the distorted re 
 flection of herself, if the compliment Frau Schultz 
 had paid her had been deserved. A small chair com 
 pleted the furnishings, excepting a small plaster figure 
 of the Virgin against the wall, with a holy water 
 stoup under it. It was a tiny cupboard of a place, 
 but neat and spotless. Marie stood and looked down 
 from the small window into the courtyard onto which 
 it gave. Between the houses hung rows of freshly 
 washed linen, all manner of garments swinging in 
 shameless abandon, but the courtyard, though barren 
 and unattractive, was scrupulously clean. She 
 thought of the cool sweetness of the garden she was 
 leaving, of the old locust tree and its falling blossoms, 
 the comfortable wicker chair in which her father used 
 to sit through the sunny mornings. She turned away 
 with a sigh, her heart heavy, a lump rising in her 
 throat. Frau Schultz, standing at her elbow, peered 
 at her with her bird-like eyes, and the girl felt 
 instinctively that she had found some one who would 
 be kind. 
 
 She broached the price shyly, timidly it was ac 
 quiesced in by Frau Schultz, and decisively settled 
 by the capable Minna. 
 
 Then they went back into the little parlor again, 
 and to the accompaniment of Hanzi, the canary s, 
 operatic warblings, Minna had two more cups of 
 coffee and another piece of kuchen. Then, brushing 
 the crumbs from her *mple lap, she rose to go.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 17 
 
 "I ll send your trunk right away, Fraulein," she 
 said. 
 
 "When can I come to stay?" Marie asked timidly. 
 
 "As soon as you wish, Fraulein," said Frau 
 Schultz hospitably. "You can stay now if you 
 want to. We are very simple people. You are like 
 our Frieda. We ll watch over you." 
 
 Marie explained that she must go to the solicitor s 
 office and arrange her affairs, and that she would be 
 back as soon as she could, to stay, so with many ex 
 changes of hearty good will between Minna and Frau 
 Schultz, and the promise of care for Marie, they 
 started down the dark stair again, Minna to go back 
 to the house to close it, Marie to arrange about the 
 source of her hundred kronen.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE first few weeks in her new home were not so 
 unpleasant as Marie had anticipated. Frau Schultz 
 and her good husband took the girl under their wing, 
 and in their simple kindly way, tried to help her fit 
 herself to her new environment. 
 
 After all, it is only the transition period that is 
 difficult for any of us to live through. We adjust 
 ourselves rapidly to the life that lies on either side 
 of it, but in that short span between what was and 
 what is to be, lies our keenest sorrow and suffering. 
 
 After the first hard wrench that carried her out 
 of the little house in the Blumen Strasse into these 
 very different surroundings, Marie began to enjoy 
 the companionship of the old couple. 
 
 Herr Schultz, Shatzi, as his wife called him, played 
 the piano in a cafe in an out-of-the-way corner of 
 the city. He was a heavy, rather stupid old man, 
 who had lived his life pounding out indifferent music 
 on cafe pianos. His round, prominent eyes looked 
 out into the world with a mild wonder. His thick 
 gray hair was rough and unkempt, and his shabby 
 clothes kept his neat wife busy brushing away the 
 spots which, in spite of her vigilance, would persist 
 in garnishing them. His heavy mouth always wore 
 a half-childish smile, and his manner was one of 
 apology for his very existence, but his little wife, with 
 her wrinkled face, her sharp old eyes, lived only for 
 him. At first Marie wondered, but she came to under- 
 
 18
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 19 
 
 stand that no man can be so utterly devoid of attrac 
 tion, but that some woman will love him. 
 
 These simple people took the girl to their hearts. 
 They were staunch socialists who believed firmly in 
 the tenets of their order, still they realized that the 
 accident of birth which had placed them in the social 
 status in which they lived, made them not inferior, 
 but different from those who occupied a higher 
 stratum of society. They had not failed to observe 
 the difference between Marie and themselves, yet it 
 was not in the least an obstacle to the mutual respect 
 and love which increased as the days passed. 
 
 Their own daughter, whose photograph was omni 
 present, they had lost years before. Frau Schultz, 
 whose fond, though mistaken imagination had seen 
 a resemblance in Marie s blond prettiness to the 
 plain Frieda, pointed it out to her husband, who, 
 always ready to acquiesce with her opinions, eagerly 
 agreed. 
 
 The tiny flat, with its old-fashioned furniture, with 
 Hanzi, the canary, singing in his cage, and the shin 
 ing leaves of the little rubber tree in the corner, came 
 to mean home to Marie. 
 
 The furnishings of her father s house realized less 
 than Herr Gutmann had anticipated. While the 
 money lasted, Marie busied herself helping Frau 
 Schultz about her duties and sewing buttons on the 
 shirts which the thrifty little woman made to eke 
 out the scanty exchequer. 
 
 In her inexperience, she had believed that the world 
 was made up of people like her father and the nuns 
 at the convent. People who were kind and thought-
 
 20 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 ful, considerate of the feelings of others, each man 
 ready and willing to help his weaker brother. The 
 splendor and riches that sparkled along the boule 
 vards, the fertile fields, with their bounteous harvests 
 that spread about the convent, this was the world to 
 her. She had no realization that there might be 
 people who could have no share in all this. She had 
 supposed that she would always be surrounded by the 
 comforts of a home such as the little house in the 
 Blumcn Strasse. The sudden awakening out of this 
 pleasing supposition, had left her dazed, breathless, 
 as one would feel when a supposedly secure shelter 
 had been suddenly shattered by wanton hands. 
 
 Although Marie s education at the convent had 
 given her no definite training for earning her living, 
 still she was not without an inherent quality of cour 
 age, that dogged something that had made her 
 father go on with his life when his heart was in the 
 grave. With her natural timidity, she shrank from 
 contact with the world of which she knew so little, 
 but the realization that her money was fast dwindling 
 away, warned her that a means of augmenting her 
 slender resources, must be found. Mentally shut 
 ting her eyes, and gulping as a child does before 
 taking a dose of bitter medicine, she faced the 
 situation. 
 
 Herr Gutmann managed to get two pupils for her. 
 Twice a week, Marie went to teach them the scales. 
 
 One was the small daughter of a rich brewer. She 
 was a delicate, weak-eyed child, without any initia 
 tive or interest in anything. She always seemed to 
 Marie like a pale spot in the gloom of the huge
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 21 
 
 drawing-room. Her thin legs, dangling down from 
 the music bench seemed ever to be seeking a resting- 
 place, and her transparent fingers played the scales 
 in a tinkling, apologetic way, making the same mis 
 takes in the same places, lesson after lesson. When 
 Marie s patience gave out, which was seldom, for she 
 loved children and even had a spark of affection for 
 this unresponsive little creature, the pale eyes would 
 blink at her uncomprehendingly, and the thin fingers 
 would tinkle out the same mistakes in the same way. 
 
 Her other pupil was a boy of eleven, a square, flat- 
 faced youngster who hated the lessons and spent his 
 time between them in devising methods of annoyance 
 for his patient teacher. He was never happier than 
 when, with both feet on the pedals he would come 
 crashing down on the keys, till poor Marie held her 
 ears in terror, for the boy s mother was nervous and 
 abhorred noise of any kind, and each lesson ended 
 in the servant bringing word that the Gnadige Frau 
 could not be disturbed any longer. 
 
 But even for these two pupils, Marie was grateful. 
 The money she earned, she put away to be used when 
 her own supply should have vanished. 
 
 The sum in the savings-box was still pitifully small, 
 when one day the servant, coming in with the usual 
 message about the Gnadige Fran s nervousness, added 
 that the noise disturbed her, so that in the future, 
 she would be obliged to have the lessons discontinued. 
 With an extra crash on the long-suffering piano keys, 
 the square-faced youngster announced that he was 
 glad, that he hated music, he hated teachers, hated
 
 22 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 everything in general and Marie in particular, and 
 bounced out of the room. 
 
 The girl stood for a moment staring blankly at 
 the servant who grinned as she held the door open 
 for her. She could hear the thumping footsteps of 
 her pupil as he bounded up the stair, and his voice 
 came down to her shouting his joy at the dismissal 
 of the hated teacher. 
 
 Her heart sank as she went down the steps into 
 the street. There was still the pale-eyed child, how 
 ever, and the money left by her father was not yet 
 quite exhausted, why let this curt dismissal prey on 
 her so? She squared her shoulders and lifted her 
 chin. Things hadn t reached their worst yet. 
 
 It was raining a sad sort of drizzle that made it 
 difficult to be cheerful, and it was with a vague fore 
 boding that she turned into the street where the other 
 pupil lived, and rang the bell of the big house. 
 
 The man servant who let her in, took her umbrella 
 and threw open the door of the gloomy room. She 
 missed the apologetic tinkle of the scales which usually 
 came from somewhere out of the distance. Her eyes 
 growing accustomed to the semi-darkness, she saw 
 the pale-eyed child sitting at the piano, her dangling 
 feet groping for a resting-place, her thin hands idle 
 on the keys. When the man had closed the door, the 
 child slid from the piano bench. 
 
 "Fraulein," she said, "I don t have to take any 
 lesson to-day, the doctor says it is bad for my eyes." 
 
 Marie paused in her task of unrolling her music. 
 
 "When shall I come then ?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh," and there was a quick note of pleasure in
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 23 
 
 the colorless little voice which hurt the girl to hear, 
 "I don t have to take any more lessons at all. Here s 
 a note from mamma," and she handed her a small 
 white envelope. 
 
 Marie took it with trembling fingers. She opened 
 the note and found it to be a formal one of dismissal 
 on account of the child s health. It enclosed a small 
 sum still due. 
 
 Marie walked home through the rain. Surely this 
 great world that she had seen stretch away in such 
 fertile fields from the convent windows, had enough to 
 spare for one girl who wanted so little. The uneven 
 distribution of material things had never touched her 
 before. Now she was beginning to realize that there 
 were those who had more than they could use, and 
 yet held tightly to it all. How few there were like 
 the father whom she had lost, whose religion it had 
 been to share with his fellow men. 
 
 She climbed the long flights to the little Schultz 
 flat, disheartened. Her landlady s sharp eyes took in 
 the situation at a glance. 
 
 "Both of them stopping, Fraulein?" she asked, 
 "never mind, drink your coffee and to-morrow you 
 can find others." Her optimism stilled Marie s fears 
 and as she sipped the steaming beverage and munched 
 the cake Frau Schultz was noted for, she planned 
 how she would find other pupils. 
 
 And now began long days of seeking for something 
 into which her poor little convent-learned accom 
 plishments would fit. 
 
 But nobody seemed to want to study music. Her 
 French was nearly perfect, the good nuns at the
 
 24 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 Sacred Heart had seen to that. She tried to find 
 some one who wished to learn, but though it happened 
 that just then the study of the French language was 
 very popular in Vienna, everyone wanted a Mademoi 
 selle from Paris. 
 
 She knew a little singing, a little drawing ; a little, 
 but not enough of anything. Her drawing, she tried 
 to utilize, but no one wanted to learn the gentle art 
 of sketching in water colors or making dainty pen 
 drawings. The time had gone by for that, there were 
 too many art schools where one could learn to paint 
 boldly from the nude, in garish colors, futurist 
 canvasses. 
 
 How many others were trying as she was trying. 
 How much more competition than things for which 
 to compete. This world, that seen from the convent 
 windows, had seemed all peaceful fields, green and 
 tranquil, that had given her kindness and comfort in 
 her father s house, what a different aspect it wore, 
 now that she had stepped down from her sheltered 
 nook. 
 
 To Marie, facing it like a timid hare brought to 
 bay, it seemed like a pack of snarling hounds, quar 
 reling over bones thrown from some more fortunate 
 table, wrangling and fighting, climbing on the shoul 
 ders of each other, ruthlessly trampling down th e 
 weaker. She was frightened, yet filled with a bitter 
 wonder that here, suffering was not only a possibility, 
 but a certainty. 
 
 The pillow on her little yellow bed was soaked 
 with many tears, frightened, disappointed tears, and 
 still, through it all the thoughtfulness and gen-
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 25 
 
 erosity of these two old people with whom she made 
 her home, kept alive in her heart faith in human 
 nature. They had so little and yet that little was 
 divided gladly with one less fortunate than they. 
 
 The year was nearly gone now and so was the 
 money. Soon she would have to supply herself from 
 the small box of savings, and after that, she dared 
 not think. She could not be a burden to these kindly 
 people, knowing, as she did, that there was scarcely 
 enough for themselves, and that, only, with the help 
 of what she was paying for her tiny room. 
 
 One evening, Herr Schultz came home with the 
 announcement that there was a chance for her if she 
 cared to take it, singing in the little cafe where he 
 played. 
 
 "The salary is very small, Fraulein," he said, "but 
 I shall be there to bring you home each night, and 
 your voice is not a bad one." 
 
 Marie loathed the very thought of doing such a 
 thing, but she dared not refuse with a knowledge of 
 her ever-dwindling funds, and the danger of at last 
 living on the Schultz s bounty, so it was decided 
 that she was to go with the old man the next day and 
 apply for the position. 
 
 "Have you a pretty dress, Marie?" asked Herr 
 Schultz. "You will have to wear something with no 
 neck or sleeves." 
 
 Marie made a mental inventory of her wardrobe. 
 There was a simple frock that could be arranged, so 
 she nodded. The old man rubbed his hands. 
 
 "Now," he said, "come and sing some of the Schu 
 bert Lieder, or perhaps a little Grieg."
 
 26 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 Her voice was a small high soprano, with a very 
 sweet note in it, and her natural appreciation for all 
 that was beautiful and tender, gave her singing an 
 appealing quality that more than compensated for its 
 lack of volume. 
 
 The old man was delighted. 
 
 "Good !" he said. "We go to-morrow," and Frau 
 Schultz nodded approval, as she threaded a needle, 
 her small head on one side, the bird-like eyes squinting 
 at her work. 
 
 The cafe or tingle-tangle where old Schultz played, 
 was one of the sort the outside world referred to as 
 Bohemian, tucked away in an obscure corner of the 
 city. The proprietor was an oily-faced man whose 
 good humor depended entirely upon the amount of 
 patronage his house received. 
 
 He nodded to old Schultz and looked Marie over 
 appraisingly. He noted with approval her blue eyes 
 and delicate features. The mourning frock, for she 
 still wore black, set off the gold of her hair. 
 
 "Sing for me," he said, and to Schultz s accom 
 paniment and with her heart pounding, Marie sang. 
 
 "H m," grunted the proprietor, "the voice will do, 
 but Gott, those songs, do you think this is a church? 
 Find something lively, something gay, a bit you 
 know," and the girl felt her face flush at his tone. 
 
 She was about to say she couldn t, but she thought 
 of the little that stood between her and starvation, 
 and that not only she, but the good people with whom 
 she lived, needed this position, so swallowing hard, 
 she said she would try. 
 
 "And your dress," the proprietor called after them
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 27 
 
 as she and the old man were leaving, "mind you put 
 some dash in it!" 
 
 "It will be all right," soothed Schultz, when they 
 were walking down the street together, "don t mind, 
 kleinchen, I ll be there to take care of you. We ll 
 go now and pick out some songs, and to-night the 
 good Frau will help you fix up the dress." 
 
 They went into a music shop, in the window of 
 which hung a gaudy display of popular music. With 
 the help of an anaemic youth who stood behind the 
 counter and ogled Marie, they selected four or five, 
 and having paid for them out of her slender purse, 
 they started home. All that afternoon they went 
 over the songs, the old man explaining to her how 
 she must sing them, with more dash, more life, and 
 the girl going over them patiently. 
 
 "Can t I put in one of the Schubert songs?" she 
 begged. "Just so I won t feel so terribly away from 
 myself?" and after a good deal of debate, they set 
 tled on "Impatience," trusting that its swift- 
 rung cadence might make up for its very evident 
 incongruity to the surroundings. 
 
 All evening, Frau Schultz and Marie pulled and 
 snipped and sewed at the simple frock, trying to 
 arrange it so as to please her new employer, and 
 when at last the girl stood before the little mirror 
 and looked at her reflection, she was startled at the 
 change she saw. Her slender arms were white, even 
 against the white of the gown, and her almost childish 
 throat and young bosom with its delicate curves 
 looked very lovely where the lace fell away. She had 
 piled her hair high on her head, and the good Frau,
 
 28 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 after searching among her belongings, had unearthed 
 an old-fashioned high comb which she had insisted 
 upon her wearing. 
 
 "You look very sweet," she said, "to-morrow you ll 
 win every one s heart." 
 
 "I don t want to do that," sighed Marie. "It s a 
 horrid place, really Frau Schultz, but I must do my 
 best. That means a lot to all of us, doesn t it?" 
 
 The good little woman kissed her. 
 
 "There, there," she said, "if things don t go right, 
 you must not worry. Shatzi and I are always here. 
 Now go to bed," and with a kind little pat, she took 
 the lamp and left her, closing the door after her. 
 
 For a long time Marie sat and looked at the girl 
 in the mirror. What would be the outcome of this 
 venture, she wondered. What would her father have 
 said, if he could have known. If she could have looked 
 ahead, how she would have hated the little white dress 
 that she laid aside so carefully, how she would have 
 hated the old-fashioned comb, which she drew out to 
 permit her wonderful hair to come tumbling about 
 her shoulders. 
 
 What an all wise Providence it is that has made 
 us blind to what lies before us ! How few would have 
 the courage to go on if they could look even one day 
 ahead ! 
 
 As she turned down her lamp and slipped into bed, 
 her only thought was, could she manage to keep this 
 place that had come to her when she so much 
 needed it.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE "Two Eagles" was one of those little cafes 
 which abound in Vienna; good beer, music, and free 
 dom; the rendezvous of students, with a fair sprink 
 ling of the military. 
 
 To Marie, peeping out from the tiny, none-too- 
 clean room, they had given her to dress in, it seemed 
 far worse than it really was, for the girl s eyes had 
 only looked on life at the convent, and from the win 
 dows of her father s house. The clicking of the steins 
 on the bare tables, the rough voices of the waiters as 
 they hurried back and forth, the scraping of chairs 
 on the sanded floor, the floating layers of blue smoke 
 through which the lights blurred, the students with 
 their wide black ties and unkempt hair, with here and 
 there a splash of color where some officers sat sprawled 
 about a table. This was a world of which she had 
 never dreamed, and she shrank instinctively from its 
 cheap tawdriness. Through it all, breaking out in 
 shrill peals, or suppressed giggles, came the laughter 
 of women. Laughter more than anything is indica 
 tive of caste, and this coarse mirth was strange to 
 Marie s ears. 
 
 Away at the far end, was the platform on which 
 Herr Schultz was playing the piano, with a white- 
 faced, wizened young man beside him, scraping on a 
 violin. 
 
 How was she to get there? The time had come. 
 One of the greasy waiters had just knocked at her
 
 30 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 door and told her they were ready, but the route lay 
 in and out among those many tables, those staring 
 faces. She never knew how she reached the platform. 
 She was keenly conscious of the scraping of her shoes 
 on the sanded floor, and of the voices about her. 
 
 One woman laughed in a sneering way as she passed 
 her table, and her companion reached out and tried 
 to grab Marie s hand. In pulling away, she almost 
 fell over the shining boot of a young, round-faced 
 officer, a boot which had been thrust in her way pur 
 posely, and whose owner roared with mirth at her 
 terrible confusion. She was vaguely conscious of an 
 older man at his side, at whose sharp word the offend 
 ing boot was withdrawn. As she passed, here and 
 there rough voices flung appraising phrases at her, 
 that sent the blood flaming into her cheeks. 
 
 But after what seemed an interminable journey, 
 she at last reached the little platform and the shelter 
 of Herr Schultz s side. 
 
 "Never mind, child," whispered the kindly old man, 
 "you ll grow used to it all. What shall we sing first?" 
 
 Marie s heart was in her throat. She felt as 
 though she never should be able to even speak, to 
 sing was an impossibility. The white-faced violinist 
 murmured an encouraging word. Herr Schultz 
 patted her arm, his weak mouth tremulous with reas 
 suring smiles. 
 
 She told herself that she was in no way a part of 
 this cheap, vulgar place. It need not touch her. She 
 was there to sing, to earn her living. Her cheeks 
 burned, but she swallowed bravely, and as Herr 
 Schultz struck the opening chords, she turned and
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 31 
 
 faced the room, which seemed to swim in the blue haze 
 of the tobacco smoke. Before her eyes was a blur of 
 black and white, with here and there a spot of color 
 made by some soldier s uniform. Her small, sweet 
 voice trembled, and she sang the rollicking music-hall 
 ditty, as though it were a sentimental ballad, but she 
 seemed to have struck the vacuous fancy of the young 
 officer, over whose foot she had tripped, and while 
 her voice still clung to the last note, he acclaimed his 
 approval. 
 
 Indeed she seemed to have pleased the majority of 
 her audience, who, with their characteristic love of 
 music, applauded vociferously, pounding on the tables 
 with their beer mugs and shouting noisily. 
 
 She resumed her seat with the pleasure that appre 
 ciation, from no matter how mean a source, always 
 brings. 
 
 As she waited while the old man turned over the 
 music before beginning another song, her eyes were 
 caught and held by the pale blue ones of the young 
 officer who had started the applause. She felt her 
 face grow scarlet under his gaze. Some intangible 
 instinct warned her of danger, but she was grateful 
 to him for his demonstration of approval, so she tried 
 to force her trembling lips to smile her thanks. He 
 was quite young, his pale blond hair worn stiff in 
 the familiar paint-brush style, was almost white 
 against his flushed forehead, and .his full lips were 
 very red. He was sprawled in his chair with his thick 
 legs in their tight blue trousers, straight out before 
 him, his head sunk between his shoulders. The man 
 at his side touched him quietly on the arm and said
 
 32 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 a few words which Marie could not catch. The youth 
 pulled himself together and turned once more to the 
 table and through all of her next song, which was 
 the Schubert one, he paid no more heed to her. Even 
 at its conclusion, he did not vouchsafe the approba 
 tion he had given her at first. But the rest of the 
 room was unanimous in their praise. 
 
 She was trembling. She had pleased them, and she 
 was so anxious to please. Herr Schultz looked at 
 her proudly over his shoulder, as he struck the open 
 ing chords for the white-faced violinist, who smirked 
 at her. 
 
 After a brief rest, she rose at the old man s nod, 
 and sang again, and again, till her throat felt tight, 
 her voice grew husky and her eyes smarted with the 
 unaccustomed tobacco fumes. But her audience was 
 insatiable. 
 
 A noisy student rapped loudly on his table and 
 called for yet another song. His companions echoed 
 the command and leered laughingly into her face. 
 
 From another table in a corner, a fat, oily looking 
 man with diamonds on his fingers, and a heavy triple 
 chin, beckoned to her with what he must have thought 
 was an ingratiating smile. But the woman with him, 
 a slim, dark little creature, with thickly rouged lips 
 and cloudy black hair, jerked angrily at his arm, and 
 he swung about in his chair so that Marie saw only 
 his great back. 
 
 B rower, the proprietor, came up and patted her 
 roughly on the shoulder. 
 
 "She caught on, Schultz," he wheezed in his heavy
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 33 
 
 voice, that was habitually hoarse from beer and to 
 bacco smoke. "I think she ll do !" 
 
 She had succeeded, objectionable and unpleasant 
 as these surroundings and the people were. She had 
 conquered, she had overcome the harrowing embar 
 rassment that had shocked her refined nature. She 
 felt a certain sense of pride that she had not failed, 
 that she had not been vanquished by her weaker emo 
 tions. It gave her more confidence in herself. If 
 she could do this, she could do other things, better, 
 more suited to her temperament and ideals. She 
 would endure this place only so long as she must, and 
 at the first opportunity of a better position, leave it. 
 Tired, but glad that for the immediate future at 
 least she need not worry about the fewness of the 
 pennies in her savings box, Marie slipped on her coat, 
 and clinging to old Schultz s arm, trudged happily 
 home. 
 
 After a few days, her shyness partly left her, she 
 was more at ease, more sure of herself and the appro 
 val of her personality and singing was even more 
 marked. The first time, the room had only been a 
 blur. Her self-consciousness had made it impossible 
 for her to note more than a vague outline, but now 
 that the tension had relaxed somewhat, she was able 
 to distinguish the details of her surroundings. She 
 began to see here and there a beckoning finger that 
 called her hospitably to share its owner s table. Some 
 times she saw the angry frown and quick proprietory 
 nudge of the woman who accompanied him and re 
 sented his interest in the little singer. She began to 
 hear her name called in a familiar diminutive, as
 
 34 
 
 groups of students would ask for favorite songs. 
 Secure under the shelter of Herr Schultz s wing, she 
 smiled her thanks from the platform. 
 
 One night, she stood wrapped in her cloak, waiting 
 for her guardian as he gathered up his music. The 
 last guest was leaving beerily, and the greasy waiters 
 were going about turning out the lights and mop 
 ping up the splashed tables. 
 
 Brower came heavily up to the platform. He 
 looked at Marie with an unpleasant grin. 
 
 "Tired, Fraulein?" he asked, "never mind, you ll 
 be home in a little while. You ve done very well! 
 But to-morrow, I want you to be nice to my friends." 
 
 Herr Schultz, without turning, stopped in his task 
 of gathering the sheets of music, and the proprietor 
 went on. 
 
 "To-morrow I want you to pay a few visits among 
 the tables. Remember, the more we sell to drink, the 
 more you are worth to me." 
 
 Schultz turned quickly, his heavy eyebrows drawn 
 together in a frown, his weak mouth working 
 tremulously. 
 
 "The Fraulein is only here to sing," he said, his 
 voice shaking, "she does not go down among the 
 tables." 
 
 "What have you got to say?" thundered Brower, 
 "If you don t like the way this place is run, you can 
 go ! There are plenty of piano-players !" 
 
 Marie looked on in terror, only half understanding. 
 Her face went white as she realized what this would 
 mean. 
 
 "Oh, no," she begged, "if he goes I must go."
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 35 
 
 This was not what Brower wanted. The girl had 
 really been a profitable investment. His clientele was 
 pleased. New people were beginning to come. More 
 money was being spent. Allowances must be made. 
 
 "Look here, Schultz," he growled, "everything will 
 be all right, she needn t drink, I only want her to go 
 about and be pleasant. You re here where you can 
 watch her." 
 
 In Schultz s faithful breast, the knowledge of what 
 it would mean at his age, to lose his position, strug 
 gled with his fear for Marie. Brower was right, 
 there were so many piano-players, but he knew well 
 what this sort of thing led to. He had seen it so 
 often. 
 
 "She can t go down among the tables," he repeated 
 doggedly. 
 
 Brower struggled between rage and cupidity. He 
 would gladly have kicked the old man into the street, 
 but the source of income which the girl meant, must 
 not be lost. 
 
 "All right," he shrugged, and for the time, the 
 matter was dropped.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ONE night, as she waited between songs, Marie let 
 her eyes wander about the smoke-filled room and 
 wondered, as she heard the occasional bursts of laugh 
 ter, if these people who came here voluntarily were 
 really enjoying life. She wondered if this meant 
 happiness to them. 
 
 The ideas of right and wrong which had been 
 learned in the convent and at home with her father, 
 seemed so absolutely apart from what surrounded her 
 now, that she had not even a means of comparison. 
 This was simply different. 
 
 The young officer over whose boot she had stumbled 
 that first night, was sitting sullenly at the table near 
 her, and her glance wandered from him to the man 
 at his elbow, the same who had reprimanded him 
 for his rudeness. 
 
 He was a tall, thin man, older than the boy at his 
 side, and wore the handsome uniform of a captain of 
 cavalry. She was impressed by the straight, unbend 
 ing attitude of his shoulders. The thin, hard mouth 
 of the supersensualist somehow frightened her, 
 although she was too inexperienced to know why. She 
 was trying to analyze this fear, this aversion for a 
 stranger, when she became conscious that he was 
 staring at her, and for a moment she stared back 
 fascinated into the brilliant eyes that held her own 
 even against her will. With an effort, she turned 
 
 86
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 37 
 
 away hastily, and busied herself with the piece of 
 music she was holding. 
 
 Several times during the evening, she was conscious 
 of those magnetic eyes which she avoided with a 
 curious flutter at her heart. She had taken her seat 
 beside the piano, when she saw Brower standing at 
 the edge of the platform, beckoning to her. 
 
 Hesitatingly, she rose and went to him. 
 
 "Fraulein," he said with his oily smile, "my wife 
 is here with some friends. We want you to join us 
 for a little while." 
 
 Schultz swung around on the piano stool. 
 
 "No," he said, emphatically. 
 
 Brower shot him a glance charged with venom, a 
 burst of rage trembling on his lips, which he con 
 trolled with an effort. 
 
 "What s the matter ?" he growled. "My wife wants 
 to meet her. Anything wrong with that?" 
 
 There was the look in Schultz s eyes of a faithful 
 dog which cannot express the love it feels. 
 
 "She should not " he began, "she " 
 
 Brower turned to Marie. 
 
 "Don t you want to come, Fraulein?" he asked. 
 
 The girl was pathetically eager to give a sufficient 
 measure of service for the compensation she received. 
 
 "I ll go," she said, timidly. 
 
 Brower s wife was a large, boldly handsome woman 
 of about thirty-five. She had been a very pretty 
 girl, and in spite of the artificial yellow of her care 
 fully dressed hair, the over-red of her lips, the paint 
 on her cheeks, she still bore some traces of her 
 vanished beauty. She blazed with jewels which were
 
 88 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 obviously not all that their glitter proclaimed. To 
 the observer it was very apparent that everything 
 about her was a sham. It was even whispered that 
 her marriage came under the same heading. 
 
 She greeted Marie with an over-effusiveness. 
 
 "Do sit down, Liebchen. My friends all like your 
 singing so much." With a wave of her plump, be- 
 jeweled hand, she introduced the others at her table. 
 "Herr Kranz, meet Fraulein Helmar ; Herr Schnitzer, 
 Fraulein Pragt." 
 
 Marie slipped into the chair Brower pulled out 
 for her. 
 
 "I certainly like your singing, Fraulein," boomed 
 Herr Kranz, in a voice that Marie felt certain must 
 penetrate to every corner of the room; "but I like 
 you better," and he smiled a broad smile, that lifted 
 his heavy black mustache and showed an uneven row 
 of discolored teeth. His prominent eyes took in her 
 slender prettiness with an evident relish, and his thick 
 bull-neck settled consciously into his collar as he 
 pulled down a brilliant vest over his round paunch. 
 
 The other man who had been introduced as Herr 
 Schnitzer, was stoop-shouldered and pale haired. His 
 prominent Adam s apple slid up and down gro 
 tesquely as he ate the cheese sandwich that was 
 before him. 
 
 "We like little blond singers," he said with his 
 mouth full, but his eyes were fixed fatuously on Frau 
 lein Pragt who simpered coyly. She was over-dressed, 
 and over-plump, her empty, common face shone fair 
 and bland, and her silly little red mouth was 
 always half open.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 39 
 
 Marie looked from one to the other with a feeling 
 half of disgust, and half of pride in herself that she 
 was different. 
 
 B rower patted her familiarly on the shoulder as 
 he hailed a passing waiter. 
 
 "Fritz, bring Fraulein Helmar a sandwich and 
 some beer," and he moved away to another table. 
 
 "Nothing for me, please," began Marie. 
 
 "Come, Herzchen, just a little something! One 
 glass of beer," urged her hostess. 
 
 "I don t wish anything, thank you," said Marie, 
 with quiet finality. 
 
 Frau Brower laughed loudly. 
 
 "No wonder you re so thin," she said, "a little more 
 flesh on your bones wouldn t hurt you, Fraulein." 
 
 Kranz leaned toward her admiringly. 
 
 "You re young yet," he said, "you ll be just right 
 in a year or so," and he put a moist hand over hers. 
 
 Marie shrank away, and Frau Brower laughed 
 again offensively. 
 
 "She should have a sweetheart, Kranz, that s what 
 she needs," she said. "Have you got one, Liebchen?" 
 
 Marie s face flushed. 
 
 "No," she said. 
 
 There was something about this girl s manner Frau 
 Brower resented. She experienced the feeling all 
 women of her type do, in the presence of one who is 
 everything they are not. What right had she, a little 
 singer in Brewer s cafe, to give herself airs? She d 
 put her in her proper place. 
 
 "Can t you get one?" she sneered. 
 
 Marie lifted her head proudly.
 
 40 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "I don t believe I want one," she said simply. "I m 
 here to sing, I haven t time for anything else !" 
 
 Kranz was eyeing her with open admiration, his 
 prominent, dull eyes, looking ludicrously like a fish s. 
 The other two were deep in a conversation that con 
 sisted mainly of guttural monosyllables from 
 Schnitzer and conscious giggles from Fraulein Pragt. 
 
 Frau Brower looked at her insolently. 
 
 "I advise you to drop that stand-offish manner. 
 It won t pay here. A fesches Mtidel like you ought to 
 have a dozen lovers! I m going to bring a friend 
 around to meet you !" 
 
 Marie flushed at the open coarseness in her voice. 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Thank you, but I d rather not meet anyone," she 
 said. "Herr Schultz takes me home every evening. 
 He doesn t like me to meet strangers. I don t want 
 to do anything to offend him." 
 
 This time the laughter was general. 
 
 "What do you care what that old fossil says?" 
 began Frau Brower, and her husband, who had joined 
 them again, frowned darkly as he looked toward the 
 platform. 
 
 "Look here," he growled, "what s this? Am I 
 paying you to be a fine lady? Do you think you re 
 an opera singer?" 
 
 Marie s lips trembled. She rose to her feet. 
 
 "Please," she faltered, "I I think I d better go 
 back." She was looking into Brower s scowling face. 
 She saw his eyes shift, and suddenly, a great change 
 came over him. His anger seemed to vanish almost 
 by magic, and an oily smile spread over his features.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 41 
 
 "Never mind, Fraulein," he said, and she thought 
 she saw him glance warningly at his wife, "we will 
 excuse you if you want to go." 
 
 Marie turned to see the cause for this sudden 
 change, and found herself looking straight into the 
 burning eyes of the man who once before had come 
 to her assistance. 
 
 He bowed slightly, with a smile that was so encour 
 aging that the girl knew instinctively she owed 
 Brewer s change of front to his interference. Tremb 
 ling, she started back to the platform, the Captain 
 standing aside and bowing his acknowledgment of 
 her timid smile of thanks. 
 
 This man with his polished manner, his fine car 
 riage, his trim uniform was more like the men she 
 had met at her father s home, more her own class. 
 His thin, aquiline face had smiled on her with what, 
 in her ignorance of the world, she took to be kindly, 
 fraternal interest. 
 
 Frau Brower, meanwhile, had watched this little 
 by-play. Her face reddened under its coat of rouge. 
 
 "Brower," she choked, "are you going to be brow 
 beaten in your own cafe?" 
 
 Her husband tried to stop her, a curious look of 
 fear coming into his eyes as he glanced hurriedly at 
 the Captain s table, but she went on angrily. 
 
 "Aren t you master in your own house ? I wouldn t 
 be ordered around by any " 
 
 The man put a heavy hand on her arm. 
 
 "Halt s Maul, you fool," he said. "You don t know 
 what you re saying, he s He bent and whis 
 pered something in her ear. What he said had the
 
 42 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 effect of instantly dissipating her wrath, and she, 
 too, turned and glanced fearfully in the direction 
 of the tall officer. 
 
 Brower swore under his breath and turned heavily 
 away, leaving the others to comfort his spouse. 
 
 This was the beginning of Marie s visits among the 
 tables. Once, Brower called her to explain one of 
 her songs to a "particular friend" of his. Another 
 time, she must go and ask some officers what they 
 wanted her to sing next. Schultz, with a heavy heart 
 had to let her go. 
 
 The Captain, whose friendly smile had struck an 
 answering note in her heart, came sometimes three 
 or four nights consecutively. Then, perhaps a week 
 or ten days would elapse during which Marie looked 
 in vain for the tall, lean figure. She forgot her vague 
 fears of his cruel mouth anl brilliant eyes. Her heart 
 was so sore and lonely in this unaccustomed place 
 that it was a disappointment to her when she missed 
 him. She had a curious sense of protection and 
 security whenever the bright note of his uniform 
 came through the green swinging-door, and he made 
 his way to his usual table. 
 
 There was an undefinable air of reticence, a touch 
 of the mystic about him, which aroused a feeling of 
 interested curiosity in the girl s heart. 
 
 As she waited between songs, her naturally active 
 mind amused itself by trying to read the different 
 faces she saw before her. This man was the only one 
 of whom she could form no conception. All the 
 others were obviously what they were, he alone was 
 different. And because it is the unknown which
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 43 
 
 attracts, and because he had on several instances 
 shielded her from rudeness, she began to think of him 
 as a friend. 
 
 There was no one to point out to her that the 
 brilliant eyes were cold and calculating, that the lines 
 about the thin mouth and between his brows, were 
 those experience writes. There was no one to tell her 
 that this face which seemed to smile so kindly into 
 hers, was that of a man who knows his ability to 
 judge and compare the values of sophistication and 
 inexperience, and who has used this knowledge for 
 the domination and destruction of those weaker than 
 himself. 
 
 One evening as she sat watching him, he glanced 
 about the room in a coldly speculative fashion, as 
 one who sees a vision that includes those about him. 
 If she were priviliged to see the picture in his mind 
 she would have seen the gay uniforms about her 
 changed into a dull gray, the jauntily set caps 
 replaced by spiked helmets. A cold smile played 
 about the thin lips, and his hand resting on the table 
 unconsciously clinched as though it grasped the hilt 
 of a sword. But she saw only the smile and not its 
 meaning. 
 
 Gradually, she began under Brower s careful 
 manoeuvering, to go about among the tables. At first, 
 her visits were very brief, but sometimes, some par 
 ticular friend of the proprietor s detained her longer. 
 On these occasions there was much laughter, jokes 
 whose point she did not always see, and many rather 
 rough compliments, but on the whole, nothing that 
 offended her. Brower had seen to that. He knew
 
 44 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 that the watchful eyes of the old pianist followed 
 Marie about the room, and it suited his purpose to 
 see that both his fears and hers should be laid to rest. 
 
 To the Captain s table, however, she was never in 
 vited. There was only the friendly nod in passing, 
 the kindly smile that said, "I know; I understand 
 how out of place you are here, how different you are 
 from the rest !" 
 
 And old Schultz, seeing the flutter in the laces of 
 the girl s breast when the Captain came in, watching 
 the flush on her cheek, when their eyes met, noting 
 too, with a pang in his heart, the evident disappoint 
 ment when he failed to appear, shook his head sadly.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 MARIE stood a moment at the door of her little 
 dressing-room, before running the gauntlet between 
 its shelter and the platform, where, through the 
 wreaths of smoke, she could see old Schultz s thick 
 shoulders hunched over the piano keys. Familiarity 
 had not begotten any feeling of comfort or tolerance 
 for the conditions of this cheap, tawdry place. She 
 hated the timbered walls with the trite phrases sten 
 ciled on them in black letters, the bare tables with 
 rings, left by many steins, indelibly stamped on them, 
 the shrill-voiced women, the men. She hated it all. 
 But one must live. 
 
 Her rent at the Schultz s must be paid. They had 
 scarcely enough for themselves. Her thoughts re 
 verted to the one pleasant memory, the tall officer 
 who had intervened between her and the insults of 
 Frau Brower. 
 
 She had been made painfully conscious of the 
 woman s enmity, which was shown in a score of ways, 
 and left her wondering what the next annoyance 
 would be. 
 
 In a far corner, she suddenly caught a glimpse of 
 the man of whom she had been thinking. He was 
 engaged in earnest conversation with the proprietor. 
 His face was black, his jaw angrily set, and he was 
 emphatically pounding the palm of one hand with 
 the fist of the other. Brower, unlike his usual trucu 
 lent self, was listening in a meek, half-frightened 
 
 way. 
 
 45
 
 46 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 Who was this man, she wondered? What was he? 
 Had he a permanent place in her life, or would he too, 
 disappear into the darkness where so much that she 
 had known had vanished? 
 
 She saw him turn from the door, and make his way 
 to the table that was always reserved for hira. She 
 peered through the swinging smoke wreaths. Her 
 eyes brightened as she watched him. His square, 
 thin shoulders stooped a little as he took his seat, 
 and in a moment he was in deep conversation with 
 the same young lieutenant, who was always with him. 
 His presence gave her a certain feeling of pleasure, 
 though what it was, or why she felt it, it would have 
 been difficult for her to define. She walked swiftly 
 between the tables and mounted the platform. 
 
 After his courteous intervention in her behalf, she 
 had reproached herself for the feeling of distrust that 
 she had when she first saw him. The graying hair 
 at his temples, increased her confidence, she could 
 see it quite plainly from where she stood at the side 
 of the piano. She found herself hoping that he would 
 look in her direction, and was pleased when he turned 
 from his companion and nodded cheerfully to her. 
 
 The pale-faced violinist whispered to her as she 
 sorted her music. 
 
 "The Captain bows, Fraulein, that is nice, yes?" 
 
 She could not tell why she resented the tone, and 
 gave no answer, but she was conscious of being dis 
 appointed when for a long time he paid no more 
 attention to her. There were other beckoning fingers, 
 however, other welcoming smiles, and Brower was 
 always near to see that she was "nice to his friends,"
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 47 
 
 and being "nice to his friends" meant sometimes being 
 obliged to sit at the tables and smiling at people 
 she loathed. But no matter how her soul revolted at 
 her task, she was always comforted when she could 
 meet across the room, the brilliant eyes that held a 
 smile for her, and seemed to say, "Never mind, I am 
 here ! And I am your friend !" 
 
 While he was there, she was sure of her songs being 
 appreciated, for, although the Captain did not deign 
 to applaud, Franz did and then curiously enough 
 seemed to forget her. 
 
 The two men were always together. Sometimes 
 they came in late, sometimes, they would be at their 
 table when Marie arrived and would stay just long 
 enough to hear one song. She noticed the deference 
 the proprietor paid to them. 
 
 In some intangible way, the Captain managed to 
 stamp himself upon her consciousness as her cham 
 pion, unnoticeably to others, but plainly visible to 
 the girl, whose horizon was so empty of anyone to 
 whom she could turn for help or understanding. His 
 methods were those of ihe man who understands 
 women well enough to know that in order to achieve 
 his ends, he must be as nearly as possible like the 
 personality admired by the particular woman, in 
 whom he is, for the moment, interested. But to 
 Marie, sick of the coarse brutality about her, revolted 
 by the covert insults that she only half understood, 
 he seemed the personification of chivalry and thought- 
 fulness. 
 
 She was particularly grateful for his protection 
 against the rough, boisterous men upon whom it was
 
 48 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 part of her task to smile. Various little incidents in 
 which he proved his wish to protect and befriend her, 
 were treasured in her memory. 
 
 One night, the fat man, whose cascading chin had 
 so revolted her the first time she sang, called her to 
 his table, and afraid to disobey, lest Brower should 
 be angry, Marie accepted his invitation. 
 
 "You re a nice little girl," he wheezed, putting his 
 flabby hand with its flashing diamond, over hers. 
 "We ll have a bottle of real wine together, not beer, 
 like the rest of these," indicating with his thumb the 
 drinking students. "You and I are going to be 
 friends, and we re going to enjoy ourselves." He 
 smelled horribly of beer and tobacco smoke, and Marie 
 tried to draw her hand away, but he leaned heavily 
 forward and tilted her chin up to him with a thick 
 forefinger. "You re a little thin," he appraised, "but 
 I like them like that !" 
 
 Marie drew away, frightened, when suddenly 
 Brower tapped her tormentor on the shoulder. 
 
 "The Captain wants the Fraulein to sing another 
 song before he goes. You will excuse her, yes ?" 
 
 The fat man s face turned almost purple and he 
 muttered an oath under his breath, but he drew back, 
 and Marie, her heart rejoicing at the authority of her 
 champion, hurried to the platform, smiling gratefully 
 as she passed his table. 
 
 This might have been an accident, but it happened 
 again and again. Each time some noisy student or 
 boisterous young officer progressed too far in his 
 attentions to her, Marie was sure of some subtle inter 
 ference from the Captain that would put a stop to
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 49 
 
 the insults and unkindness which, without realizing 
 why, she knew meant some terrible danger to her. 
 
 Gradually and almost imperceptibly, his strong 
 mind and dominant personality took hold of her nat 
 urally clinging nature. He seemed so much older, 
 that to her inexperience, it was as though her father 
 were watching over her, and she gave him the grati 
 tude and admiration a child might give. 
 
 Frequently, during the long days, as she bent over 
 her sewing with Frau Schultz, his dark profile rose 
 before her eyes, his quick smile flashed across her 
 vision, and at night, when she brushed her yellow 
 hair by the little window, trying to shake out in the 
 faint breeze, the heavy scent of tobacco, which clung 
 to it, she would remember gratefully how he had 
 averted again some unpleasantness. 
 
 But no matter from what angle she viewed his atti 
 tude toward herself, she could find nothing that 
 seemed to warrant the faintly indefinite sense of dan 
 ger of which she was vaguely conscious, and which she 
 tried to reason away. 
 
 One night, a greasy waiter came to the door of her 
 dressing-room with a twisted tissue paper parcel in 
 his hand. 
 
 "The Captain sends these, Fraulein," he mumbled, 
 and shuffled off, leaving the parcel on a chair. Marie 
 unfolded the wrappings and found two lovely roses, 
 dewy and fragrant. She adored flowers. It was long 
 since she had seen any excepting through the glass of 
 some florist s window, and she pressed her flushed 
 cheek against their cool petals. Her father had sel 
 dom gone for his feeble walk without bringing her
 
 50 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 one or two blossoms on his return, and the memory 
 brought the ready tears to her eyes. 
 
 How good this man was, she thought, as she pinned 
 the flowers in among the white laces of her blouse. 
 In every woman s heart there is the inherent desire 
 for masculine admiration. Little convent-bred Marie 
 was innocent of any thoughts of coquetry. She only 
 felt the natural pleasure that youth does when it is 
 noticed and appreciated. 
 
 Old Schultz shook his head when she showed him 
 the two roses nestling against her breast, but there 
 was no time for comment. The smile Marie sent 
 toward the Captain s table, was a very bright one, 
 and the young Lieutenant nudged his companion as 
 he noticed it, but he was answered by so forbidding 
 a frown, that he took refuge in his mug of beer. 
 
 Marie sang well that night. The clear, sweet voice 
 held a note of joyousness, missing before. Deep in 
 her heart, was the hope that the Captain might send 
 the greasy waiter with a message asking her to step 
 down to his table for a minute or so, but no message 
 came, and to her disappointment, just after her first 
 song, the Captain and his young friend pushed back 
 their chairs and left. 
 
 Who was this man, she wondered, for the hun 
 dredth time. Everybody in the "Two Eagles," she 
 had noticed, paid him marked deference. Once or 
 twice before, she had seen him leave abruptly when 
 some orderly had come in quietly and touched him 
 on the shoulder. What was his place in this world of 
 which she was beginning to see so many sides? 
 
 On the way home that night, old Schultz for the
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 51 
 
 first time, was cross. He only grumbled when Marie 
 tried to talk about the roses she was so carefully 
 guarding from the cold, under her coat. He growled 
 something about no good coming from such things, 
 but she scarcely heard him. Her feet tripped along, 
 two steps to each of his, her heart full of gratitude 
 for the kindness that had been shown her. 
 
 When she was in her own little room, she put the 
 blossoms tenderly in one of the painted mugs that 
 adorned her bureau, and began slipping quickly out 
 of her white frock. As it fell about her feet in a soft, 
 shapeless heap, Frau Schultz came in. 
 
 "Fraulein," she said, "Shatzi tells me that Captain 
 Von Pfaffen gave you some flowers to-night." 
 
 Marie stepped out of her dress and hung it care 
 fully in the clothes press. 
 
 Von Pfaffen, so that was his name ! 
 
 "Yes," she smiled, "two lovely roses! Oh, Frau 
 Schultz, that was just what my father used to do. 
 Sometimes it was one lily, sometimes a spray of 
 hyacinths, sometimes a rose. It made me think of my 
 father!" 
 
 The blue eyes were moist and Frau Schultz kissed 
 the girl tenderly as she bade her good-night. 
 
 "Shatzi," she told her husband later, as arrayed 
 in carpet slippers and a tattered dressing-gown he 
 sat smoking a good-night pipe, "Shatzi, there is no 
 cause to worry, the girl is still only a child, she is 
 grateful for something her father would have done 
 for her. You must not suspect everybody !" and she 
 vigorously pounded the already plump pillows of the 
 mountainous connubial couch before climbing into it.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 MAEIE began to sing only for one table, for the 
 one pair of ears for whose appreciation she cared. 
 Love had not entered her thoughts, only a deep in 
 terest. This man was so unlike the others who fre 
 quented the "Two Eagles." His stern face that 
 could break into a smile for her, the lines about his 
 thin mouth, the graying hair, his straight military 
 shoulders, all meant to the girl the protection she 
 might have had from her father. She would have 
 laughed had she known the thoughts that were worry 
 ing the good people with whom she lived. 
 
 The fact, however, that some one was interested in 
 her, brought more color into her cheeks, more vivacity 
 into her manner. She was developing, the lines of 
 her figure were rounder. She was more mature. The 
 promise of fair young womanhood was beginning to 
 be fulfilled, so that now as she hurried along the short 
 aisle between her dressing-room and the platform, 
 more eyes followed her, more hands were stretched out 
 to detain her. Brower was pleased with his 
 investment. 
 
 One night she left the platform earlier than usual. 
 The Captain and his companion had already gone, 
 and she whispered to old Schultz that she would wait 
 for him in her dressing-room. Once in the shelter of 
 its dirty walls, she pinned on her hat, threw her cloak 
 about her and sat down till the old man should be 
 
 ready to come for her. She leaned her elbows on the 
 
 52
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 53 
 
 board which served as a dressing-table and looked at 
 herself in the square of looking-glass that hung above 
 it. It was cracked and splotched with mildew, and 
 the light of the one gas jet flickered and marked 
 queer shadows under her eyes and chin. But even so, 
 she smiled at the pleasing image that smiled back 
 at her. 
 
 The opening of the door startled her, and turn 
 ing, she found herself facing Brower. The proprie 
 tor of the "Two Eagles" had never entered the little 
 room before. Her heart sank. Was he coming to tell 
 her she was not needed? 
 
 "What " she began, but Brower stopped her. 
 
 "Don t get frightened, Kleine. I didn t come to 
 tell you I thought I could get along without you." 
 His voice was thick, and his coarse face redder than 
 usual. He leered at her with his small, swinish eyes. 
 She saw that he had been drinking heavily. "You re 
 looking prettier these days, and I think I ll stretch a 
 point and let you have an extra krone if you want it. 
 Now, who says I m not kind-hearted, eh? Come, 
 little one, give me a kiss !" and before the girl quite 
 realized what he was doing, he had grabbed her by 
 the shoulders and planted a rough kiss on her cheek. 
 
 Marie screamed and pushed him from her with all 
 her force. 
 
 "How dare you?" she gasped. "How dare you?" 
 
 Brower chuckled. "You re prettier when you re 
 mad! Gott! I think I ll have another!" but as he 
 started toward her, the girl struck him full in the 
 face with her little clenched fist and ran from the 
 room.
 
 54 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 The indignity of it, the horrible feel of his flabby 
 lips against her cheek, made her shudder as at the 
 touch of some loathsome reptile. She ran sobbing 
 through the passage, but just as she was about to 
 open the door and go out into the street, a hand was 
 laid on her arm. 
 
 She shrank back, shivering into the shadow, but as 
 she turned, she found herself face to face with the 
 Captain. 
 
 "Fraulein," he said, "what is wrong?" 
 
 Marie hid her face against his coat sleeve as a child 
 might have done. 
 
 "He kissed me," she sobbed, "the awful creature!" 
 
 "Who?" his low voice shook with rage. 
 
 "Brower! I was waiting for Schultz to take me 
 home, he came into the room and kissed me! It was 
 horrible !" 
 
 Von Pfaffen started down the passage. 
 
 "I ll settle with him," he raged, but Marie caught 
 at his hand. 
 
 "Please," she whispered frightened, "please!" and 
 he turned and patted her shoulder. 
 
 "Very well," he said, "I ll see him later. Come, let 
 me take you home," and with gentle fingers, he fas 
 tened her coat collar about her throat, and before 
 Marie realized it, he had swept her into a fiakre and 
 they were whirling away. 
 
 The thought of this man s kindness to her over 
 whelmed her again, and she huddled into her corner 
 crying as though her heart would break. 
 
 "Come, Fraulein," urged her companion, "you 
 really mustn t. I ll see that the brute is punished.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 55 
 
 Fou mustn t cry so," and he put a protecting arm 
 about her shoulders. 
 
 Marie sobbed against the rough cloth of his heavy 
 military coat. All the sorrow and struggle, all the 
 misery of the past months seemed to pour from her 
 heart, but presently, mingled with the rumble of the 
 wheels, she seemed to hear the query, "where are you 
 going?" 
 
 She straightened herself suddenly and her com 
 panion made no effort to detain her. 
 
 "You haven t even asked me where I live," she said, 
 surprise quieting her sobs. "Where are you taking 
 me?" 
 
 Von Pfaffen drew her against his shoulder again. 
 
 "I knew you would tell me when you were calmer," 
 he said. "In the meantime, it is early ; we re here at 
 my place. Come in for a minute. You are frightened 
 and nervous. Come in, my old housekeeper will make 
 you a cup of coffee, and by the time old Schultz 
 reaches home, you ll be there too." 
 
 "Oh no," began Marie, "Frau Schultz will be wor 
 ried, I can t," but the brakes were already jerking 
 against the wheels and in another second the fiakre 
 had drawn up in front of a brown-stone apartment 
 house. 
 
 "I can t, they ll worry," and Marie drew back in 
 the shelter of the cab as Von Pfaffen stepped onto the 
 sidewalk and held out his hand to help her alight. 
 
 "Nonsense," fie assured her, "I ll telephone the 
 Two Eagles as soon as we get in and have them tell 
 Schultz. Come, Fraulein, just a cup of coffee." 
 
 His arm steadied her across the icy pavement, and
 
 56 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 the warmth of the apartment hall was comforting, 
 but Marie stepped into the lift with a beating heart. 
 
 Was this wrong, she aslced herself? Would her 
 father have approved? But the wonder of it all soon 
 dulled the still small voice that spoke again of that 
 vague sense of danger, and she entered the hallway 
 as Von Pfaffen stood aside before the door he had 
 just opened. 
 
 The girl looked about her curiously. So this was 
 where he lived. It was a comfortable apartment, a 
 peculiar mixture of severity and luxury. The great 
 easy chair that held out inviting arms before a bright 
 fire burning in the great Jcachelofen, and the long 
 bare table with its litter of official-looking papers, 
 contrasted curiously. 
 
 Von Pfaffen rang the bell and an old woman came 
 in. Marie instinctively disliked her face, with its 
 pendulous nose and the heavy blue-veined cheeks, but 
 she seemed kindly and the girl was ashamed of her 
 aversion. 
 
 "Coffee, Lena," ordered the Captain, and with a 
 peculiar flat-footed shuffle, the old woman turned and 
 left the room. 
 
 "She was my nurse when I was a child," said Von 
 Pfaffen, and Marie looked after tne ungainly form 
 with a new interest. 
 
 "I I m ashamed to be giving you all this trouble," 
 she stammered, as he helped her out of her coat ; "but 
 I couldn t stay there, could I?" 
 
 "Indeed you couldn t, child. Now you must forget 
 all about it. I m glad it was I who chanced to find
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 57 
 
 you before that beast could do you further harm. 
 To-morrow I shall crush him like a fly !" 
 
 "You and the Schultzes are all the friends I have." 
 She looked up at him gratefully. "There isn t any 
 one else in all the world." 
 
 Von Pfaffen took the little hand and patted it. 
 
 "There, there," he smiled, "three friends are a 
 great many to have in this world, don t you think?" 
 and he settled her comfortably into one of the big 
 arm-chairs before the fire. 
 
 After a little, Lena waddled in, preceded by an 
 appetizing aroma of coffee. She carried a tray on 
 which she had set out a shining urn and a dish of 
 cakes, and pushing aside the scattered papers on the 
 littered table, she made room for her burden. 
 
 "Is everything well, Lena?" asked her master. 
 
 The old woman grunted and shuffled out, closing 
 the door after her. 
 
 "She s not very friendly," apologized Von Pfaffen, 
 "but she takes advantage of having been with me 
 nearly all my life, and besides, she lends an air of 
 respectability to my bachelor establishment." 
 
 Marie smiled because he did. It was good to be 
 here in this handsomely furnished apartment, warm 
 and cozy, and with this man, whom she so much ad 
 mired, beside her. She sipped her coffee luxuriantly 
 and nibbled one of the little cakes. 
 
 "I ll telephone that you re safe with me, Fraulein," 
 he said, and rose and left the room. 
 
 Marie looked about her. How wonderful Fate was, 
 she mused. If it hadn t been for that horrible Brower, 
 she would not have been here now. The unwonted
 
 58 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 warmth lulled her. The love of comfort and luxury 
 was strong in her. Her father had catered to it. It 
 had been his happiness to see how readily she had 
 given up the austerity of the convent and revelled 
 in the almost sybaritic ease with which he loved to 
 surround her. She snuggled down into the embrace 
 of the great easy chair with a sigh of content. 
 
 This was what her home had been like that short 
 year with her father, and the thought of that and the 
 intervening months with their bitter struggle, sent 
 the slow tears down her cheeks again. She had not 
 time to brush them away when her host entered. 
 
 "It s all right, Fraulein," he said. "Schultz came 
 to the phone himself. I told him I d bring you home 
 later* What? You re not crying again? Fraulein, 
 I call that unkind, when I m trying to do all I can 
 for you." 
 
 "I know you are," there was a catch in Marie s 
 voice. "I m not going to cry any more." 
 
 "That s right," and Von Pf affen drew his chair up 
 beside her. 
 
 "Now, let s have a talk. I ve wanted to, ever since 
 I first saw you at the Two Eagles. 
 
 "How wonderful that you should even have noticed 
 me!" Marie was unconscious of any coquetry. It 
 was wonderful to hear that this resplendent being 
 should have picked her out for notice. 
 
 The Captain leaned over and took one of her 
 hands in his. 
 
 "What a pretty little hand," he said. "What a 
 pity it has had to work so hard. All these rough 
 places," and suddenly he raised her fingers to his lips.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 59 
 
 Marie was startled, but at her involuntary move 
 ment, he dropped her hand and turned again to the 
 fire. 
 
 "Warm enough here?" he asked, so paternally, 
 that the girl was ashamed of her vague fears. But 
 somewhere in the distance she heard a clock striking 
 the hour. 
 
 "It must be getting late, Herr Captain," she fal 
 tered, "I think I d better go," and with a half sigh 
 for the comfort about her, she rose to her feet. 
 
 The man rose, too, hastily, and put his hands on 
 her shoulders* 
 
 "Just a little longer, Fraulein," he begged, "I ve 
 thought so often of you sitting here as you are now." 
 
 His face frightened Marie. The warmth of his 
 hands burning through the shoulders of her thin gown 
 made her uneasy. His eyes seemed bloodshot in the 
 firelight, and a vein in his forehead suddenly stood 
 out like a cord. 
 
 "Herr Captain, let me go," whispered the girl. 
 "I must go." 
 
 "No !" His voice shook, "no, little one, you re here 
 and you re mine," and before she really knew what 
 was happening, she found herself crushed against his 
 breast, powerless to struggle, a great dizziness sweep 
 ing over her. She seemed to lose all sense of every 
 thing excepting that from somewhere immeasurably 
 above her, his mouth drew nearer, and nearer, till it 
 folded over her own in a stifling kiss. 
 
 After what seemed an interminable time, conscious 
 ness came back to her, power to struggle, and with 
 the strength of youth, she freed herself from his arms.
 
 60 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "Let me go," she panted, "let me go," and blindly 
 she flung herself against the door that stood behind 
 her. Where it led, she did not know, she only knew 
 that she must get away, away from this man as she 
 had run away from the other. 
 
 Slipping into the room beyond, she threw herself 
 against the door, striving with desperate force to 
 hold it against the man on the other side. She had 
 only time to realize that she had flung herself into 
 his bedroom for shelter, when the door yielded, and 
 she cowered into a corner. 
 
 Von Pfaffen came toward her, his voice thick and 
 unsteady. The vein in his forehead beating, his eyes, 
 even away from the firelight, were bloodshot. 
 
 "Little one," he whispered, "you re not going to 
 shut me out to-night!"
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE huntsman had successfully stalked the doe. 
 With the ingenuity and skill of long experience he 
 had brought her to bay. The trophy won, he had 
 gone, leaving his victim suffering and alone, with a 
 wound that time might heal, but a scar that could 
 never be effaced. 
 
 When Marie roused herself from the stupor in 
 which she had lain, the room was flooded with sun 
 light. She sat up slowly. Her head throbbed with 
 a splitting pain, her eyeballs burned. She was sick 
 with revolt and terror. This man, whom she had 
 trusted, whom she had thought was her friend, was 
 worse than those from whom he had seemed to pro 
 tect her. One more veil was torn brutally away from 
 her eyes, and the world stared back at her, gaunt, 
 ugly, grim, and altogether pitiless. Phrases heard 
 at the convent, kept repeating themselves over and 
 over in her brain. What would her father have said 
 could he have known? How could she explain her 
 absence to the Schultzes? How could she face them 
 again? Thctt such a thing as this could have hap 
 pened to her! 
 
 "I ll kill myself !" she sobbed. "I want to die !" 
 
 After awhile, old Lena shuffled in with breakfast 
 on a tray, her ugly, wooden face, as expressionless 
 as a carven image, her wicked old eyes shifting about 
 the room. The girl buried her head deeper in the 
 
 pillows. 
 
 61
 
 62 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "Let me alone!" she cried. "Let me alone! I 
 want to die !" 
 
 The old woman grunted. 
 
 "Don t be a fool!" she said unsympathetically. 
 "What did you come here for?" and setting the tray 
 down, she left her to weep out her horror and remorse 
 alone. 
 
 For a long time she lay convulsed with sobs. Then 
 the natural reaction of youth and perfect health re 
 asserted itself. She gradually grew quiet. The 
 courage that had made it possible for her to face so 
 many trying experiences in the past year, came to 
 her rescue. 
 
 The thing had happened. There was no going 
 back. She must face it as best she could. 
 
 Later, her hat pinned on securely, her cloak 
 wrapped about her, she opened the door and went into 
 the library. 
 
 Von Pfaffen was sitting in the great easy chair by 
 the fire, evidently waiting for her. He rose as she 
 entered. 
 
 "Ah, little one " he began, but stopped as he 
 
 saw that she wag dressed for the street. 
 
 Marie looked at him dully. 
 
 "I m going!" 
 
 He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and smiled 
 into her eyes. 
 
 "Where?" The slight note of sarcasm did not 
 escape her. 
 
 "I don t know," her voice was almost a whisper, 
 her lips trembled pitifully.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 63 
 
 He bent over her with a smile. His long arm drew 
 her close to him. 
 
 "Sweetheart," he said softly, "don t be frightened. 
 I love you. You are all mine now." 
 
 The girl tried to draw away from him, crying 
 aloud her bitterness, but with the strength that she 
 could not battle against, Von Pfaffen held her firmly 
 against his shoulder. 
 
 "Little one," he whispered, "there is nothing to cry 
 about. I love you! As soon as I can arrange my 
 affairs, we ll be married. Everything will be well." 
 
 But Marie sobbed with long dry sobs that tore at 
 her throat. How could she face the Schultzes? How 
 could she go back to the "Two Eagles" even if they 
 would take her in ? Where was she to go ? What was 
 to become of her? 
 
 Von Pfaffen soothed and patted her. 
 
 "There is nothing to worry about, Liebchen," he 
 whispered. "Don t you trust me?" His brilliant eyes 
 softened into almost sincerity. "The Schultzes will 
 probably not take you in, besides, your place is here 
 with me." 
 
 Marie s breath caught in her throat and she shrank 
 away from him. 
 
 "No," she stammered, "no please! You must 
 let me go !" 
 
 "But where?" and in her heart the girl echoed his 
 words. 
 
 "Where!" 
 
 Quick to see his advantage, he put his hands on 
 her shoulders. 
 
 "Now listen, I love you ! I want you ! As soon as
 
 64 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 my affairs are adjusted, as soon as the work I m 
 engaged in is finished," and he pointed to the pile of 
 papers on the long table, "you and I will be married !" 
 
 Her trembling hands grasped his coat lapels. She 
 shook at them desperately. 
 
 "Marry me now," she begged, "marry me now! 
 What would the nuns say my father Frau 
 Schultz? Marry me now! You must!" 
 
 He drew her cheek against his own. 
 
 "Hush, little one," he whispered, "don t worry. 
 There are reasons why I can t arrange things now. 
 Everything will be all right. Can t you trust me?" 
 His eyes smiled into hers, the lines about his mouth 
 were softened, gentle. There was no suggestion of 
 the terrible creature against whom she had tried to 
 bar her door. 
 
 The power of his dominant personality over-awed 
 her. She wanted so to trust him. 
 
 "But what am I to do?" she faltered. "Where am 
 I to go?" 
 
 "You are not going anywhere. You are going to 
 stay here with me, sheltered, taken care of, protected, 
 as I shall protect you, until we can be married. You 
 don t want to leave me, do you ?" and in spite of her 
 grief, the warning voice of her conscience, Marie 
 thought of the "Two Eagles," of the swinging 
 wreaths of tobacco smoke, the heavy, fetid air, the 
 leers of the half-drunken students, which she seemed 
 suddenly to understand. She felt again the flabby, 
 sticky kiss of Brower against her cheek, and shud 
 dered as she thought what that, too, might have 
 meant. To go back to the "Two Eagles" was impos-
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 65 
 
 sible, even if Brower would have taken her, after the 
 blow she had given him, and the Schultzes the 
 Schultzes would never let her in again. She looked 
 about her half stupidly. The fire crackled comfort 
 ably in the stove. The room, in spite of its incon 
 gruity, was such a room as her father had taught 
 her to love. This man beside her was, after all, one 
 of her own class. 
 
 Through her thoughts, she could hear his voice 
 saying again, softly, kindly, with that subtle charm 
 that held such fascination for her: "You will stay, 
 little one? You don t want to leave me, when I love 
 you so ! We ll be married as soon as I can arrange it. 
 Trust me. Little hands like these were never meant 
 to work. Little feet like these should be cased in 
 satin. Let me give you everything, anything! 
 Sweetheart, sweetheart, you don t want to leave me 
 You can t!"
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE days that followed were like a dream to Marie. 
 At first there were tears and misgivings. Wonder 
 ment at what the Schultzes were thinking of her stay 
 ing away so long, racked her with remorse and suffer 
 ing, but Von Pfaffen quieted her fears, assured her 
 over and over of marriage as soon as his affairs could 
 be arranged, as soon as the work in which he was en 
 gaged, should be finished. 
 
 There was nowhere to go, nothing to do. She had 
 no money, and so miserably, she stayed on, hoping as 
 each day came, that it would bring the marriage he 
 was promising. 
 
 Sometimes she would look at the pile of papers on 
 the littered table and plead with him not to wait till 
 they were finished. Those piles of papers seemed 
 interminable. Her training, her mentality, all her 
 instincts told her, that after what had happened, she 
 was eternally damned unless he married her, and it 
 was that hope which kept her spirit alive. She lived 
 from day to day waiting for this salvation. When 
 he made his work, as he always did, his excuse, she 
 would look up into his eyes and resolve to wait. 
 
 He had set her mind at rest as to what the Schultzes 
 would say, by telling her that they knew where she 
 was, that he had told them he had engaged her as 
 his secretary. 
 
 "Isn t that a better position for you, than teaching 
 66
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 67 
 
 stupid children or singing in a smoky cafe?" he 
 asked. 
 
 He had sent old Lena away to visit her people, 
 and given over his keys and the care of his rooms to 
 Marie. In spite of the thought of whether the con 
 vent and her father would have approved of the state 
 of affairs, while waiting for the marriage, her fears 
 were gradually lulled and little by little, she came to 
 take things almost as a matter of course. 
 
 She had wanted to go back to her room at the 
 Schultzes for her few belongings. The only clothes 
 she had were her little white dress and the coat which 
 she had worn the night they came here from the "Two 
 Eagles." But Von Pfaffen had laughed. 
 
 "Never mind those few rags, Liebchen" he said, 
 "come with me and we ll get some more." 
 
 Marie had demurred at this, but he insisted. 
 
 "As my future wife, you owe it to me to look as 
 pretty as you can! When I introduce you to my 
 friends, you want me to be proud of you, don t you ?" 
 
 Reluctantly Marie had come to agree that perhaps 
 after all, this was right, that she could accept these 
 things almost as a marriage gift. Surely it meant 
 that she could trust him. She resolved, however, to 
 select only what was absolutely necessary. 
 
 But her eyes sparkled over the lovely clothes which 
 were the result of this decision, for although she had 
 chosen only plain things, Von Pfaffen had insisted 
 on adding one or two dainty dresses from which she 
 had resolutely turned away. 
 
 Marie was in that state of her development, where 
 absolute dependence upon other people was a neces-
 
 68 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 sity. She had clung to the Schultzes as she now clung 
 to the belief and hope that this man would, in the end, 
 exonerate her in the eyes of her conscience. 
 
 The chasm had been crossed, the bridge had been 
 burned. She knew desperately that her only salva 
 tion was to cling to the position in which she found 
 herself, she must go on in the hope that soon the 
 wrong that had been done her might be righted. 
 
 Sometimes when he was away on this mysterious 
 business of his, she used to sit and brood for hours, 
 either staring into the fire or out of the window, 
 never really seeing anything. She longed so for some 
 one to confide in, some one to advise her. She thought 
 of the good priest at the convent, who used to smile 
 and pat her head after confession. If she could only 
 have gone to him and asked his advice. But Von 
 Pfaffen always laughed when she spoke of going to 
 church, and as for confession, he had absolutely for 
 bidden her that. After each one of these days of 
 brooding, Marie would go to him when he returned 
 home and ask again when they were to be married. 
 
 Sometimes he used to laugh as he lifted her chin 
 with a long forefinger. 
 
 "What a little doubter!" he would say. "Come, 
 come, have patience, all in good time!" and then he 
 would so adroitly change the conversation that she 
 found herself thinking of other things in spite of 
 herself. Sometimes he would be pleased to take her 
 seriously. 
 
 "Marie," he would say, looking deep into her eyes 
 with his magnetically brilliant ones, "you are the 
 same to me as my wife now; do you think a few words
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 69 
 
 spoken by a priest will make me feel any differently ? 
 I m afraid you don t love me, or you wouldn t doubt 
 me!" 
 
 There was nothing for it, but resignation. If he 
 said things were all right, they must be. If he said 
 things would adjust themselves, they surely would. 
 She must be content to wait. 
 
 Gradually, she came to learn that this man who 
 had so cavalierly linked his life with hers, and who 
 posed before the world as an indolent gentleman of 
 leisure with no other vocation than his military 
 duties, which, however, never seemed to take him to 
 the barracks, had a secret engrossing occupation. 
 Private matters, from the knowledge of which she 
 was sternly shut out, occupied his constant attention 
 and often took him away for long periods. At such 
 times he gave her no knowledge of his destination or 
 when he would return. 
 
 At first she felt strange, alone in the quiet apart 
 ment, but she grew accustomed to these journeys of 
 his and to the sudden sound of his key in the door, 
 for he would come back as quietly and with as little 
 intimation as he had gone. 
 
 There were callers at all sorts of queer hours, men 
 in uniform and men muffled in great coats with hats 
 pulled down over their eyes, and always when they 
 came, he would manage so that she would either go to 
 her room or would remember some little shopping she 
 had to do. 
 
 Once she had been awakened in the night by voices. 
 She opened her door softly and looked out. Von 
 Pfaffen and five men were seated about the dining-
 
 70 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 table. They were drinking, their faces were flushed, 
 their manner excited. She heard one of them ask, 
 
 "Are you sure it will come?" 
 
 To which the eldest man in the party, a burly, 
 square-jawed officer of high rank, replied with an 
 oath : 
 
 "It must come !" 
 
 She saw Von Pfaffen rise to his feet and lift his 
 wine glass. 
 
 "Here s to the Day !" he said. 
 
 The others rose also, and rang their glasses 
 together. 
 
 "To the Day!" 
 
 She closed her door quietly. What did it mean? 
 What was the day for which they were waiting. 
 
 In the evenings that followed she heard this toast 
 again and again, and each time it stirred in her a 
 vague dread of some impending evil. 
 
 Once she had had a glimpse of one of these visitors 
 who evidently desired that his identity should not be 
 disclosed. In the dim light, the face seemed strangely 
 familiar. 
 
 The Captain s manner as he led his guest to the 
 door was full of a servility she had never known him 
 to show to any one, but while she was still wondering, 
 the visitor caught sight of her and drew his coat 
 collar hastily up over his face. Von Pfaffen turned 
 angrily and slammed the door. She spent a long 
 time puzzling as to where she had seen these features 
 before. It seemed to her that they had been depicted 
 in many photographs, but who he was she could not 
 remember.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 71 
 
 When she mentioned this incident later, Von Pfaffen 
 told her unceremoniously to hold her tongue, though 
 afterward, he made up to her with extra caresses for 
 his rudeness. 
 
 Once she had overheard a word, a sudden phrase, 
 that, though she was unable to quite understand its 
 meaning, still filled her with breathless dread, a vague 
 apprehension of this engrossing work of his. 
 
 One evening when they were alone, Marie spread 
 a dainty little supper on the long table, pushing aside 
 the scattered papers with a careless hand to make 
 room for the tempting dishes. There had been a 
 bottle of Tokay and he was flushed with the glow of 
 its contents, but there was a suppressed exultation 
 in his manner which she could not altogether attribute 
 to the wine he had drunk. She had never seen him 
 quite like this, he was always so much master of him 
 self. She felt instinctively the force of some great 
 underlying excitement that was gripping him. 
 
 "Little one," he bragged thickly, "some day you 
 and I will have everything we can wish for. Some 
 day soon, we will stand by and watch all the world 
 rock and when it settles 1 down again, there will be 
 only one country the Fatherland !" 
 
 She was startled at the expression that came over 
 his face. It glowed with ruthless greed, the will to 
 dominate, to succeed, no matter what the cost. 
 
 "How strangely you talk!" she said. "What a 
 wild dream !" 
 
 "Dream! Herrgott! It s no dream! It s the 
 truth !" and he brought his fist down on the table so 
 that the empty glasses danced. Then he suddenly
 
 72 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 turned quiet, sullen, and after vainly trying to bring 
 him back to his gay mood again, Marie gathered the 
 remains of the little feast and left the room. 
 
 Sometimes they conversed in French when they were 
 together. The Captain spoke it flawlessly, without a 
 trace of the German guttural, and often he would 
 amuse the girl by imitating Parisian street gamins 
 or French market women. He was an excellent mimic 
 and Marie was secretly amazed at his ability to 
 change his personality at will. It seemed so incon 
 gruous with the severe dignity of his character as 
 she knew it. 
 
 He always spoke to her as though to a child he 
 was trying to amuse, but as she listened, Marie was 
 conscious of an indefinable apprehension, a vague fear 
 of this man whom she could so little understand. 
 
 During the long, monotonous days when she was 
 alone, she turned for solace and company to the books 
 which lined his room. A new world was opened up 
 for her of which she had never dreamed. She spent 
 long hours pouring over Schopenhauer, Kant, 
 Nietzsche, and even some of the Russian writers, Tol 
 stoi, Gorky, Dostoieffsky. She began to see the 
 answers to some of her own problems through the 
 bitter eyes of these great Sad Ones. 
 
 One dull, cold day, when Von Pfaffen had been 
 away longer than usual, she curled herself up in the 
 great chair by the fire with a volume of Dostoieff- 
 sky s "Letters from the Underworld." It was one 
 of those wild March days, whose fierceness proclaims 
 it as the last gasp of winter, and the glow of the 
 coals was very cheering.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 73 
 
 She turned to the story, "Apropos of Falling 
 Sleet." The title seemed appropriate for the day, 
 and was in sharp contrast to the comfort of the fire. 
 
 But as she read through the bitter, stinging tirade 
 which is poured out on the head of a poor little Petro- 
 grad prostitute, a tirade etched with the biting acid 
 of the great Russian s most caustic pen, her face 
 whitened, her lips trembled, the horror of it shook 
 her with a dreadful fear. This first knowledge, that 
 because men were brutal animals there must be women 
 whose lot it was to suffer so, widened her eyes with 
 a terror like a child must feel in a nightmare. She 
 threw the book away from her and tried to forget it 
 by looking over the scattered papers on the table. 
 They proved uninteresting and unintelligible to her, 
 and so with characteristic neatness, she arranged 
 them in methodical piles. Von Pfaffen, entering in 
 his usual unexpected manner, observed her occupa 
 tion and was furiously angry with her, so angry that 
 she was frightened. The pages of the book she had 
 read, still clear in her mind, she burst into hysterical 
 weeping. 
 
 His anger, however, was short-lived. 
 
 "Never mind," he said, "it s of no matter, but re 
 member you are never to go near my papers again" ; 
 and Marie, grateful that the storm had blown over, 
 dried her eyes, promising faithfully. 
 
 She had thought many times of going to see the 
 Schultzes, but always there was something to prevent. 
 She did send them a letter enclosing a bank note, and 
 telling them that she was well and that soon she and 
 the Captain were to be married, but the letter had
 
 74 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 come back unopened and she had concluded that for 
 some reason they had given up the little flat and 
 gone elsewhere. 
 
 Once she had timidly mentioned the Russian book 
 to Von Pfaffen, but he had taken it from her clinging 
 fingers and said that such books were not for pretty 
 heads like hers to worry over. 
 
 Occasionally he took her to the theatre or the 
 opera. She was in the midst of a world she had never 
 known, filled with the color and life of Vienna, the 
 sight of beautiful women in wonderful clothes, of 
 sparkle, light. It was as though she were living in 
 a different sphere. But his business engrossed him 
 more and more as the days went by, and to Marie, 
 his waning interest merely meant that these mys 
 terious affairs of which she knew nothing, were tak 
 ing up his entire attention. 
 
 One day Franz, the young Lieutenant, who had 
 been her first sponsor at the "Two Eagles," walked 
 in and found her busy about the place, a dainty little 
 apron tied over her pretty morning frock, her yellow 
 hair braided neatly about her small head. This was 
 the first time he had seen her since those nights at 
 the "Two Eagles." He stood and looked at her with 
 mouth and eyes open. 
 
 "Ach," he said, "so?" 
 
 Marie s answer had been filled with dignity. There 
 was something about this heavy-faced boy she always 
 resented. 
 
 "I am the Captain s secretary," she said hastily, 
 and then added as she saw the flat face broaden in 
 an understanding grin, "the Captain and I are to
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 75 
 
 be married as soon as all this work is finished," and 
 she waved a small hand toward the table. 
 
 The grin on the Lieutenant s face grew into a 
 laugh. 
 
 "Married?" he chuckled. "Married! That s good! 
 I congratulate you, Fraulein," and gathering the 
 papers he had come for, he turned on his heel and left. 
 
 Marie could hear his noisy chuckle above the sound 
 of his clicking boot heels, as he hurried down the 
 passage. 
 
 She was furiously angry at something she had seen 
 in his eyes. His coarse laugh hurt her. All her old 
 doubts, which Von Pfaffen s suave manner had man 
 aged to lull, came surging back. This stupid young 
 Lieutenant, he, too, suspected what old Lena had 
 hinted at. She threw herself on the couch and wept 
 in an agony of bitterness and shame. 
 
 When Von Pfaffen came in, she ran to him with 
 the tears still wet on her flushed cheeks and clung to 
 him desperately. 
 
 "You are going to marry me, aren t you?" she 
 sobbed. 
 
 "Of course, we ll be married," he assured her, "of 
 course, but we must wait. When this pressing work 
 is finished, everything will be as you wish !"
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 AND so the days flew by bringing little change, 
 excepting that Marie was left more and more to her 
 self as Von Pfaffen s work seemed to accumulate. 
 
 She seldom touched the piano when he was near, 
 for although she played well, she lacked the round 
 ness of touch, the depth of tone which pleased his 
 fastidious ear. But during the long hours when he 
 was away, her music was a great solace to her. 
 
 Her walks never carried her far from the neighbor 
 hood, and brought her little amusement. It was a 
 peculiarly quiet, uneventful location, given over, for 
 the most part, to nurses and their charges. 
 
 Von Pfaffen was away from the apartment now 
 for longer periods of time. These journeys came at 
 more and more frequent intervals. His manner 
 toward her began to change, he grew brusque and 
 indifferent, the slightest thing irritated him. He 
 would sit for long periods at the littered table, going 
 over his papers in silence. Fearful of annoying him, 
 she would remain quiet, crocheting endless yards of 
 lace or staring into the coals, and when he had finished 
 his work, he would gather it together, put on his hat 
 and coat and leave her without a word. 
 
 Once during his absence, she had ventured another 
 glimpse at those papers which so absorbed him, but 
 they seemed to be mostly tracings of curious lines, 
 columns of cryptic numbers and telegrams in what 
 appeared to be a cypher, and she soon lost all interest 
 
 as to what might be their import. 
 
 76
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 77 
 
 Toward spring, old Lena walked in one morning, 
 her pendulous nose red from the brisk winds, her 
 ample form swathed in the enveloping folds of an 
 ancient shawl. 
 
 "So you re still here, Fraulein?" was her ungra 
 cious greeting, and Marie, who had welcomed her 
 with a smile, was chilled. 
 
 "Of course, I m still here, Lena," she answered, as 
 the old woman laid aside her wraps. "I m to stay 
 here. The Herr Captain and I are to be married 
 soon." 
 
 The old woman looked at her curiously from be 
 tween her reddish eyelids. 
 
 "So," she grunted, "that s what he told you. Well, 
 it s not for me to say," and she ran an inquisitive 
 forefinger along the ledge of the mantle in search 
 of dust. 
 
 Marie was angry, but it had been so long since she 
 had spoken with anyone besides the Captain, that 
 she welcomed the return of even this unpleasant 
 creature. 
 
 "Lena," she began, "you know the Captain so well, 
 you must know that he always does what he says he 
 will do. Won t you be a little kind to me? I m a 
 very lonely girl." 
 
 The old woman smoothed her scanty hair, which 
 she wore according to an ancient fashion, banded 
 down on either side of her face and rolled under her 
 ears into a hard little knot behind. 
 
 "Well, Fraulein," she said grudgingly, "you may 
 be different from the others, I don t know," and 
 that was all the conversation Marie could get from
 
 78 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 her for the rest of the day, although she followed tlie 
 old woman about the little apartment as she grum- 
 blingly set things back in the order in which she was 
 accustomed to having them, out of which Marie had 
 changed them. 
 
 The girl tried to talk to Von Pfaffen that night, 
 but it was very late when he came in and his mood 
 was such as to discourage any effort to continue the 
 conversation, and so she lay awake almost till dawn, 
 worrying. She had been afraid to face this question 
 boldly, even to herself. After his first promises, she 
 believed him because she wanted to believe him, be 
 cause her peace of mind depended upon it. In the 
 books she had read before she came here, wedding 
 bells always ended the last chapter, journeys always 
 ended in lovers meeting. But the Captain s books 
 were different. There was that horrible chapter of 
 Dostoieffsky, which she had since read again, and 
 every now and then an unpleasant picture had crossed 
 her mind, of one of the convent girls who had come 
 back weeping to the Mother Superior, and when she 
 allowed herself the memory, she could even now hear 
 the stern voice saying: "My child, you have sinned 
 deeply!" 
 
 But Von Pfaffen s kindness, his repeated assur 
 ances, at first had shut out all fear of this. Now, 
 however, things looked different, his manner had 
 changed. Old Lena s allusion to those "others," dis 
 quieted her. 
 
 She thought of the letter that had come back un 
 opened from the Schultzes. She recalled that the 
 address had been crossed out and her own substituted
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 79 
 
 in which she now remembered to resemble Von Pfaf- 
 fen s handwriting, a fact which had made no impres 
 sion on her mind at the time. 
 
 She lay watching the square of the window grow 
 gray with the morning light. This couldn t come to 
 her, she thought ; he had promised. But supposing it 
 were true ? What would she do ? 
 
 She fell asleep at last with the sound of his words 
 in her ears, "Don t you trust me?" 
 
 But it was young Franz who added the last straw 
 to her endurance. He came hurrying in one morn 
 ing several days later to get a portfolio the Captain 
 wanted. 
 
 "Good morning, Fraulein," was the young man s 
 greeting as old Lena let him into the living-room, 
 "it s nice and cozy here, I wish I could stay." 
 
 Marie pushed one of the big chairs nearer the stove. 
 
 "Why not sit down awhile," she smiled. 
 
 Usually her manner with him had repelled any 
 advances, but to-day she wanted to talk to some one, 
 anyone, even this flat-faced boy. 
 
 Franz (Marie had never learned his last name), 
 sank stiffly into the cushions of the great chair, his 
 hands with their thick fingers spread out on each 
 knee, the toes of his shiny boots turned toward one 
 another, round, pale blue eyes staring fatuously into 
 her face. 
 
 "You are very pretty, Fraulein," he began, but 
 Marie interrupted him. 
 
 "Don t compliment me, Herr Lieutenant. I want 
 to talk to you if you have a few minutes to spare."
 
 80 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 He leaned toward her with a smile that was meant 
 to be ingratiating. 
 
 "Indeed yes, Fraulein," he said and cleared his 
 throat. "Indeed yes ! My time is at the disposal of 
 so beautiful a young lady." 
 
 His manner was such a ludicrous imitation of the 
 suave tones of his chief that Marie almost laughed in 
 his face, but she controlled the impulse and went 
 straight to the heart of her question. 
 
 "Tell me, when will all this be finished?" her glance 
 took in not only the littered table, but the yellow 
 portfolio resting at the side of his chair. 
 
 "That I do not know, Fraulein. Why do you 
 ask?" 
 
 "Because, I am waiting for that, for then the 
 Captain and I are to be married." 
 
 The boy threw back his head and laughed. 
 
 "Ach, Fraulein, you will have a long, long wait !" 
 
 "What makes you say that?" Marie was her own 
 inquisitor now. 
 
 "Because," and the boy rose awkwardly, shaking 
 down the tight blue legs of his uniform, "because the 
 Herr Captain s work is never finished." 
 
 "Do you mean ?" Marie was on her feet now, 
 
 the scales were falling fast from her eyes. 
 
 He put a clumsy hand on her arm. 
 
 "Come Kraulein, you re too pretty to worry," he 
 said. "If tHe Herr Captain grows too busy, there s 
 always me." 
 
 The blood rushed into Marie s face and receded 
 quickly again, leaving her very lips white. 
 
 "I think you had better go," she said, and there
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 81 
 
 was that in her manner that made the Lieutenant, 
 after one look into her eyes, turn on his heel and leave 
 the room, closing the door after him with a click. 
 
 Marie stood for a long time motionless, unseeing. 
 They were right, Franz and Lena. She had been a 
 fool, but she would give him one more chance. She 
 would put the question to him unfalteringly when 
 he came in. She dragged herself over to the window 
 seat and sat looking down into the square. Her 
 hands clasped and unclasped nervously, her teeth tore 
 at her underlip. She made up her mind she would 
 sit there and watch for him, no matter how long it 
 would be before he came. With dry eyes, she stared 
 down into the deserted street, for even the nurse maids 
 and their charges were absent. 
 
 It was one of those windy spring days when the 
 breath of winter still lingers in the air and sends the 
 dust whirling in eddies about the street and around 
 corners. The clouds hung low, and every now and 
 then, a splash of rain moistened the pavement. 
 
 Two women were coming toward each other, their 
 skirts blowing against their limbs and outlining them 
 like Greek statues. The one as she came against the 
 wind, held her head low to guard her hat, her white 
 stockings showing above her shoe tops as her skirts 
 ballooned behind her. The other leaned against the 
 gale and almost ran with funny little hurried steps, 
 as the wind pushed her before it, one hand hanging 
 onto her hat, the other trying to steady her flying 
 skirts. 
 
 They met, passed, and left the street once more to 
 the wind, the dust eddies and scattered pieces of
 
 82 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 paper which danced and skittered along the 
 pavement. 
 
 Lena came in after awhile to find out if Marie 
 would have some lunch, but the girl paid no heed to 
 her question, and the old woman shuffled out again, 
 crossly. 
 
 The fire died down, the burnt coals clicking as they 
 fell through the grate into the graying pile of ashes. 
 The little clock on the mantel struck the hour, the 
 half hour, and again the hour, but Marie sat as she 
 had sat since the Lieutenant left her. 
 
 Everything Von Pfaffen had ever said came back 
 to her clearly, stripped of all the glamor, all the 
 fascination, all the hope that had held her these many 
 weeks. She remembered things he had told her that 
 were deliberate lies, lies so cunningly worded that she 
 had never been able quite to accuse him of them. She 
 found herself facing the fact, that almost every state 
 ment he had made to her, though made with the posi 
 tive manner of assurance, and with every semblance 
 of truth, had been utterly false. She was conscious 
 of a great growing anger, a fierce glow of hatred, 
 resentment. Her eyes narrowed, her lips tightened. 
 Once for all, she would know the truth. 
 
 Several times the telephone bell shrilled out, but 
 she paid no heed, and then at last a huge chocolate- 
 colored car turned the corner and drew up at the 
 curb. The chauffeur jumped down and threw open 
 the door. Marie flattened her face against the win- 
 dowpane. 
 
 After a second, the Captain stepped onto the pave 
 ment and a slender, white-gloved hand in a handsome
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 83 
 
 sable cuff, was held out. He bowed over it, and turn 
 ing on his heel entered the apartment house. The 
 chauffeur closed the door and with a purr, the car 
 drew away from the curb and went on its way. 
 
 Marie waited to hear Von Pfaffen s key in the lock, 
 her heart pounding. No matter what his mood, she 
 must know her fate now. The Lieutenant s laugh and 
 Lena s phrase about the "others" were ringing in 
 her ears. 
 
 He came in hurriedly and threw his hat and heavy 
 fur-lined coat on a chair. 
 
 "Well, Marie," he said brusquely, "I have only 
 a few seconds. Will you ring for Lena to bring some 
 coffee?" 
 
 She came and stood beside him where he sat at the 
 table rummaging among the litter. 
 
 "I must speak with you," she said, "there is some 
 thing I must know." 
 
 "I am busy now," he did not raise his eyes from the 
 papers. 
 
 "When are we going to be married?" 
 
 The Captain let his thin hand rest a moment on 
 the edge of the table. 
 
 "Are you worrying about that again?" he asked, 
 looking up at her with a frown. "Haven t I told you 
 as soon as my work is finished?" 
 
 "Your work will never be finished!" Marie was 
 echoing the Lieutenant s words in almost the Lieu 
 tenant s stolid tone. 
 
 Von Pfaffen s face darkened. 
 
 "You re nagging again," he said. "I have too 
 much to think about to be bothered about trifles. If
 
 84. MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 you are not satisfied here, I have no doubt the 
 Schultzes will take you in again." 
 
 Marie drew in her breath sharply. They were 
 right, and she had believed him. She seized him 
 fiercely by the coat sleeve. 
 
 "You lied to me!" she cried. "You lied! You 
 never meant to marry me! You lied to me!" and 
 with all her strength, she shook at his arm as a small 
 terrier might shake at the shaggy coat of a mastiff. 
 
 Von Pfaffen turned and held her from him. 
 
 "I marry you?" he sneered, "a cabaret singer!" 
 
 Marie s mouth was dry, the little pulse in her 
 throat pounded as though it would burst. She drew 
 back her hand and struck Von Pfaffen straight across 
 the face. 
 
 He rose to his feet with an oath, his cheek a dull 
 red, excepting where the mark of her blow showed 
 livid. 
 
 "You little devil," he said between his teeth. 
 "What do you think you could ever be in the life of 
 a man like me? You want the truth? Well, I ll give 
 it to you. You amused me, filled in long hours, when 
 my nerves were ready to snap. Did you think for 
 a second that a woman like you could hold me? I 
 thought even you had more brains than really to be 
 lieve that! I ve given you comfort, I ve taken care 
 of you, I ve given you much more than if I must 
 speak plainly you have really been worth. There 
 are things of so much more moment in my life that 
 even this explanation is taking valuable time ; but 
 I ve this to thank you for, you have helped me tell
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 85 
 
 you what I ve been meaning to, that as soon as you 
 care to, you are at liberty to go !" 
 
 He turned away from the flood of tears he expected 
 to follow his words, but the girl only stood staring 
 at him, terrified. 
 
 Her mind was waking slowly to another phase of 
 the world of which she had never dreamed. Uncon 
 sciously, the flower of her life was opening, develop 
 ing, and the development was agony. She had learned 
 grief with the loss of her father, poverty and the 
 struggle for existence in that bitter year, and now 
 this! 
 
 She turned with a dry sob and stumbled into her 
 room, shutting and locking the door after her. She 
 must think. She must reason out what to do. 
 Shame, horrible, scourging shame, swept over her. 
 She threw herself in a shuddering heap across the 
 counterpane of her bed. 
 
 Spent with the grief and anguish that had followed 
 her awakening, she lay for a long while dully repeat 
 ing over and over the phrase, "he lied to me !" Pres 
 ently this gave place to resentment, bitter hatred, 
 which dried her tears. Her mind was swept of all 
 illusions, she saw things clearly as they were. Once 
 more she faced a crisis, and swiftly she made her de 
 cision as to what course she must follow. She sat 
 up listening for the sounds that would tell of Von 
 Pfaffen s departure. 
 
 She heard him rattle the poker among the dead 
 coals, then old Lena shuffle in and set down the coffee 
 tray, his rough dismissal of her and the old woman s 
 angry grunt. The telephone rang and she heard the
 
 86 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 click of china, as he hastily set down his cup and 
 went to answer it. She heard him say, "yes, imme 
 diately, I ll take a cab, good-bye," and her imagina 
 tion followed him as he hung up the receiver and 
 shrugged himself into his great coat, and with the 
 sound of the closing door, she jumped to her feet. 
 
 Hastily she rummaged in her bureau drawer. 
 There were two or three bank notes and some gold, 
 besides some small change, housekeeping money. 
 These she stuffed into her purse, they would stand 
 between her and starvation for a little while at least. 
 She took her suit and hat from the clothes press, and 
 slipping off her blue gown, let it lie on the floor where 
 it fell. She kicked off the little satin bedroom slip 
 pers and pulled on her shoes. 
 
 Once in her clothes, she brought out her small 
 leather traveling case, and regardless of neatness or 
 precision, she tumbled in the necessary things. She 
 hesitated over the few jewels Von Pfaffen had given 
 her, with the thought that they might aid her in 
 escaping. She decided, however, to leave them and 
 placed them where they could easily be seen on her 
 dressing-table. Then, carefully, she locked and 
 strapped the bag. 
 
 Her hat was pinned securely, she fastened the collar 
 of her coat, and with a last look about, she picked up 
 her bag and left the house. But it was not until she 
 felt the cold air of the outside world whipping against 
 her cheeks, that she realized that she had nowhere 
 to go.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THERE was a trolley line along the end of the 
 street where Von Pfaffen lived, and almost without 
 her own volition, Marie found herself making toward 
 it. She boarded the first tram that came along, re 
 gardless of the direction. She paid her fare and sat 
 staring ahead of her. What was to become of her? 
 Across the way, a fat market woman sat mumbling 
 her gums. Marie found herself watching the huge, 
 uncorseted figure, quivering with the motion of the 
 car. 
 
 At each corner, the tram stopped and people kept 
 getting on and off, continually passing between Marie 
 and the old woman who dozed and woke every once 
 in a while, with a start. 
 
 "I ll get off where she does," thought the girl. 
 "I ll leave it to Fate." 
 
 After what seemed an interminable time, the old 
 woman pulled herself up with a jerk, gathered her 
 basket and various other bundles and waddled out of 
 the car. Marie jumped to her feet and stumbled 
 after her. She stood and watched the ungainly figure 
 till it disappeared round a corner, then she looked 
 about to see where she was. The houses seemed 
 strangely familiar, and suddenly, she realized that 
 she was near the little flat where she had lived with 
 the Schultzes. Fate was kind. 
 
 It was almost with joy that she started toward 
 
 what had been her home. True, her letters had been 
 
 87
 
 88 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 unanswered, sent back unopened, but kind Frau 
 Schultz and the old man would surely not turn her 
 away, when she told them everything. 
 
 With a beating heart, she climbed the stair. On 
 the second landing, a slatternly old woman put her 
 head out of a door. 
 
 "Who are you looking for, Fraulein?" she asked, 
 in a hoarse voice. 
 
 Marie told her. 
 
 "They re not here any more," croaked the crea 
 ture. "The old man s dead, he had a stroke or some 
 thing ; the old woman s gone, I don t know where." 
 
 Marie choked and staggered back against the wall. 
 Her only friends in all the city one of them dead, 
 the other vanished. 
 
 As the door slammed, the girl started blindly down 
 the stairs. An old Bible lesson came into her mind: 
 "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have 
 nests; but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his 
 head." 
 
 She was alone, absolutely alone in this great city, 
 with no one to whom she could go for help. She 
 walked up the street aimlessly, slowly, her lips mur 
 muring over and over : "What shall I do? What shall 
 I do?" 
 
 On the corner she stopped. She realized she must 
 collect her scattered thoughts, she must form some 
 plan. It was growing late, here and there the street 
 lights were beginning to flicker. 
 
 Presently two men came toward her. She watched 
 them as they drew near, half conscious of what she 
 was doing. One was a dark, heavy-set man who wore
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 89 
 
 a plaid traveling coat and carried a shabby valise. 
 The other was younger, quite thin and stoop-shoul 
 dered, his hat pulled down over his eyes. As they 
 passed her, Marie heard the thin man say : 
 
 "You will arrive at the Gare du Nord, mein Herr. 
 I m sure they will be there to meet you. Parisians are 
 notably hospitable." 
 
 "We must hurry, or we ll miss the train," rumbled 
 the other in a deep voice and they swung into a 
 brisker walk as they passed Marie. 
 
 Like a flash she had the answer to her question. In 
 Paris, lived the only relatives she had in the world, 
 some distant cousins of her mother s. She remem 
 bered that once her father had brought one of them 
 to the convent to see her. She remembered the kindly 
 sparkle in his eyes, as he playfully pinched her cheek 
 and told her that some day when she was grown, she 
 must come to visit them. They had sent her a letter 
 of sympathy on the occasion of her father s death. 
 She would go to Paris. 
 
 She had half forgotten their address, but she would 
 try to remember it on the train. Turning, she 
 almost ran after the two men on their way to the 
 railroad station. 
 
 At the ticket office, she emptied her purse. There 
 was very little left when she had paid her fare, but 
 it was with a sense of relief that Marie followed the 
 porter as he went toward the train with her bag. 
 She had taken a second-class ticket and he thrust her 
 into a compartment, holding out a dirty hand for his 
 tip. There was scarcely time to pay him his few 
 hellers, when the train began to move, and with a
 
 90 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 gasp she realized that she was starting out into an 
 absolutely unknown world, with almost nothing in 
 her purse between herself and starvation. 
 
 The compartment was empty. She took off her 
 hat and tried to make herself as comfortable as she 
 could for the long journey and, as the train came to 
 full speed and they left the city behind, she stared 
 out into the darkness. 
 
 She tried to remember where this cousin she was 
 setting out to find, lived. His name was Le Grand 
 Jules Le Grand the address was the address was 
 and Marie, exhausted by the bitter disappointments 
 of the day was sound asleep. 
 
 Toward midnight, she awoke. Pain, humiliation, 
 anxiety, returned. The dim emptiness of the swaying 
 railway carriage seemed to symbolize her own life. 
 She was so utterly helpless, so absolutely alone, being 
 carried on swiftly by a force over which she had no 
 control. 
 
 She tried to remember the Paris address as she sat 
 and stared at the lamp in the ceiling, swinging with 
 the motion of the train. 
 
 "Avenue Avenue " she kept repeating, when 
 
 suddenly it came to her. "Avenue Victor Hugo, 
 Number Five Bis!" 
 
 She almost cried aloud with joy. Paris was no 
 longer a desert to her. There was such a place as the 
 Avenue Victor Hugo, Number Five Bis there was 
 such a person as Monsieur Jules Le Grand. There 
 was some one in the world to whom she could go, and 
 Vienna, Von Pfaffen and all the months she had spent 
 with him, that chapter was closed, finished forever.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 91 
 
 She dug her nails in her palms. 
 
 "I m going to bury it all," she whispered to her 
 self. "I m going to bury it deep. None of it ever 
 happened. I m going to be born again the day I 
 reach Paris." 
 
 Early in the morning the train rumbled into the 
 station at Munich, and a fat guard snapped open the 
 door of her compartment, shouting: 
 
 "Aus steigen! Milnchen!" 
 
 She gathered her wraps and the little bag and fol 
 lowed the ungainly porter to where the Paris train 
 was waiting at the far end of the platform. 
 
 This time the compartment was almost filled. 
 
 Two English women were already settled for the 
 long journey, each deeply immersed in a small red 
 guide-book. In one corner, a smart little Viennese 
 with penciled eyebrows and reddened lips, smiled to 
 herself as she looked out of the window. The other 
 two corners were also filled. One, by a heavy, over 
 dressed Jewess. The other, piled with the luggage 
 of the two English women. Marie had not the 
 temerity to ask them to remove it, so she sat silently 
 in the small space allotted her. 
 
 The train began to jolt and slowly pulled out of 
 the station, gathering speed, till finally it swung clear 
 of the houses of Munich and out into the country. 
 
 It was a drizzly cold day, with a leaden sky, and 
 the landscape, as they flew by, looked cheerless and 
 sodden. 
 
 From the pile of luggage, the English women ex 
 tracted a tea-basket and prepared to make tea. One 
 of them offered Marie a cup.
 
 92 
 
 She refused it with a shake of her head and a mur 
 mured, "Thank you." 
 
 The little Viennese began humming to herself. She 
 was munching some cakes out of a paper bag, and the 
 crumbs kept falling on her lap. She brushed them 
 away with a none-too-clean hand. 
 
 "It s a long journey!" said the fat Jewess. 
 
 The little Viennese smiled. 
 
 "Sometimes long journeys have happy endings," 
 she said. 
 
 The two English women were talking to each other 
 in low voices. 
 
 Marie only knew a few words of their language, 
 and she listened half curiously to the sharp, sibilant 
 sounds as the women evidently discussed the places 
 mentioned in their guide-books. 
 
 What a strange language English was, she 
 thought, every other word seeming to end with a 
 sharp hiss. 
 
 The fat Jewess, encouraged by the smile of the 
 little Viennese, began a voluble one-sided conver 
 sation. 
 
 Marie watched the lamp above her head sway back 
 and forth. As the trees and villages flew past, each 
 one bringing her nearer this great unknown city, she 
 wondered if there might be a possibility of her finding 
 happiness there. 
 
 She became aware that the two English women were 
 discussing her, their eyes taking in the details of her 
 costume. It made her uncomfortable. She wondered 
 if there was anything about her appearance that was 
 in the least indicative of what she had been through.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 93 
 
 The long day wore on, in fitful conversation, brief, 
 uneasy snatches of sleep, weary watching of the flying 
 landscape. 
 
 As the light died, the two English women settled 
 themselves for the night and were soon asleep, their 
 mouths open in unlovely abandon. The fat Jewess 
 ostentatiously turned her rings with the stones inside 
 her hands and sank into a noisy slumber. Marie 
 leaned her head back wearily against the dusty red 
 velvet cushions, and closed her eyes, but the sleep she 
 so longed for as a blessed respite from her thoughts, 
 would not come. 
 
 Toward midnight, she sat up with the sudden stop 
 ping of the train, as did the other occupants of the 
 compartment. They were crossing the border and 
 the custom officers were going through the luggage. 
 
 "Sugar? Chocolate? Matches? Cigars?" she 
 heard them say, as one by one the bags were sleepily 
 opened and gone through, sleepily locked and 
 strapped again, and a sticky stamp pasted on the 
 outside. Then the door was slammed and locked and 
 they all settled down once more to slumber, but to 
 Marie, sleep would not come. 
 
 The train sped on and as the morning broke, the 
 others began to stir. The two English women made 
 their toilets with the aid of a handsome leather dress 
 ing-case. The little Viennese sat up and reddened her 
 lips with a tiny lipstick, and fluffed her hair. This 
 done, from somewhere in her small bag she brought 
 out a paper bag filled with food and began munching 
 it, happily smiling to herself as she stared out of 
 the window. The fat Jewess awoke with a yawn.
 
 94 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "Where are we?" she asked in guttural German, 
 but as nobody answered, she busied herself turning 
 her rings right side out, and smoothing her carefully 
 dressed hair with the palms of her plump white hands. 
 
 Day had arrived. 
 
 Marie listlessly watched them preen themselves. 
 She gave a cursory pat to her own hair, a cursory 
 straightening to her collar. She sat up very straight. 
 Her head twisted to see the flying landscape. Her 
 cheeks were flushed with excitement, but under her 
 eyes lay violet shadows. Her lips trembled like a 
 child s about to cry. She was frightened again, now 
 that she was hearing Paris. What was she going to 
 find there? Suppose, after all, the address she re 
 membered was wrong? Suppose Monsieur Le Grand 
 had moved? With thoughts like this, she tortured 
 herself. She blinked back the tears and bit her lips. 
 She must not break down now. 
 
 After what seemed centuries, the train rumbled into 
 the dark cavern of the Gare du Nord. The English 
 women stuck their heads out of the window, calling: 
 
 "Portier! Portier!" 
 
 The little Viennese gathered her small belongings. 
 As the train came to a standstill, and the guard 
 opened the door, she was out like a flash, and Marie 
 saw her running with a happy laugh into a pair of 
 masculine arms held out to her. 
 
 The English women loaded a thin porter with their 
 luggage which almost hid him from view, and sedately 
 followed him along the platform. 
 
 The fat Jewess slowly gathered her valises and 
 packages and stood blocking the doorway while she
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 95 
 
 bargained with the porter. Coming at last to an 
 agreement, she stepped heavily down and waddled 
 after him. 
 
 Marie, in the shadow of the deserted compartment, 
 waited, too frightened to move. The platform was a 
 babel of voices, shrieking porters, scolding guards, 
 trunks going this way and that, people jostling each 
 other as they came and went. 
 
 At last a porter thrust his head in at the door. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he asked, "are you staying here 
 always?" 
 
 She was trembling as she stepped onto the plat 
 form, and the man eyed her curiously. 
 
 "Taxi?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, yes," gasped Marie, "of course." 
 
 She followed him through the maze, and handed 
 her ticket to the gate-keeper. As she stood on the 
 steps of the great station, waiting till the man should 
 have found her a cab, a sense of utter desolation came 
 over her. Paris, gay, wonderful, laughing Paris, 
 lay before her, but to the girl, it seemed as though 
 she were staring into Chaos itself.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE taxi rolled along the Champs Elysees and 
 finally, turned into the Avenue Victor Hugo and 
 stopped at Number Five Bis. 
 
 "Behold, we have arrived, Mademoiselle," smiled 
 the driver genially, as he turned about and looked 
 down at her from his seat. 
 
 Marie rose hurriedly and stepped to the street. As 
 she opened her purse to pay the man, she suddenly 
 realized that she had nothing but Austrian money. 
 
 "I have no French money. Will you can you take 
 this?" and she held out a small handful of hellers and 
 kronen. 
 
 The man looked dubiously at the unfamiliar coins, 
 and lifted expressive shoulders. 
 
 "But Mademoiselle, what can I do with those?" 
 he said. "Go in the house and get it from your 
 friends." 
 
 Marie s heart sank. Suppose the Le Grands no 
 longer lived here ! Suppose a thousand things ! But 
 realizing that the man must be paid, she decided to 
 do as he suggested. She stooped to pick up her bag, 
 but he stopped her. 
 
 "Oh no, Mademoiselle, allow me," and taking it 
 from her, he followed her to the door. It was a long 
 way from the Gave du Nord. He was not anxious to 
 lose sight of his fare. 
 
 A stout, red-haired man with weak eyes and a green 
 
 apron tied loosely about him. opened the door. 
 
 96
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 97 
 
 "Does Monsieur Le Grand, Monsieur Jules Le 
 Grand live here?" asked Marie nervously. 
 
 It seemed an age to her before he answered. 
 
 "But yes," he said at last, "they have been living 
 here this long time." 
 
 "Will you take me to them, please?" Marie 
 could have thrown her arms about his thick neck. 
 
 The man bowed politely, and picking up her bag, 
 led the way. 
 
 She turned to the waiting driver. 
 
 "I ll send down your money. Wait, please !" she 
 said, and followed the red-haired man through the 
 doorway into the courtyard. 
 
 He handed her into the little ascenseur, and touch 
 ing the button, bowed as he closed the door. 
 
 On the way up, Marie repeated a prayer of grati 
 tude over and over to herself, adding one with the 
 hope that these cousins would be glad to see her. 
 
 As she got out at the door of the Le Grand apart 
 ment, a neat little maid opened it. 
 
 "Is Monsieur Le Grand at home?" she asked tim 
 idly, and as the girl answered in the affirmative, she 
 added, "tell him his cousin from Vienna his cousin 
 Marie Helmar is here!" 
 
 Almost as she spoke, a tall stout man with a heavy 
 black beard appeared in the doorway of what seemed 
 to be a little salon. 
 
 He looked at Marie a moment and then came 
 toward her with both hands extended. 
 
 "Ah, my little cousin," he cried in a cheerful bass 
 voice. "My little cousin ! But I m glad to see you. 
 Welcome to Paris !" He kissed her resoundingly on
 
 98 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 both cheeks, and drew her in through the door which 
 the neat little maid closed after her. 
 
 "Oh, Cousin Jules," and Marie let the foolish tears 
 run down her cheeks as they would, "I was so afraid 
 you wouldn t remember me ! I was so afraid you 
 wouldn t live here any more !" 
 
 "Maman" called Monsieur Le Grand, "come and 
 see who is here!" 
 
 "Please, cousin Jules," hesitated Marie, "the taxi 
 driver is waiting. My money is all Austrian could 
 
 you ?" and she displayed her purse with its 
 
 foreign coins. 
 
 The big man laughed. 
 
 "Surely, little cousin," he said, as he drew a leather 
 bag from his pocket, and extracted the necessary 
 francs. "Here, Julie, run and pay the man," and 
 picking up Marie s bag he led the way into the salon. 
 
 Madame Le Grand was a pretty little woman, 
 round and dimpled, her hair and eyes as black as the 
 shining silk of her gown. Two tall, slim girls stood 
 beside her, their eyes dark like their mother s, their 
 straight hair loose over their shoulders. 
 
 "This is the little Marie, Maman" smiled the big 
 man, "this is the little blond cousin from Vienna," and 
 he led the girl forward. 
 
 Madame Le Grand kissed her affectionately as did 
 both the girls. Monsieur Le Grand and Maman, who 
 she found was to be called Cousin Fra^ine, asking 
 questions volubly. How long had she to stay? Why 
 had she not let them know? Why had they not heard 
 from her since the lawyer had written of her poor 
 papa s death? Did she know how much she looked
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 99 
 
 like her poor papa? Or was it her poor mamma she 
 resembled? And so on, and so on, until finally for 
 sheer want of breath, they stopped, and Marie began. 
 
 "I didn t decide to come until the day before yes 
 terday," she said in her careful French; "but now, I 
 am not going back. I expect to make my home in 
 Paris. I must find employment." 
 
 Monsieur Le Grand looked at her in surprise. 
 
 "You must earn your own living?" 
 
 "Yes; poor papa left me very little, and it is all 
 gone." 
 
 Her cousins looked at each other sadly. 
 
 "Never mind," soothed the big black-bearded man, 
 "to-day you will be comfortable and have a good rest. 
 To-morrow we will discuss your affairs." 
 
 "Fleurette, my angel," said Madame to one of the 
 girls, "show Cousin Marie into the little blue room. 
 You can arrange your toilette, my dear, and after 
 ward Sidonie will come and get you for luncheon." 
 
 Marie smiled gratefully. How wonderful things 
 were. Madame patted her kindly on the arm as she 
 turned and followed one of the two tall girls. 
 
 The blue room proved to be very pretty, dainty 
 and sweet as the one Marie had had in her father s 
 house. The sight of it brought back the thought of 
 him bitterly, and tears welled into her eyes. 
 
 Fleurette comforted her shyly, and after refresh 
 ing her face and brushing out her soft hair with 
 Fleurette s interested assistance, she opened her bag 
 and shook out a fresh blouse which she proceeded to 
 put on. 
 
 "What should I have done if you had moved
 
 100 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 away?" she asked, and Fleurette shrugged expres 
 sive and sympathetic shoulders. 
 
 Presently, Sidonie, the second of the two sisters, 
 came in to say that luncheon was ready, and with one 
 of her young cousins on either arm, Marie went into 
 the dining-room. 
 
 It was a happier meal than she had eaten for some 
 time. Truly, she was born again. Here, no one 
 knew anything about her, excepting that she had 
 been raised in a convent and was her father s daugh 
 ter. The girl found herself wondering if she were 
 dreaming, if suddenly she should awaken and find 
 that all these cheerful, black-eyed cousins had disap 
 peared, and Von Pfaffen s hard, cruel face was oppo 
 site her. 
 
 But one thing she had learned from him was that 
 her face must be a mask to conceal emotions, not a 
 window to let them shine through. 
 
 She had learned that her "convent eyes" as Von 
 Pfaffen used to call them, were a useful asset, and 
 though her faith and trust in the world had died, she 
 shut her resentment resolutely away and smiled. 
 
 The time passed pleasantly, and that night Marie 
 slept soundly for the first time in many days. When 
 she opened her eyes the next morning, the sun was 
 streaming into her room. She felt it to be a happy 
 omen, a harbinger of better things. 
 
 That afternoon Monsieur Le Grand called her to 
 him. 
 
 "We have been talking, the good Maman and I," 
 he said in his rumbling bass voice. "Would you like 
 to stay here with us, even after your visit is over,
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 101 
 
 and, well, teach Fleurette and Sidonie the German 
 language, a little painting, and perhaps some music? 
 Would you like that? " 
 
 Maman smiled into her eyes. 
 
 "Would you, little cousin?" she asked. 
 
 Marie s heart was full. This was almost too good 
 a fortune to be true, but she managed to answer them 
 gratefully. 
 
 "You are so kind, so good, what would I have done 
 if I had not found you? What I can, I will 
 gladly do." 
 
 This past year was one that had shaken her faith 
 in every one and everything, but surely these people 
 must be genuine. She was afraid, however, to give 
 way to the feeling of comfort and trust that filled 
 her, her experiences had taught her suspicion of those 
 about her. Sadly she realized that convention some 
 times requires people to do and say things to impress 
 the ear and the eye only. She knew now, that real 
 personalities were guarded jealously. One s real self 
 must be carefully concealed from the knowledge and 
 the eyes of those with whom one came in contact. She 
 was afraid to trust what seemed so sincere, so kindly. 
 She must weigh even her seemingly generous cousins. 
 She must try and analyze even their motives and be 
 on her guard. But she also knew she must let none 
 of these thoughts be seen. 
 
 She held out her hands to her cousin and his wife 
 and looked into their eyes with her own wide blue 
 ones, and so her new life, the life that was born again, 
 began.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE days passed swiftly for Marie. The kindly 
 hearts of the Le Grands were won almost immediately 
 by her sweetness and charm, her appealing air of 
 innocence that seemed to demand protection. They 
 surrounded her with an atmosphere of love, of gen 
 erous kindness, and Marie s nervousness began to 
 leave her. She and the two girls took long walks 
 through the blossoming Bois, or along the beautiful 
 Champs Elysees. Fleurette and Sidonie never tired 
 of showing their Austrian cousin the sights of their 
 beloved Paris, and Marie found herself forgetting the 
 bitter winter in Vienna. It was as though there had 
 been some horrible nightmare from which she had 
 awakened into the sunshine of spring. 
 
 At first, she used to start up suddenly in the night, 
 shuddering with the thought of what would happen 
 if her cousins should come to know the truth. Some 
 times, while she was giving a German lesson to Fleu 
 rette and Sidonie, the familiar tones of her own lan 
 guage recalled the days in Vienna which she was 
 trying to forget, and made her sink back into her 
 chair, white and shaken. 
 
 At such times, Fleurette would pat her hand sym 
 pathetically and comfort her for what she supposed 
 was homesickness, and Sidonie would jump to her feet. 
 
 "Come, Cousin, no more lessons now, the sun is 
 
 shining, we must walk in the Bois." 
 
 102
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 103 
 
 Little by little, Marie s fears of their finding out 
 faded away, and her conscience ceased to trouble her. 
 No one who had known her in Vienna was ever likely 
 to come here. Old Herr Schultz was dead, his wife 
 would never leave her native country. Besides these 
 two, there were only Von Pf affen and the young Lieu 
 tenant, who knew; and they, she felt sure, would 
 never cross her path again. Little by little her con 
 fidence in people began to return, at least in these 
 cousins of hers and their friends. Her knowledge of 
 human nature, of character, began to expand. She 
 was able to put people in their proper niches, as it 
 were, and hide her own fear and distrust under a 
 cloak of shyness and reticence. 
 
 Happy in this pleasant environment, her cheeks 
 grew round, her color came back, and the sparkle 
 that was in her eyes in the convent days, shone from 
 them again. Her cousin Jules, she found, was some 
 thing of a personage, and there were always people 
 of more or less importance coming to see him, but 
 Marie and the two girls seldom met any of these 
 visitors. Fleurette and Sidonie were still too young, 
 and so she stayed with them, but on the days when 
 there were no guests, the little family were all very 
 happy together. 
 
 The Le Grands belonged to that class of French 
 people whose family is the heart of their life, who 
 live only for the development of their own immediate 
 circle, who are economical, yet generous and hospi 
 table, and Marie was beginning to realize that here 
 she could shut away suspicion and be happy. 
 
 Monsieur Le Grand always insisted on hearing the
 
 104 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 girls repeat their German verbs. He would burst 
 into roars of laughter at their struggles with the 
 heavy gutturals. Madame, on those occasions, always 
 sat by a little table on which a red-shaded lamp lit 
 up her dark prettiness and sparkled on her black silk 
 gown, flashing back from her rings as she knitted or 
 crocheted. 
 
 Marie s life was full. She gave the girls their les 
 sons, took long walks with them and sometimes would 
 go on a bewildering shopping excursion with Cousin 
 Fra^ine ; and so gradually the bitterness of the past 
 was shut away in a corner of her memory. 
 
 One afternoon, Sidonie burst into her room in 
 great excitement, Fleurette following at her heels. 
 
 "Marie," she cried, "we are to be at dinner to 
 night ! There will be a guest, but the good papa 
 says we may come, because he is young, like us. We 
 think he s wonderful. We hope you ll like him too." 
 
 "I am to wear my white lace dress with the blue 
 sash," said Fleurette. 
 
 "And I shall wear mine, also," added Sidonie. 
 
 "But," began Marie, "I cannot come, I have noth 
 ing to wear !" 
 
 "Oh, yes you have," laughed Fleurette. "I un 
 packed your bag the night you came. I saw a pretty 
 little white frock in it. It was badly crushed, but 
 we ll take it to Julie, and she will press it out as good 
 as new," and skipping to the clothes press, she began 
 searching. 
 
 Marie remembered with a shudder, that she had 
 crumpled the white dress she had worn at the "Two 
 Eagles," into her bag. She abhorred the thought of
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 105 
 
 wearing it. It would bring back bitter memories, 
 but she could not come to dinner when there would 
 be a guest, dressed as she was. 
 
 The girls were examining the simple frock which 
 Fleurette had unearthed. 
 
 "I think it s very nice," decided Sidonie. "I ll 
 take it right down to Julie and she will press it for 
 
 you." 
 
 "And you must do all this wonderful golden hair 
 in a pretty fluffy way," said Fleurette, "no flat 
 braids to-night, cousin. We ll all play that we re 
 grown up. Won t it be fun!" and she danced away 
 with the crushed white muslin over her arm. 
 
 Marie stood by her window thinking. She hated 
 to put on the white dress, to pile her hair up under 
 a high comb. It all seemed as though she were going 
 to the "Two Eagles" again to sing. She wouldn t, 
 she couldn t do it. She would tell the girls when they 
 came in, that she was ill. She would make any excuse 
 so as to stay in her room. She would destroy that 
 dress. She wondered why she had ever brought it. 
 
 The window stood open to the soft June air. She 
 leaned her head against the casing and let the breeze 
 fan her hot cheeks. 
 
 She squared her shoulders. Why should the dress 
 bring back memories ? That life was dead and buried. 
 It had never been ! She turned from the window, and 
 began to let down her fair hair as Fleurette and 
 Sidonie came in carefully carrying the freshened 
 muslin. It was beautifully pressed. They laid it 
 primly across the bed. 
 
 "You will look just like one of the angels, all yellow
 
 106 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 hair and white wings," said Fleurette, coming over 
 to her, and drawing her shining tresses through her 
 fingers. 
 
 "A little Sainte Marie," said Sidonie, and then 
 glancing at her own reflection, she added, "I wish I 
 were a blonde. Nobody ever thinks of a black Saint," 
 and she made a grimace at her own image in the 
 mirror. 
 
 "It is late now," reminded Marie. "Better go and 
 dress. When you are ready, come back for me. I 
 shall be frightened to meet a stranger alone." 
 
 The girls laughed and hurried away. 
 
 Marie closed the door after them. Then she went 
 over to the bed and stood looking down on the fluffy 
 whiteness in which she had been so miserable. 
 
 "What a horrible time I had when I wore you 
 last," she said to it. "I wonder what will happen 
 to-night," and half fearfully, she began arranging 
 the wavy masses of her hair. 
 
 When the girls came back for her later, resplendent 
 in their soft frocks, each with its pale blue sash tied 
 in exactly the same manner, they uttered little 
 shrieks of delight over Marie. 
 
 "But you are lovely, cousin," cried Fleurette. 
 "Your shoulders are like snow." She looked very 
 fair and golden in contrast to their vivid coloring. 
 
 "When I am grown, I shall do my hair like that," 
 said Sidonie, "only it isn t the right color." 
 
 Marie laughed. 
 
 "Your hair is just the color it should be for you. 
 Are you really pleased with me ?" 
 
 They assured her joyously that she was perfection
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 107 
 
 itself, and indeed she was a dainty figure; rounder, 
 more mature than on that day not so many months 
 before, when she had donned the white frock to go 
 to the "Two Eagles." There was a flush on her 
 cheeks which had not been there the last time she had 
 worn it. 
 
 "Come," she said, "let us go and see the good 
 parents," and giving a hand to each of the girls they 
 started sedately for the drawing-room. 
 
 "How charming you look this evening," smiled Le 
 Grand. "You will like my young friend; he is an 
 officer in the army. His parents live in a fine old 
 chateau somewhere near the frontier." 
 
 Almost as he spoke, the maid opened the door and 
 announced Captain de la Motte. 
 
 Fleurette and Sidonie, suddenly shy, stepped back 
 of their mother, while Monsieur went forward to greet 
 his guest. 
 
 He was a tall, slender man of about thirty, very 
 sunburnt, with a lighter line across his forehead, 
 where his cap had rested. His eyes were wide and 
 brown, and his dark hair combed straight back from 
 his forehead, had a slight wave in it. His mouth was 
 full and almost Greek in outline, and the lean, strong 
 lines of his face were clean shaven. 
 
 Monsieur Le Grand made the presentation in the 
 graceful manner of the cultured Frenchman. 
 
 The visitor smiled a flashing smile that lit up his 
 face and showed a row of very white, even teeth. 
 
 Marie sat shyly quiet through the evening, but 
 her mind and eyes were alert. There was a boyish 
 ingenuousness about this man that was refreshing.
 
 108 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 It seemed to deny his knowledge of certain phases 
 of life, seemed to stamp him as different from the 
 men with whom she had come in contact. Surely 
 there must be some men who could be trusted. She 
 wondered if it were possible that back of those clear 
 eyes, might lurk deception, whether the smile that 
 seemed so worthy of trust, hid falseness. But in 
 spite of the involuntary distrust that was the result 
 of her experience, her interest was aroused. His 
 frank camaraderie with her two young cousins, the 
 amusing tales he told of the barracks, his keen sense 
 of humor that was expressed in clear, hearty laugh 
 ter, put her wonderfully at her ease, and above all 
 things he had unmistakably that distinctive manner 
 which proclaimed him a gentleman. It was a very 
 pleasant evening, and when at last he rose to go, 
 deep in her heart was a half-formed wish that here, 
 at least, she might be off the guard she had so 
 strictly imposed upon herself.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IN her room that night, after he had left, Marie 
 slipped off the white frock, shook out the folds almost 
 tenderly and hung it carefully away. She stood 
 for a moment in deep thought, then she went to the 
 dressing-table and picking up the hand-mirror, be 
 gan examining her delicate profile, the way her hair 
 grew about the nape of her white neck. The blue 
 ribbons in her dainty camisole outlined her slim shoul 
 ders and matched the blueness of her eyes. It was 
 a very lovely face that looked back at her from the 
 mirror. Marie had never thought of her personal 
 appearance as a vital asset before; now, however, 
 with the memory of a flashing smile, a frank boyish 
 face before her, she examined herself closely. Was 
 she really attractive, she wondered? She lacked the 
 egotism, the self-knowledge which is able to catalogue 
 its own charms. The desire to be appreciated, how 
 ever, was strong in her. Her sensitive nature was 
 instinctively conscious of approval or disapproval. 
 
 She rested her elbows on the dressing-table and 
 propped her chin in her cupped hands. Could she 
 dare hope for happiness such as came into the lives 
 of other girls ? 
 
 This was the sort of man that had filled her dreams 
 at the convent, tall and straight, with the supple 
 slimness of a man of action. But she had only 
 dreamed. In actual life she had found men very dif 
 ferent. Might not his pleasing manner and boyish 
 
 109
 
 110 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 friendliness be only another sort of mask, hiding per 
 haps as much calculation, as much designing selfish 
 ness, as had that other of paternal kindness? 
 
 Her experience had been too bitter. She dared not 
 lower the barriers a second time. She was in that 
 most unhappy state of mind which follows the loss of 
 faith and trust in others. 
 
 What was the matter with her, she wondered ? Was 
 it because the sight of a uniform had brought back 
 recollections, or was it something she had read in the 
 wide dark eyes as they looked into hers when he had 
 said good-night? 
 
 She undressed slowly, and shook out her long hair. 
 The window was open to the soft June night, and 
 the breeze lifted the golden strands and blew them 
 against her flushed cheeks. She switched off the light 
 and stood for awhile looking out over the sleeping 
 city. She looked almost like the Saint Genevieve of 
 Puvis de Chavannes, in her straight nightrobe, her 
 hair parted and drawn down into a long yellow braid, 
 her bare feet white against the polished floor. The 
 flashing smile that lit up the dark face shone across 
 her mental vision. Would she see this man again, 
 she wondered? Did she want to? She pulled the 
 curtains across the window and crept into bed. For 
 a long while she lay staring up through the velvety 
 darkness. 
 
 She did want to see him again. She lived over the 
 moment when their eyes had met, the blue ones and 
 the brown ones that seemed to strike fire. Could this 
 face too, with its clean lines and flashing smile, grow 
 distorted and evil as she had co<ln the othfr?
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 111 
 
 At the thought, she buried her face fiercely in the 
 pillow. 
 
 "No," she whispered to herself in the darkness. 
 "No, I ll never see him again ! I never want to ! Men 
 are all alike, I hate them !" and she began to tremble 
 with cold under the covers on this warm June night. 
 
 After awhile, she fell into a troubled sleep and 
 dreamed that she was singing again at the "Two 
 Eagles" and that Captain de la Motte came and took 
 her by the hand and led her to an open window, 
 through which she could see a broad, beautiful land 
 scape. It seemed to her that a great storm had just 
 passed, the last clouds disappearing in the distance, 
 and across the arch of the heavens stretched a won 
 derful rainbow. Birds were singing, and the air was 
 sweet with the perfume of flowers. Just as she was 
 about to start out with him into the sunlight, Von 
 Pfaffen came between them and she awoke, weeping 
 bitterly. 
 
 But de la Motte called again and yet again, and 
 soon it became a matter of course that Marie and the 
 two girls should meet him on their walks in the Bois 
 and walk home together. 
 
 The young soldier s interest was perhaps accentu 
 ated by her very reticence, the difficulty he found in 
 drawing her out, in making her believe in his friend 
 ship. Without letting him quite see her purpose, she 
 set herself the task of making him prove himself in 
 every way, and though her suspicious eyes were 
 always seeking for a flaw, he withstood all her tests. 
 
 This was the beginning of many happy days. 
 Madame, with the love of match-making, which lies
 
 112 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 in every Latin heart, smiled and dimpled at young 
 de la Motte every time he came, and managed to see 
 that he and Marie were thrown together as much as 
 possible. 
 
 Gradually, her shyness wore off and she found her 
 self talking of the years spent at the convent, of her 
 days with her father. But she always stopped short 
 with his death, and de la Motte attributed the silences 
 that followed, to her bereavement. He would change 
 the subject to some trivial matter and soon the smiles 
 would come back again. 
 
 He was like a big, carefree boy with the three girls, 
 and as the days wore on, Marie began to realize that 
 her happiness lay where he was. 
 
 The thought frightened her. She tried to reason 
 with herself, to bring her experience to her aid. How 
 could he, the sort of man who could win any girl, 
 the son of General de la Motte, ever think of her, the 
 penniless little cousin in his friend s household? 
 
 But after awhile, she hushed the voice of reason, 
 and let herself drift along in a dream that had as 
 its awakening the days between his visits. 
 
 One afternoon de la Motte called early. He had 
 not been expected, and Madame Le Grand and the 
 two girls had gone for a shopping tour, leaving Marie 
 at home alone. 
 
 When the maid showed him into the salon where 
 she was, the girl rose hastily from beside the little 
 work-table where she had been stringing beads for 
 the purse Madame was knitting. Her cheeks flushed 
 prettily as she held out her hand to him. 
 
 "Cousin Praline and the girls will be disap-
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 113 
 
 pointed," she said, "but they will be home shortly. 
 You will sit down awhile?" 
 
 He laughed as he drew a chair up beside her. 
 
 "Do you know, Mademoiselle, I suppose it s rude 
 to say, but I can t feel badly that they are not here. 
 I m glad I find you alone !" 
 
 There was something in his manner that startled, 
 almost frightened her. The smile faded from her 
 lips. She dropped her eyes over her work and sat 
 silent. 
 
 He watched her uneasily. What a difficult little 
 person she was. The smile that had greeted him was 
 so encouraging that he had almost uttered the words 
 that were now nearly always at his tongue s end, yet 
 here she was, frozen stiff again, safely ensconced be 
 hind the bars she so seldom let down. Her very diffi 
 dence spurred him to discover what lay back of those 
 clear, wide eyes, those eyes that were so like a child s, 
 and yet a child that had been badly frightened at 
 something. 
 
 He leaned forward and covered her hand with his. 
 
 "Please put down your work, Mademoiselle." 
 
 She drew her hand away and hastily rose to her 
 feet. Her fears had been well grounded. He was 
 like the rest. 
 
 "I m sorry, Monsieur," she said breathlessly. "I m 
 sorry I I thought we were such good friends. I m 
 sorry to have it spoiled !" 
 
 He rose too, puzzled. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, what have I done to make you 
 think I want to spoil something for which I have been 
 striving ?"
 
 114 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 She raised her eyes that wanted so to believe in 
 some one. The look she saw in his, made her flush 
 with a new, ecstatic wonder. If she could only 
 believe it. 
 
 He seemed to read her doubts, to understand the 
 fear that tore at her heart. 
 
 "Marie," he said softly, "love to me is a very won 
 derful thing, so wonderful and precious that I am 
 old-fashioned enough to think it must only be offered 
 where one wishes to give one s life. Some day, per 
 haps, you will let me speak to you again of this," 
 and stooping, he touched his lips for a moment to her 
 fingers and left the room. 
 
 Marie sat for a long while after he had gone, with 
 her hands idle in her lap, her eyes filled with a vision 
 of what might be. Confidence, faith, where she so 
 longed to bestow it ! If it only could be true ! She 
 began to realize that here was a different love than 
 had been offered her before, a love that had respect 
 for its foundation. 
 
 When her cousins returned, they found her sitting 
 in the gloaming, dreaming, with so little of her work 
 done, that they laughed and called her "lazy one," 
 and said she must come with them and see all their 
 purchases, and with her mind singing over the hope 
 of that "some day" that he had spoken of, she went 
 with Fleurette and Sidonie.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 FOE some time after this, de la Motte did not come 
 to the Avenue Victor Hugo. Cousin Jules reported 
 that he was busy with his military duties. There was 
 some activity at the caserne. Soldiers were drilling 
 for a review, but he sent his kindest greetings and 
 promised to be with them again as soon as it might 
 be possible. But he was never absent from Marie s 
 thoughts, and she dreamed the glad dreams that 
 youth knows when love has come. 
 
 When he came again, it was to ask Marie to meet 
 his family. They were in Paris for a few weeks, while 
 his sister, who was to be married shortly, bought some 
 of her trousseau. 
 
 "I want them to meet you," he said. "I want you 
 to know my sister Paulette; I know you will be 
 friends." 
 
 Marie lifted her eyes to his. Could she dare to 
 hope that what she saw there was true? She was 
 almost afraid to dream it, afraid to let him tell her 
 po. He was so different from any she had known, 
 with his flashing smile, his clear eyes that looked so 
 steadily into hers. She wanted, above all things, to 
 believe in him. 
 
 So it was arranged that Monsieur and Madame Le 
 Grand were to take her to call on his family. 
 
 The girls helped her with her simple toilet. Her 
 hat must be set just at the right angle, her gloves, 
 
 115
 
 116 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 her shoes, must all be perfect. They were as excited 
 as she was over the prospective visit. Madame also 
 was dreaming dreams. 
 
 "You will like the General," she said. "He is a 
 very gallant old soldier. He will not frighten you, 
 cousin ; and Madame and Paulette are charming." 
 
 "Everybody will love you, little Sainte Marie," 
 said Fleurette, "everybody must" ; and Sidonie added, 
 "But, of course, how can it be otherwise?" 
 
 The de la Motte family were staying at a hotel on 
 the Place Vendome, one of those hotels whose unpre 
 tentious exterior gives no indication of the refined 
 comfort to be had within. It was the hotel at which 
 the family always lived when in Paris, and its prox 
 imity to the Rue de la Paix made it particularly con 
 venient now for the purchasing of Paillette s 
 trousseau. 
 
 She was to be married to a young Belgian officer., 
 Gerome had explained, Maurice le Cerf. They had 
 grown up together, and both families had been look 
 ing forward to this event for years. Maurice s home 
 was not far from the Chateau de la Motte, which 
 was situated close to the border, and the young lovers, 
 were seldom separated. Their marriage was to take 
 place some time in August. 
 
 Gerome opened the door of his father s suite for 
 them. 
 
 Back of him smiled the General, who held out a 
 cordial hand to Marie as they entered. He was a 
 tall, well built man of about sixty, his gray hair was 
 brushed back from his forehead, a heavy grayish 
 mustache hid his mouth, and over his keen blue eyes
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 117 
 
 hung thick, grizzled eyebrows, one of which was lifted 
 a trifle, giving him a kindly, quizzical expression. 
 There was a strong resemblance between father and 
 son, but the elder s features were more massive. He 
 was taller, heavier, more powerfully built. 
 
 As the visitors came into the room, a lady rose 
 from a chair by the window. She was tall and beau 
 tifully poised, and the simple lines of her dark dress 
 set off her figure. Her hair was almost white and 
 rolled back from her face in a smartly dressed coif 
 fure. Her wide, dark eyes were so like Gerome s that 
 Marie did not need his words to confirm the fact that 
 she was his mother. 
 
 She greeted her with cordial grace, her sweet in 
 formality, immediately putting the girl at her ease. 
 
 There was some little conversation between Madame 
 Le Grand and the hostess, concerning various mutual 
 acquaintances and things that interested them, and 
 then Gerome s mother turned again to Marie. 
 
 They talked awhile of many things, of the charm 
 of Vienna, of how she liked Paris; and when they 
 found she knew no more of France, they promised her 
 that she should see all of their beautiful country. 
 Monsieur Le Grand told some anecdotes of her father, 
 and his wife smiled fondly at Marie as she spoke of 
 the days with them since she had come to Paris. 
 
 Presently a very pretty girl came in from another 
 room. She was, perhaps a year younger than Marie, 
 slender, with dark hair which waved softly back 
 from a smooth, white forehead. From under her 
 straight black brows her eyes looked out with just a 
 hint of superciliousness. If there could be any criti-
 
 118 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 cism of the lovely face, it was perhaps, that the fea 
 tures were too regular, for beauty is accentuated by 
 some slight defect that enhances it by comparison. 
 
 She was dressed for the street in a smart, dark 
 brown walking suit and a wide-brimmed sailor hat. 
 Her slender feet and trim ankles were cased in bronze 
 shoes and silk stockings. 
 
 Gerome rose to greet her. 
 
 "Paulette," he said, "this is Mademoiselle Helmar." 
 
 Paulette smiled her brother s flashing smile. 
 
 "Gerome has told us much about you," she said. 
 "We have been looking forward to your visit," and 
 after shaking hands with the Le Grands, she crossed 
 the room and sat on the arm of her mother s chair. 
 Her words had been gracious, her manner all that it 
 should be, but there was a subtle something that took 
 Marie s ease from her and brought back her nervous 
 ness. The almost too classic face held a vague suspi 
 cion of her, a vague challenge. It was as though she 
 were saying, "Who are you? What is it in you that 
 has captured my brother? I resent it. I m not sure 
 whether you are good enough for him. I am not sure 
 anyone is !" 
 
 The family were to be in Paris another week, it 
 seemed, and the General made plans for them to go 
 to the theatre together, "so that we may grow to 
 know one another," he explained. 
 
 Marie blushed as she thanked him, and it was de 
 cided that early in the week she should dine with 
 them and they would go to the Opera Comique, or 
 perhaps the Theatre Franchise afterward. 
 
 Monsieur Le Grand, in his deep bass voice, rum-
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 119 
 
 bled out plans for them to come to the Avenue Victor 
 Hugo; Madame smiled and dimpled as she seconded 
 his invitation, and presently they rose to go. 
 
 "We will see you very soon, I hope," she smiled, as 
 she made her adieux, and turning to Paulette, she 
 wished her again much happiness. 
 
 Marie smiled timidly as she bade Madame de la 
 Motte good-bye. 
 
 "It has made me happy to meet you," she said. 
 
 Madame kissed her cheek. 
 
 "Gerome s friends are ours," she said kindly. 
 
 The Le Grands pleaded another engagement, so 
 Gerome was to see Marie home. 
 
 It was a beautiful June day and the Paris streets 
 through which they drove sparkled in the sunshine. 
 The motor was well on its way along the Champs 
 Elysees before either of them spoke. 
 
 Marie was nervously silent, and he, too, sat staring 
 straight ahead of him. Every now and then she stole 
 a glance at the brown profile beside her. She was 
 conscious of an almost irresistible longing to put out 
 her hand and touch him. She grasped her parasol 
 handle tightly and dropped her eyes. 
 
 At last Gerome turned to her. 
 
 "You like my family ?" he asked. 
 
 "Your mother is wonderful," she said. sc You have 
 her eyes." 
 
 "I resemble the General more, they tell me. He is 
 fond of saying how much I am like he was at my 
 age." 
 
 "You are like him," she answered, as though re- 
 vie"wing his qualities. "He is very splendid !*
 
 120 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "And Paulette?" asked Gerome. 
 
 Marie s eyes dropped. 
 
 "She is very pretty," she said non-committally. 
 She was still feeling the girl s appraising eyes, the 
 subtle something that had put a wall between them. 
 
 Gerome laughed. 
 
 "I was afraid you wouldn t understand her," he 
 said. "She is very badly spoiled, and just now noth 
 ing or no one exists outside of Maurice and her trous 
 seau. You will love Paulette when you know her 
 better." 
 
 "I am certain I will," she hastened to assure him. 
 
 Gerome looked at her steadily. 
 
 "I am glad you like them, Marie," he said seriously, 
 his voice shaking a little. "It means much to me." 
 
 He was silent the rest of the way, and the girl s 
 heart beat happily. He cared for her. There was 
 no doubting the look in his eyes. Love, real love, the 
 kind she had dreamed of, had prayed for, was coming 
 into her life. For a moment she grew cold with the 
 fear that something might come to take it away. 
 She remembered the dream she had had the night she 
 had first met him, and the thought that perhaps some 
 shadow of her life in Vienna might come between 
 them, sent the blood from her cheeks and lips and left 
 her still and white. 
 
 The torturing thought came to her again as it had 
 so many times since she began to realize the serious 
 ness of his intentions. Could she in honor accept 
 this happiness if it were offered? Had she the right 
 to accept it from any man? 
 
 When they reached the Avenue Victor Hugo, her
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 121 
 
 cousins had not yet arrived and the two girls were 
 out with Julie for their walk. 
 
 They sat in the little salon, talking for a moment 
 or so, and then Gerome rose. 
 
 "I must go on now," he said. "I shall see you to 
 morrow." 
 
 Marie nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She 
 knew her voice would shake and tremble as she was 
 trembling. 
 
 She gave him her hand. Gerome took it, and held 
 it tight. For a moment they looked into each other s 
 eyes, and then suddenly, he drew her to him, crushing 
 her in his arms. 
 
 "Marie," he whispered, "I love you ! I want you ! 
 Say yes to me ! Say yes !" and in the dizzy ecstacy 
 that his nearness brought her, her resolutions, her 
 fears melted away. Her heart throbbing wildly, she 
 could only cling close to him, murmuring, "Yes." 
 
 Then followed long silences, broken by murmured 
 vows, happy anticipation, hopes, plans, promises. 
 The old, old story ever new. 
 
 When he was gone she shut herself in her room. 
 She was glad the family were out. She didn t want 
 to see anyone just now. She didn t want to have to 
 answer their eager questions as to how she liked 
 Gerome s people, and how they had liked her. She 
 didn t want to discuss things with her cousins yet. 
 Her happiness was too great, too wonderful. It 
 seemed a sacred thing. 
 
 Now she knew that though there was grief, sorrow, 
 pain in the world, cruelty and villiany, still, there was 
 real love, love and the sacrifices love will make. It
 
 122 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 came over her with a great surge of joy, that after 
 all, everything she had always dreamed of, hoped for, 
 was in the world, just as bitter experience had taught 
 her that other things existed as well. 
 
 There was love and all that is part of perfect, 
 reciprocated affection. With a great wonder, she 
 asked herself, did Fate really mean to be kind? Had 
 she escaped the consequences of her inexperience? 
 
 She looked at her face in the mirror. Was this 
 the same girl, she wondered, who had come to Paris 
 so short a while ago, eyes red from weeping, and a 
 heart bitterly sore with the world? The face that 
 shone back from the mirror, was radiant with the 
 mysterious glow that comes to a woman when she 
 loves and is loved. She looked at the deep blue of 
 her eyes, sparkling with happiness. She looked at 
 her parted red lips, that could still feel his kisses, 
 and then, suddenly, the light went out of her eyes, 
 the smile died, and she threw herself face down on 
 her bed. What would he do if he knew, she won 
 dered. She couldn t lose him, she couldn t give him 
 up. Her imagination showed her the lovelight killed 
 in his eyes and a look of loathing taking its place. 
 
 "I couldn t bear it," she sobbed dryly. "I won t 
 bear it !" She could still feel his heart beating against 
 her breast, his breath warm on her cheek. 
 
 "Dear God in heaven," she prayed, "don t take him 
 from me ! I love him ! I love him ! Keep him from 
 ever knowing ! Dear God in Heaven !" 
 
 She jumped to her feet and brushed her hair out 
 of her eyes. 
 
 "He ll never kntfw!" she said between her teeth.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 123 
 
 "He can t ever find out! I won t give him up! I 
 won t !" 
 
 That life was a chapter to be closed forever. She 
 had been swept into it not against her will, but be 
 cause she had had no will in the matter, no power of 
 choice or discrimination. 
 
 Those months at the cafe, and with Von Pfaffen, 
 shuddered across her memory like some horrible 
 nightmare. 
 
 She would sponge them from her very mind, erase 
 them from her imagination. 
 
 Squaring her shoulders, and holding her chin high, 
 Marie looked at her image again in the mirror, and 
 as she saw the color coming back to her cheeks, the 
 light in her eyes, she knew that she had chosen the 
 path that she was to follow, and that whatever came, 
 she would fight to hold this love that had come into 
 her life, to put herself in tune with him, to make her 
 self worthy.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE General called with Gerome the next day and 
 the two were closeted for some time with Monsieur 
 Le Grand. 
 
 Marie had seen them arrive from her window. Ner 
 vously, she walked up and down her room, waiting to 
 be sent for. 
 
 When at last Fleurette and Sidonie came in for 
 her, their faces were glowing with excitement. 
 
 "They want you at once in papa s study," cried 
 Fleurette. 
 
 "But you shan t go until you tell us why," an 
 nounced Sidonie. Marie was flushed and eager. 
 
 "Let me by, you bad children," she laughed, try 
 ing to push them aside. "How should I know why 
 they want me?" 
 
 Fleurette threw her arms about her neck. 
 
 "Don t be angry, dear," she said. "We were only 
 teasing, of course we ll let you go," and the way 
 clear, she went into the little salon. 
 
 Gerome came forward to greet her as she stood 
 shyly at the door, and the light in his eyes was such 
 a happy one that Marie felt as though she were lifted 
 into Heaven. 
 
 "My little wife that is to be," he whispered, and 
 led her into the room. 
 
 Madame was busy arranging on a small table the 
 
 tray of wine and cakes which the maid had just 
 
 124
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 125 
 
 brought in. Monsieur Le Grand took both her hands 
 in his. 
 
 "Well," he laughed in his big rumbling voice, 
 "what is this I hear about your leaving us?" 
 
 The General kissed her on both cheeks. 
 
 "She is a rather nice little daughter for an old 
 man to have, isn t she now?" and he smiled 
 quizzically. 
 
 Marie s cup of happiness was too full. Was she 
 the little orphan, who only a few months ago had 
 stood irresolutely on the corner of a street in Vienna, 
 wondering where she was going, what was to become 
 of her? To have all this love, this joy, showered on 
 her, was too wonderful, too much. She hid her face 
 on Gerome s convenient shoulder. 
 
 It seemed that Monsieur Le Grand s talk with the 
 General had been more than satisfactory and all that 
 now remained, was to arrange for the marriage to 
 take place as soon as possible. 
 
 Gerome insisted on an early date. His suggestion 
 was that now since the family were all in Paris, why 
 not have the wedding immediately. 
 
 Marie felt curiously like a detached witness of all 
 this, not at all as though she were one of the princi 
 pals. It seemed so like a dream, that she let them 
 discuss arrangements, and sat happily silent, her 
 hand held tightly In Gerome s. 
 
 It was finally decided that as the de la Motte family 
 were to go back to the country the third week in 
 June, Gerome and Marie should be married a few 
 days before they left. That would give Cousin Fran- 
 cine at least ten days to get the little bride ready.
 
 126 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 While her new relatives and her cousins were drink 
 ing each other s health and wishing each other many 
 felicitations and a better acquaintance; while the 
 General was toasting Cousin Fra^ine s pretty face 
 and the two tall girls; while Monsieur was beaming 
 on everybody collectively, Gerome drew Marie into 
 the window seat. 
 
 "Are you happy, dear?" he asked as they settled 
 themselves. 
 
 Marie could not answer, her heart was too full. 
 She looked up into his glowing face and smiled. 
 
 Gerome, unlike most Frenchmen of his class, had 
 taken the world seriously. He had always looked 
 forward to the day when he should meet the One 
 Woman. His life had been well-ordered and clean, 
 so that when he came to her, he should be able to lay 
 the pages of that life before her and say, "Dearest, 
 I have lived for you and for the day of our meeting." 
 His fellow officers had twitted and laughed at him 
 for a purist. They said that he had been born into 
 the wrong world, no woman was worth it. But 
 Gerome had gone his way, taking their chaffing. He 
 had smiled into the eyes of many pretty women, 
 flirted lightly with others, but never let his life be 
 touched. "I m really a henpecked bachelor," he used 
 to tell his companions, laughing. "I haven t yet 
 met the girl whom I am going to marry, but she keeps 
 me from a lot of mischief into which I might other 
 wise fall." 
 
 When he had met Marie, her blond loveliness, her 
 simplicity and shyness, had won him at once, and he 
 had told himself that first day, that here was the
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 127 
 
 woman for whom he had been waiting, for whom he 
 had kept himself clean and fine. 
 
 When he had spoken to his family of her, the Gen 
 eral, with his characteristic clear-sightedness, had 
 realized that Romance had found his son, and that 
 whatever he or Madame might say against one of 
 whom they knew almost nothing, would only serve to 
 bring unhappiness to them all. They were a singu 
 larly united family and the thought of disagreement 
 coming among them, was impossible to realize. 
 
 The General and his wife had discussed the matter 
 quietly by themselves and had come to the conclusion 
 not to give an opinion for or against, till they had 
 seen this girl who had so suddenly come into Gerome s 
 life. 
 
 Paulette, however, had demurred. Her brother 
 was so much to her, she hated to think of giving him 
 up to another woman, dreaded a stranger being 
 brought into their midst. Her fiance had been 
 raised with them all. She could never remember a 
 time when Maurice had not been near. But this was 
 different, and a girl from a strange country, too, 
 Paulette demurred. 
 
 The General and Madame de la Motte had asked 
 Gerome to bring Marie to see them, and her sweet 
 ness and simplicity had won their hearts. Besides, 
 the General knew and respected Monsieur Le Grand, 
 and he stood sponsor for the little stranger. 
 
 "She is the daughter of a great scholar," he had 
 told the General, "the husband of a cousin of mine. 
 The girl has been raised in a convent. She is an 
 orphan. Her father lost his fortune, and she tried
 
 128 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 to support herself giving piano lessons and teaching 
 French in Vienna. She could not succeed, so she 
 came to us. That is her life," and he added that 
 Madame was planning to give the girl her trousseau 
 as a wedding gift. 
 
 Things had shaped themselves beautifully, but as 
 Gerome sat with Marie s small hand in his on the win 
 dow seat, while his father and her cousins toasted one 
 another, he knew that even if things had developed 
 differently, he had come to his journey s end. He 
 had found the One Woman. 
 
 When they had left, and the family had excitedly 
 talked over everything, and Marie had been affec 
 tionately kissed, she had begged them to excuse her, 
 and had hurried away to dream of her happiness in 
 the quiet of her room. Her cousins promises of the 
 gifts they were to give her had stirred her deeply. 
 
 These good people, how wonderful they were to 
 her, and she she was going to Gerome empty 
 handed. She drew out from under the neat pile of 
 clothing in the dresser drawer, the purse she had 
 brought from Vienna. She shook out the few hellers 
 and kronen and the two thin bank notes which she 
 had never touched since her arrival. That was all 
 the dowry she could bring her husband. She stared 
 down at the little heap of Austrian money lying on 
 the white cover of her bureau. 
 
 Suddenly, she seemed to see Von Pfaffen s nervous 
 fingers stirring among the bank notes, and the reali 
 zation of what that money meant, rushed over her in 
 a wave of shame. She picked up the thin pieces of 
 paper and tore them frantically into shreds. Then
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 129 
 
 she gathered the bits of other money together with 
 the scraps and threw them all as far as she could out 
 of her window. The coins tinkled along the sidewalk, 
 wheeling in half circles on their edges before they 
 settled in the gutter. There was scarcely any breeze 
 stirring, and the thin scraps of paper zig-zagged 
 slowly in the air. She watched them scatter along 
 the pavement, her hands held out, her fingers spread 
 apart. She had thrown from her the last of her life 
 in Vienna. 
 
 The days that followed were spent in a whirl. 
 There were clothes to buy, there was the little apart 
 ment to see in the Avenue d Antin, which Gerome had 
 selected, there was so much to do, that it left Marie 
 dizzy. 
 
 Madame Le Grand was in her element. She hur 
 ried the girl from one shop to another, planned and 
 fussed and rushed about from morning till night, the 
 two girls at her heels, eager and flushed, and filled 
 with vague dreams of the time when all this excitement 
 should be for them. 
 
 The day before the wedding, she came to Marie as 
 she was dressing for the dinner her cousins were giv 
 ing for the two families, and sat down for a few 
 minutes to chat. 
 
 "It s wonderful that this has come to you, Marie," 
 she said. "You know we are sending the two girls to 
 the convent next fall, and your Cousin Jules and I 
 had thought of a winter on the Riviera. We haven t 
 had a vacation together for so long. There would 
 be nothing for you to do then, would there?" 
 
 Marie was arranging her hair as she answered.
 
 130 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "You have been very good to me, Cousin Fran- 
 9me, I can never thank you enough." 
 
 Madame made a little denying gesture. 
 
 "Don t speak of that, dear child," she said rising. 
 "Now I must go, my guests will soon be here. You 
 will go to confession to-night, of course." 
 
 Marie looked up at her startled. Since her arrival 
 here in Paris, she had gone regularly with the family 
 to mass, but as yet she had not been to confession. 
 She had kept away, promising herself and the Cure, 
 Pere Gaspard, who was the family friend and advisor, 
 that soon she would go to him. Once, when the Cure 
 had reminded her of her duty, she had turned so 
 white, that he had patted her hand reassuringly. 
 
 "There, there, Mademoiselle," he had told her, 
 "you can wait till you know me better. I m sure the 
 sins on your soul are not such that we need worry 
 over them." 
 
 When Madame had left the room, Marie sat star 
 ing into her mirror. She saw nothing of the confu 
 sion of the simple bridal finery about her, nothing of 
 her own image reflected in the glass. Her only 
 thought was that now she must go to confession. 
 What should she say? 
 
 When she went at last into the salon, the family 
 and their guests were all assembled, Madame de la 
 Motte, looking very regal in her shimmering gray 
 satin with a string of handsome pearls about her 
 throat, kissed her cordially as the girl came to her 
 side. 
 
 In Paulette s bright eyes was still the vague sus 
 picion that Marie had read there that first day, but
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 131 
 
 she held out her hand and flashed her brilliant smile. 
 
 Marie, of course, knew no one in Paris and it had 
 been decided to have the marriage as simple as possi 
 ble, so there were only the two families, Pere Gaspard 
 and Maurice le Cerf, Paulette s fiance, who had come 
 to see the corbeille de manage and to the dinner 
 which the Le Grands were giving the little cousin as 
 a farewell. 
 
 Madame Le Grand smiled and dimpled at her 
 guests, radiant in a new shining silk, and the two 
 girls, their slim legs in black silk stockings, their 
 white frocks encircled with huge blue sashes, stood 
 stiffly behind their mother, looking at Marie with a 
 new interest. 
 
 Maurice le Cerf, never far from the side of his 
 pretty fiancee, welcomed Marie into their midst with 
 a boyish cordiality that won her heart immediately. 
 He was a slender, brown-skinned young officer, his 
 long, delicate features giving him something of a 
 Spanish cast. A small mustache shaded a rather 
 full red mouth, and the light gray eyes shone out 
 curiously from his dark face. 
 
 Marie was happy, deliriously happy. Her terror 
 of confession was forgotten. She was content to sit 
 with her hand in Gerome s, her eyes on his. Just to 
 know that he was near, was comfort, to realize that 
 he was hers, left her dizzy and breathless. 
 
 Both families had been generous with the gifts 
 they had given the young people, and the wonders of 
 the corbeille de marlage having been duly investi 
 gated and exclaimed over, they all sat down to dine 
 in a happy, joyful frame of mind. Even Fleurette
 
 132 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 and Sidonie forgot their shyness and began to giggle 
 over whispered remarks, and to nudge each other 
 surreptitiously. 
 
 The General, his quizzical eyebrow more quizzi 
 cally raised than ever, at his place next his jovial 
 host, was full of entertaining anecdotes about Mo 
 rocco, Tunis and the savages along the Congo, where 
 he had served as a young man. 
 
 Monsieur Le Grand laughed his rumbling bass 
 chuckle in appreciation, and capped the Congo stories 
 with bits of curious doings in the city offices. 
 
 Cousin Fra^ine smiled and dimpled and gave 
 whispered orders to the two hired waiters who were 
 assisting Julie, the maid. 
 
 Madame de la Motte patted Marie s hand as she 
 now and then added a laughing word to the General s 
 reminiscences. 
 
 Paulette and Maurice whispered together at their 
 side of the table. 
 
 Marie let her eyes wander away from the beloved 
 brown ones at her side. She was conscious of a feel 
 ing of well-being, a sense of protection, until her eyes 
 came to rest on the black coat of the Cure. It came 
 over her again in a terrifying flash, that Pere Gas- 
 pard was the symbol of what might stand between 
 her and all this happiness. She lost her sense of what 
 was going on about the table, as she stared at the 
 old man s wrinkled face with its high nose and thin, 
 white hair. It was a kindly, sympathetic face, but 
 to Marie, the deep lines about the mouth, looked 
 sinister, the furrows between the eyes, stern and unre-
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 133 
 
 lenting. She drew her breath sharply and tightened 
 her fingers on Gerome s hand. 
 
 She couldn t go to confession, she couldn t tell 
 about Vienna, about the cafe and Von Pfaffen and 
 all the rest, she couldn t. Then she remembered, how 
 during that long journey, she had murmured over 
 and over, "When I reach Paris, I shall be born again, 
 I shall be born again! Nothing of this has really 
 ever happened!" 
 
 Pere Gaspard smiled at her across the table. With 
 an effort she turned her eyes away. 
 
 "I have been born again," she told herself desper 
 ately. "I have no sins to confess !" 
 
 ******* 
 
 The next morning early, she was awakened by 
 Fleurette s kiss. 
 
 "Lazy little Sainte Marie," she laughed. "This 
 is your wedding day. Sidonie and I are going to 
 communion with you now, so hurry." 
 
 Marie sprang out of bed and threw open her 
 curtains. 
 
 "What a wonderful wedding day," she laughed 
 joyously, "the whole world is happy with me." 
 
 When she was ready in her simple blue walking 
 suit and hat, the two girls, both dressed exactly alike, 
 clung one to each arm, as they started light-heartedly 
 toward the church. 
 
 "Marie, just think, by noon to-day you will be 
 Madame," said Sidonie wonderingly, "aren t you 
 frightened?" 
 
 "I m sure I shouldn t be, only I should be wild 
 with excitement," said Fleurette.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "Marie isn t even that, are you?" and Sidonie 
 gently pinched her arm to get her attention, for the 
 girl s thoughts had been far away from these two 
 little inquisitive chatterboxes, tripping by her side, 
 through the lovely June sunshine along the Champs 
 Elysees. 
 
 "Not even excited," she whispered, coming back to 
 her surroundings, "only very, very happy !" 
 
 Communion over and the tears brushed away that 
 the words of the kindly old priest had brought to 
 her eyes, they hurried back to the Avenue Victor 
 Hugo to make ready for the wedding. 
 
 Marie was lovely in the white frock that Madame 
 had taken such pains in selecting for her. Her golden 
 hair shone round her face like a saint s halo, and the 
 filmy masses of the white veil, floated mistily about 
 her. Gerome had given her a small bar of diamonds 
 which she wore among the laces at her throat, and 
 her eyes, deep blue, unclouded and happy, shone like 
 stars. Marie was lovely. 
 
 As they drove to the Mairie in the flower-decorated 
 carriage, Gerome leaned toward her, the pride of 
 possession lighting up his radiant face. 
 
 "I know why they call you little Sainte Marie," 
 he said softly; "you look as though you had just 
 stepped down from heaven." He lifted her fingers to 
 his lips, "and you arc mine, all mine !" 
 
 The ceremony at the Mairie was short and quickly 
 over and they went directly to the M#delaine. As 
 she followed the huge Swiss in his scarlet coat and 
 great black hat, down the dim aisle, her heart seemed 
 to stop beating. She was unconscious of everything,
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 135 
 
 excepting the gleam of light on the tip of his staff, 
 and the soft crunching of his great black patent 
 leather boots as he plodded on ahead of them. 
 Everything was a confusion of dim shadows, of tall 
 candles flickering and flashing, of masses of flowers 
 and swaying wreathes of incense. 
 
 Almost in a dream, she knelt at Gerome s side, ex- 
 altedly she made her responses and kissed the Host. 
 The low, deep tones of the organ thrilled through the 
 dim aisles, mounted in an ecstatic burst of melody, 
 up, up into the very heights of the great church. 
 
 The huge Swiss swung his staff and started majes 
 tically back toward the vestry room. Gerome took 
 her hand, and still in a dream, she followed. It 
 wasn t until they were once more out in the sunlight 
 standing on the broad steps of the Madelaine, as 
 they waited for their white cockaded coachman to 
 answer the signal of the dignified Swiss, that Marie 
 woke suddenly to a realization of what had taken 
 place. 
 
 The June sunshine touched her lovingly with its 
 golden rays, and sent little blue and crimson lights 
 dancing in the diamonds of the pin at her throat as 
 it trembled with the throbbing of her heart. She 
 looked up at the tall figure at her side in its resplend 
 ent uniform, the quiet strength of the handsome pro 
 file, the confident lift of the broad shoulders. Her 
 heart was full of a great thanksgiving, an adoring 
 love beyond words. 
 
 Gerome, her husband!
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE short honeymoon was spent at Interlaken, 
 which Gerome had chosen because of the quiet as well 
 as the beauty. He wanted Marie to himself. 
 
 As he threw the long windows wide, the morning 
 after their arrival, he uttered an involuntary excla 
 mation at the scene of beauty spread before him. 
 They had arrived late the night before and the full 
 wonder of an Alpine sunrise shone out before their 
 eyes. 
 
 Marie came to his side. 
 
 "How marvelous!" she whispered, her eyes wide 
 with the splendor of the scene. 
 
 He put his arm about her shoulders, and together 
 they stepped out onto the tiny balcony outside the 
 window. Below them, the busy little Aa purled and 
 gurgled on its way to the lake. Some sleek, spotted 
 cows ambled lazily across the bridge, their bells tink 
 ling musically through the still morning air. A small, 
 red-cheeked boy prodded them idly with a long, 
 crooked stick. 
 
 Above them, the mighty peaks flung themselves high 
 into the clear blue sky, like huge giants supplicating 
 the morning sun. Here and there along their sides 
 the mists filled tiny valleys, here and there lay deep 
 impenetrable shadows, but the snow on their summits 
 glittered and sparkled with the pink of the Alpine 
 
 glow. 
 
 136
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 137 
 
 To Marie, as she stood with her husband s arm 
 about her, came a swift, half conscious premonition 
 that her own life would be something like this vast 
 panorama spread before her ; that she, too, would be 
 called upon to climb through the mist-filled valleys, 
 to fight her way through dark, impenetrable shadows, 
 up, up into the glow of the shining heights. 
 
 They had their breakfast out on the tiny balcony, 
 a delicious meal of crisp, crescent rolls and little hol 
 low swirls of sweet butter, clear golden honey and 
 steaming, fragrant coffee. 
 
 The buxom maid who served it, wore a black velvet 
 bodice with silver buttons, and the crisp white folds 
 of her ample apron matched the snow on the summit 
 of the Jungfrau. Her cheeks were so red that the 
 blood seemed bursting from them, and her bright eyes 
 sparkled back the happiness in the eyes of the pair 
 she was serving. 
 
 Marie had tied her hair back, schoolgirl fashion, 
 with a huge bow, and after the red-cheeked maid had 
 left them, she came and sat on the arm of Gerome s 
 chair. 
 
 "What would I have done if you had never found 
 me," she said musingly, as she smoothed his thick 
 hair. "Out of the darkness, we met! You led me 
 into a world of light and love. How wonderful it is !" 
 Her eyes were large and mysterious as they gazed 
 over the far spaces of the valley. 
 
 "But we did meet, little Sainte Marie, and we re 
 never going to part, are we?" 
 
 She tightened her arm about his neck. 
 
 "Nothing or no one shall ever take you from me,"
 
 138 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 she said, and she spoke so earnestly that Gerome 
 turned in his chair and held her off at arm s length. 
 
 "How serious you are," he smiled, "as if that could 
 be possible." 
 
 "Nothing must separate us, I d I d die with 
 out you," she said, and jumping to her feet, she 
 ran into the room. 
 
 Marie found amusement and interest in everything 
 and everybody about her. She and Gerome were like 
 two children out on a holiday, and played wonderful 
 games of imagining the life stories of their fellow 
 guests at the quiet little hotel. 
 
 Their first meal at the long table d hote was one 
 of absorbing interest to her. The maids who served 
 were each an exact counterpart of the red-cheeked 
 girl who had brought them their breakfast, black 
 velvet bodice, silver buttons, white apron and all. 
 
 Across from them, sat a very dignified German 
 family. The Baron Von Dieskow, a tall, good-look 
 ing old man who looked at Marie with a pair of very 
 sparkling eyes set in a handsome, merry face, burnt 
 quite red, had an explosive way of saying "NO !" to 
 everything one said, as though it was the most won 
 derful thing in the world. The Baroness he was her 
 third husband, she told Marie was a pretty little 
 English woman. She brought forward a young lady 
 daughter, very homely and dowdyish and distinctly 
 German, although she spoke English to Gerome, who 
 liked to air his knowledge of that language, with a 
 pronounced Picadilly accent. There were also two 
 young children who curtsied and kissed Marie s 
 hand when their mother presented them.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 139 
 
 The Baron, it seemed, had met Gerome s father 
 once in Paris, and there were many polite inquiries as 
 to the General s health, and soon he and Gerome were 
 deep in the discussion of mountain climbing and 
 hunting. 
 
 "I am not a very good shot," Marie heard the 
 Baron say with his merry litle eyes sparkling, "in 
 fact, I m not at all fatal to the birds. Once, how 
 ever, I frightened one, but that s all," and he and 
 Gerome laughed heartily. 
 
 Next Marie, sat a faded little maiden lady from 
 Yorkshire with a Mona-Lisa smile. She spoke French 
 very slowly and very badly, and hyphenated all her 
 speeches with a nervous little cough. 
 
 There was also a sandy-haired, pale-eyed man who 
 made Marie think of nothing so much as a tom-cat 
 with his back up. He was a major something-or- 
 other, of what nationality she could not judge. He 
 smiled at her in a horrid, over-polite way, and con 
 fided to her across the table that he had been a monk 
 for fourteen years in the great Certosa at Florence. 
 
 "I thought they never let anyone out, who once 
 entered there," ventured Marie timidly. 
 
 "I m sure, Madame, they would never let you out," 
 he said, evidently meaning to be witty, but Marie 
 colored and turned away to watch the other people 
 about the long table. 
 
 Gerome s discussion with the Baron was still going 
 on briskly, and she had ample leisure to study the 
 curious combinations of people who drift together, 
 "doing Europe." 
 
 At the end of the table sat a group of Americans,
 
 140 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 whose joyous good humor and interest in everything 
 attracted her attention. She did not understand the 
 laughing sallies which flew back and forth, but their 
 merriment was so infectious that she smiled with them. 
 
 In Vienna the people were all of a type. It was 
 easy for her to recognize a foreigner. In Paris also, 
 the people resembled one another, so that she never 
 had any difficulty in distinguishing which were 
 French and which were of an alien race, but no two 
 of these Americans were alike. They all wore some 
 thing of the same sort of clothes, but there the re 
 semblance ended. 
 
 Her curious eyes widened over the quantity of 
 jewelry several of the women wore, no matter what 
 the hour of the day. One of the men in the party, a 
 tall, broad-shouldered individual, with a florid face 
 and a loud laugh, seemed to fill all his conversation 
 with uncomplimentary comparisons of the comforts 
 to be had in Europe with those at home. His fellow 
 countrymen seemed to heartily agree with his senti 
 ments. 
 
 One of the women, a stout, elderly person, who 
 boasted neither style nor figure, turned to Marie with 
 a question. Marie shook her head, blushing. 
 
 "Pardon me, Madame," she said, "I speak no 
 English." 
 
 The shout of laughter from the other Americans 
 that greeted her answer, startled her, until, to her 
 confusion, she discovered that the elderly woman had 
 addressed her in what she fondly imagined was 
 French. 
 
 "Isn t it all interesting?" laughed Marie, as cling-
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 141 
 
 ing to her tall husband s arm, they started for a walk 
 about the countryside. Everything was wonderful 
 to her, and Gerome, watching the sun sparkle on her 
 hair and dance in her bright eyes found everything 
 wonderful too. 
 
 They explored the little town, wandered about in 
 all the out-of-the-way corners, took long rambles up 
 the mountain sides, and in the lovely June evenings, 
 sat on the tiny balcony, her cheek against his shoul 
 der, and watched the marvel of the gold, crimson and 
 purple sunsets among the giant peaks upflung 
 against the gleaming sky. 
 
 It was a perfect week, and when it drew to a close, 
 and they were leaving for Paris, their boxes and bags 
 strapped and ready in the hall below, in charge of the 
 green-aproned porter, Marie ran back to the room 
 in which she had been so happy. She looked about 
 hastily and lovingly at the plain hotel furniture, the 
 wide, marble-topped dresser, the great chair on the 
 arm of which she had sat so often as Gerome smoked 
 his morning cigar. She went about to each inanimate 
 object and patted it lovingly. 
 
 "Dear room," she whispered, "where I have been 
 so happy. How I have loved each one of all these 
 things !" 
 
 The long windows were open, and she stepped out 
 for a moment onto the balcony. She looked up at 
 the glistening Jungfrau. Its majesty, its whiteness 
 filled her with wonder. 
 
 "Beautiful mountain," she said softly. "You have 
 looked down on my happiness, I shall always remem-
 
 142 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 her you." Then she turned and went to meet Gerome 
 where he was waiting in the hall. 
 
 The proprietor of the hotel was at the door. He 
 was a queer, thin little man who almost wept over 
 their hands as he bade them good-bye. 
 
 "Oh, but you must not go, really, you must not go ! 
 I am desolated to see you go," he said, and they would 
 probably have been highly flattered had they not 
 heard him say the same thing to each departing 
 guest. 
 
 Back in Paris, the Le Grands, Monsieur, Madame 
 and the two tall girls were at the little apartment in 
 the Avenue d Antin to greet them. They had en 
 gaged Suzanne, Julie s younger sister, to come and 
 take charge of the small household, and she it was 
 who, very important and smiling in white cap and 
 apron, opened the door to the young couple when 
 they arrived. 
 
 The trip from Geneva had been a long dusty one, 
 and Marie was tired, but her joy was very real at 
 seeing these kind faces again. 
 
 Monsieur nearly shook Gerome s hand off and 
 patted him vigorously on the shoulder. 
 
 "We re glad you re both back," he rumbled. "How 
 well you look, how brown ! Even Marie has been 
 Jkissed by the sun." 
 
 The two girls must show Marie everything. She 
 must see her room with its dainty gray furniture, the 
 delicate lavender hangings. She must be taken 
 into Gerome s room beyond. Wasn t it charming? 
 Didn t she like the way it was arranged? And the 
 white and gold salon, the tiny dining-room with its
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 143 
 
 shining silver and china. The kitchen, wasn t it all 
 wonderful ? 
 
 Marie let them lead her from room to room. She 
 couldn t be too grateful, too happy. Her dream was 
 growing in loveliness. 
 
 Suzanne had spread a dainty meal in the dining- 
 room, coffee, little cakes, wine and some cold meat 
 and rolls, and as they sat about the table, they all 
 chattered at once. 
 
 At last Monsieur looked at his watch. 
 
 Dear me, how late it was, they mustn t keep these 
 tired travelers awake any longer. 
 
 Suzanne, all smiles, brought Madame s wrap and 
 the girl s coats. 
 
 Monsieur, his walking-stick under one arm and 
 Madame under the other, led the way out, after kiss 
 ing Marie resoundingly on both cheeks and patting 
 Gerome on the shoulder and telling him what a lucky 
 dog he was. 
 
 Later, Gerome came to the door of his wife s dainty 
 gray and lavender room. She was letting down her 
 heavy golden braids, and the sleeves of her negligee 
 fell away from her white arms, as she raised them to 
 her hair. She looked very lovely against the misty 
 background of the pretty room, and his eyes swept 
 her fondly. She let her hair fall about her shoulders 
 and held her arms out to him. 
 
 "My dearest," she said, "welcome, welcome home !" 
 
 Gerome held her against his breast. 
 
 "My little Sainte Marie," he whispered.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE little apartment in the Avenue d Antin shone 
 like a carefully kept doll s house. Marie, indulging 
 her fancy for dainty clothes, went about the tiny 
 rooms dressed in the prettiest frocks in her modest 
 trousseau. 
 
 There were visits back and forth between her 
 cousins and herself. Fleurette and Sidonie spent long 
 afternoons with her, which she did her best to fill 
 with interest and enjoyment for them, getting out 
 her finest china for the afternoon chocolate. 
 They never ceased to wonder at her new dignity, her 
 staid little air of matronliness, secretly promising 
 themselves to copy it when they should be married. 
 When the time came for Julie to call for them, it 
 always seemed too soon, and Marie used to stand at 
 her window and wave good-bye to them till they had 
 turned the corner. 
 
 There were afternoons, too, when she would take 
 her sewing in a dainty reticule and go sedately up to 
 the apartment in the Avenue Victor Hugo. Her life 
 was full and overflowing. Occasionally Gerome would 
 bring one of his fellow-officers and his wife to dine, 
 and sometimes these visits were returned. 
 
 So the days slipped by, peacefully, calmly, each 
 filled with more happiness than Marie ever dreamed 
 life could hold. 
 
 Then into this peaceful, contented atmosphere, 
 
 gradually, imperceptibly, out of the nowhere, vague 
 
 144
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 145 
 
 rumors began to shape themselves. A curious palpi 
 tating unrest made itself felt. The air seemed 
 charged with something strange, alive, too formless 
 to guess at, until one momentous day, that was to 
 stand forever a grim milestone in the world s history. 
 The papers were full of a terrible happening. The 
 Austrian Arckduke had been assassinated, a shot 
 had been fired at the royal carriage in a far-away 
 country. Through the Paris streets, the news was 
 cried. 
 
 Intangible menace seemed to quiver in the air, fill 
 ing the heart with vague apprehensions of coming 
 danger, like the glare of a great conflagration that 
 is seen on the far horizon. 
 
 When she questioned her husband, he quieted her 
 fears, though his own brow was anxious. This was 
 all too remote, it would never come near enough to 
 destroy. 
 
 There were long discussions over the little dining- 
 table when the Le Grands or any of Gerome s fellow 
 officers came to dine. She heard her own Austria 
 discussed unfavorably. She wondered that Germany, 
 whom she had always been brought up to look upon 
 as the Great Protector, should here be viewed as the 
 Arch-Conspirator, the Menacing Tyrant, blood- 
 thirstily eager to get the whole world in the grip of 
 its mailed fist. 
 
 Looking at her husband s uniform, it was brought 
 home to her, with a gasping fear, what war might 
 mean to her. But Gerome, seeing the look in her eyes, 
 would reach across the table and pat her hand, and 
 Monsieur Le Grand would rumble his assurances that
 
 146 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 everything would surely blow over, Germany was too 
 wise to set all Europe against her. 
 
 And then the distant conflagration seemed to grow 
 
 clearer. It was as though the bright tongues of 
 
 flame one had only imagined, became suddenly visible, 
 
 .Reaping, advancing, devouring everything in their 
 
 course. 
 
 The formless something that had palpitated in the 
 air, took shape, and began to spell out the dread 
 word, "WAR." 
 
 Every hour extras came out with news. Every 
 hour it was denied. 
 
 From the windows of the little apartment in the 
 Avenue d Antin, Marie, with a white face, stood at 
 Gerome s shoulder, watching the bonfires blazing 
 where the police were burning the false newspapers. 
 
 "What does it all mean?" she shuddered. "What 
 can it all mean?" 
 
 Gerome held her close. 
 
 "It may mean dreadful things, dear, we can only 
 wait and see," he told her. 
 
 She was frightened every moment he was away 
 from her, though the Avenue d Antin was quiet and 
 peaceful. On her way to visit the Le Grands, she had 
 seen the huge placards posted along the Boulevards 
 ordering the men to the casernes. 
 
 Gerome was with his regiment nearly always now, 
 and she was much alone. Terror of what it might 
 mean, fear of she knew not what, enveloped her. 
 Here and there, she was beginning to hear the street 
 gamins shout out their hatred of the Boches. Once 
 or twice they had called the name at her. She began
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 147 
 
 to fancy she could even see in the kindly faces of her 
 cousins a certain resentment of her origin. 
 
 Once she had spoken to Fleurette in German, and 
 the girl had raised her arm as though warding off 
 a blow. 
 
 "Don t speak that language," she had cried, and 
 Marie, white-faced and wide-eyed, had looked into 
 their serious faces, terror-stricken. 
 
 It couldn t be true ! There couldn t be war ! To 
 day, when mankind had grown so civilized, so filled 
 with a sense of culture as she had heard it preached, 
 it couldn t be true ! The Fatherland, her Austria, 
 and the country she had made her own? It was too 
 horrible, too terrible to think of, it couldn t be! 
 These weren t the days of the dark ages ! This was 
 the enlightened twentieth century ! It would all blow 
 over ! It must ! 
 
 Gerome soothed her. 
 
 "Marie, dear," he said seriously, "we are on the 
 edge of grave things. I am not asking you to give 
 up your love for your home land, but your allegiance 
 belongs here now. We must be very careful. Every 
 where there is suspicion, distrust of those who are not 
 of our own blood. We must be very cautious." 
 
 Marie threw herself into his arms, frightened at 
 his gravity. 
 
 "Nothing matters but you," she said; "nothing! 
 There won t be war ! There can t be ! Nothing shall 
 take you away from me !" 
 
 Her husband shook his head sadly above her trem 
 bling shoulders. 
 
 "Poor little one," he sighed, "there shouldn t be
 
 148 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 war! But there may be. We must all do our best, 
 whatever comes !" 
 
 A few days later, came a wild letter from Paulette. 
 
 "What is Paris saying?" it began. "What is 
 Paris doing? Are we to let our country be overrun? 
 Our beloved France insulted, reviled? Papa is 
 drilling men every day here at the caserne, and 
 Maurice is at home in Belgium now, but he will come 
 as soon as France needs him and fight for the flag 
 he loves almost as well as his own. Maman, too, is 
 busy teaching the peasants what to do in case of the 
 worst. Robert, the butler, has left to enlist if he is 
 needed, and we have a new man. He is over age, they 
 do not need him to fight. He seems very good. Even 
 old Nanine is going to send her three sons. Oh, 
 Gerome, my brother, I wish I were a man, so that I 
 could go with you and fight for France if she needs 
 me." And then in a paragraph all by itself had fol 
 lowed the line: "What about Marie is she one 
 of us?" 
 
 Marie looked up startled from the letter Gerome 
 had handed her. 
 
 Paulette s vague distrust was voiced now. She was 
 an alien, an enemy. She seemed to hear the cries of 
 the street gamins, "yah! Boche!" To her there was 
 neither France nor Germany, peace nor war. There 
 was only Gerome, her husband. He was her world, 
 her all, without him, Chaos! It was all a horrible 
 nightmare ; such things did not happen to-day. Hus 
 bands would not leave wives who loved them, to fight 
 husbands of other wives who loved them equally well. 
 They were living in a civilized world, a world that
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 149 
 
 had outlived the horrors of Barbarian times. Such 
 
 things did not happen ! 
 
 ******* 
 
 And then the sun had risen on the fourth of August 
 and Belgium lay ravished and bleeding. The world 
 rocked and groaned and was torn asunder. The 
 skies thundered to the echo and re-echo of devastating 
 guns. One after another, the nations shook off the 
 security of peace, girded themselves in the red garb 
 of war, and clashed their shields one on the other. 
 Such things did happen ! Civilization had perished ! 
 
 France was called to arms. France was responding 
 with all the joyousness, the brilliancy with which she 
 had lived in peace. France was lifting her proud 
 head, her brave, indomitable spirit against that 
 ever-advancing gray wall of deadliness, that gray 
 wall that for forty years, had builded and prepared 
 itself, had seen that no chink or cranny should be 
 left in it when The Day arrived. And against this 
 menace, as it came closer and closer, France, pitifully 
 unprepared, unexpectedly called from her playtime, 
 was taking her stand, brave and full of the courage 
 of the right that knows no defeat. 
 
 Everywhere was the sound of the Marseillaise, the 
 tramp of marching feet. Marie went with the Le 
 Grands to watch the soldiers pass along the Champs 
 Elysees. The music of the band, as they swung 
 along, the fluttering tri-color that caught the sun 
 light, the eager glow of patriotism shining from each 
 young face as it swept by, tightened her throat, 
 misted her eyes, and she found herself forgetting that
 
 150 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 they were marching against her own people, her own 
 Fatherland. 
 
 She .saw herself in each mother, each wife, each 
 sweetheart, trudging along by the side of the swing 
 ing troops. She felt her own heart bleed with these 
 weeping ones, sending their best to fight for what, 
 they loved more, La Patrie! When she could bear 
 it no longer, she turned with streaming eyes and 
 begged Fleurette and Sidonie to take her home. 
 
 Gerome was not to leave yet, he had other work to 
 do ; but she knew the day was not far distant when she 
 would be sending him out as those other mothers, 
 wives and sweethearts were doing. 
 
 The days swept on into those terrible ones, when 
 all Paris waited anxiously for the result of the battles 
 being waged, when all Paris shuddered with the ap 
 proach of invading feet. Breathless excitement, wild 
 joy at the reports of victory, of the foe vanquished, 
 ran like wild-fire through the streets. Then followed 
 those other rumors, alarming, terrible, later con 
 firmed by official reports. The Army was falling 
 back! The Enemy was advancing! 
 
 Gerome was with her less and less now. Marie 
 kept safely hidden in her little apartment. When he 
 came home, it was only for hurried, brief visits, assur 
 ances that he would see to- her safety, but that his 
 place and duty was with his regiment which had been 
 detailed to guard the city. 
 
 One morning, Marie was awakened by an ominous 
 rumbling, far away, deep-toned and menacing. 
 
 Suzanne ran in trembling with fright.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 151 
 
 "Madame," she gasped, "it is the guns! Do you 
 not hear them?" 
 
 She went to the window and looked down into the 
 street. People ran past, terrified, shouting that the 
 city would be taken. She saw some of her neighbors 
 leave their houses, with only such of their belongings 
 as they could conveniently carry with them. 
 
 Toward noon, the Le Grands came, dressed for 
 traveling, Madame s eyes were red with weeping, and 
 the two girls whimpered like frightened babies. Mon 
 sieur, his swarthy face yellowish from a long night 
 of vigil and the knowledge of what this might mean 
 to Paris, bade Marie pack a few things and come 
 with them. 
 
 "We are leaving for Bordeaux," he said. "The 
 Government has been moved there. I go with my 
 office. You must come with us, Marie, you will be 
 safer there." 
 
 Marie stared from one to the other, frightened. 
 
 "How can I go," she said. "Gerome is with his 
 regiment at the Fortifications. He bade me stay 
 here, close, indoors." 
 
 Nothing could move her, and weeping bitterly, the 
 girls clinging about her neck, and Madame kissing 
 her sadly, they said good-bye. 
 
 The cloud that hung over everything deepened, 
 grew blacker. Terror, horror, and a dreadful sor 
 row stalked the streets. Defeat was approaching, 
 defeat by a foe who had once before marched 
 triumphantly down these broad avenues, under these 
 stately arches built as the memorial of a proudly 
 victorious nation. Men and women stopped each
 
 152 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 other in the streets, asking if this were going to 
 happen again. 
 
 Invasion, and all that it meant, hung like a black 
 pall over the city called the gayest, the happiest in 
 the world, covering, enveloping it with a dreadful 
 menace. 
 
 A tragic figure, Paris waited its doom. 
 
 Then, suddenly, across the blackness came a mes 
 sage. The enemy was halted. Louder roared the 
 guns, but now, those who listened seemed to hear a 
 note of triumph in their fierce song, a shout that 
 bade them look up, take courage! It was as though 
 the spirit of Jeanne d Arc had again raised the 
 Oriflamme. 
 
 La Patrie lifted her head once more. Bloody, 
 wounded, but proudly undaunted. 
 
 Another message ! The enemy was retiring ! 
 
 The flower of France was sweeping onward! On 
 ward ! The tide had turned ! 
 
 Through the streets, the people sang, shouted, wild 
 with joy. 
 
 A little stream had marked the high tide of 
 French patriotism and valor; a little stream that 
 would live in the memory of men as long as deeds 
 like these should be written or sung; a little stream 
 which would be forever after endeared to the hearts 
 and the minds of the French nation the Marne !
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 IN ghastly numbers, the wounded began pouring 
 into Paris, a sad and terrible procession. About the 
 railroad stations, crowds were gathered. Mothers, 
 sisters, wives, sweethearts were anxiously scanning 
 each pitiful burden as it was lifted into the waiting 
 ambulances, their hearts torn with the fear that this 
 might be the one they sought. Strong men shook 
 with anguish at the terrible spectacle. These shat 
 tered wrecks, who had gone forth in the pride of 
 their youth and strength, fought, suffered, died, 
 so that Liberty might live, their wounds mutely 
 supplicating those who were to take their places not 
 to let their sacrifice be in vain. 
 
 As the stretchers were tenderly borne past the 
 waiting people, flowers were flung on the gray blan 
 kets, there were cheers and suppressed sobs. But 
 mingling with their tears was a feeling of exultant 
 pride that these man had saved their beloved country 
 from the humiliation of defeat, had kept hope still 
 alive for final victory. 
 
 The women of France, those wonderful women who 
 have always risen to every crisis in their - country s 
 history flocked to give their services to her now. 
 
 With Gerome s permission, Marie offered her aid. 
 Her hands were deft and light, and her heart was full 
 of pity for these poor boys whom she had seen march 
 away so bravely, young, strong, and flushed with the 
 glow of eager patriotism. She was filled with com- 
 
 153
 
 154 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 passion for these people of whom her marriage had 
 made her one, and she worked early and late among 
 them. The fatigue that followed acted as a sort of 
 relief against the terrible anxiety with which she 
 was filled as to Gerome s safety, for now she never 
 knew where he was nor into what danger he was 
 going. 
 
 As an assistant nurse, she spent most of her time 
 in the hospitals, going from bed to bed, comforting, 
 consoling, doing as much as her limited training would 
 permit. Her heart bled for the sightless eyes that 
 had so recently smiled back the sunlight; for the 
 useless stumps of arms that could never again hold 
 those they loved ; for the helpless young giants shorn 
 of their strength forever. As she went in and out 
 among the terrible flotsam tossed back by the tide 
 of battle, a wondering admiration for the people of 
 her adoption grew in her heart, for torn and racked, 
 bloody and shattered as they were, these men never 
 complained, there was never a word of discourage 
 ment. Stronger than their suffering, stronger than 
 the thought of the helpless years ahead, was the joy 
 born of the knowledge that they had fought well and 
 bravely for what they loved most La Patrie ! 
 
 There was more than enough to do for all who were 
 willing to lend their aid. Marie s heart was wholly 
 in her work, she toiled unremittingly. She tried to 
 comfort those among her acquaintances whose dear 
 ones lay out beneath the little wooden crosses near 
 the Marne. 
 
 But although in the hospitals her gentle hand and 
 sweet face brought comfort to many a pain-racked
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 155 
 
 poilu, gradually among her own circle she seemed to 
 sense a widening breach, a rift in the love and com 
 panionship that had always been given her. 
 
 One day she overheard Fleurette and Sidonie dis 
 cussing her. 
 
 "Marie is different," said the older, "she isn t 
 really one of the Boches, she belongs to us !" 
 
 "She was born there," the other had responded 
 doggedly, "and I heard papa say yesterday, Once a 
 German, always a German ! 5: 
 
 She went into their room immediately, and care 
 fully explained to them that all her love and 
 allegiance was with them ; that she had given up her 
 own country with her marriage to Gerome, and was 
 now as loyally French as they. 
 
 But the tales of brutality, of wanton destruction 
 that were reported in Paris, the cruelty of these peo 
 ple from whom she had sprung, were inconceivable to 
 her. She couldn t believe them. Once she voiced 
 these doubts to Gerome. 
 
 He put his hands on her shoulders and looked deep 
 into her eyes. 
 
 "Dearest," he said, "I m afraid these things are 
 true. It will be best for you to believe them, and to 
 forget that the blood of our enemies flows in your 
 veins !" 
 
 Once on her way home, she had seen an angry mob 
 stoning the windows of Herr Pappenheim s Rotis- 
 serie. Through the door she caught a glimpse of the 
 round face of the proprietor. It was a pasty-white, 
 and there was a swollen lump over one eye where a 
 stone had struck him. The windows were smashed
 
 156 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 and yelling boys were pillaging among the appetizing 
 stores. 
 
 She heard the derisive shouts of "Boches yah, sale 
 Boche," as the gendarmes dispersed the crowd. 
 
 Good Herr Pappenheim, who had so often winked 
 at a generous overweight for some needy customer, 
 and in the warm evenings had always sat happily on 
 the sidewalk before his shop, his fat German wife at 
 his side, and all the children in the neighborhood 
 climbing over his broad, good-humored shoulders ! 
 And now, with this new feeling against his race, these 
 same children were stoning his windows ! 
 
 The return of the government to Paris brought 
 the Le Grands with it. Julie came with a note to the 
 Avenue d Antin. 
 
 "Dear Marie," it said, "we are home again. We 
 shall be very glad to see you when you can spare the 
 time !" 
 
 "Spare the time," she looked up startled. The 
 formal phrasing worried her. Were they too, think 
 ing of her as The Enemy ? 
 
 "They don t trust me," she complained to Gerome 
 on one of his fleeting visits to her. "They look at 
 me as though I am some strange creature that doesn t 
 belong here. They they whisper about me. Yes 
 terday, at the Red Cross rooms, I heard Madame 
 Dupin say I was an alien, and and once or twice 
 they spoke about about spies!" 
 
 Gerome, weary with his long vigil and happy to be 
 with her again, drew her close in his arms. 
 
 "Dearest," he murmured, "I know it must be very 
 hard for you. This sort of thing is one of the worst
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 157 
 
 phases of this war. But you are one of us now ! It 
 is because you are a part of my beloved France, that 
 She means more to me than ever." 
 
 Marie nestled closer, her cheek against his brown 
 one. 
 
 "I am a part of France, dear, now and forever !" 
 
 She felt her words deeply, with a sense of elation 
 in the knowledge that she did belong to this wonder 
 ful country whose children could sing their way hap 
 pily through the sunlit days of peace, and yet when 
 the sky grew overcast with war clouds that obscured 
 the sun and threatened to overwhelm her with destruc 
 tion, be ready to lay aside their playthings, turn 
 from their laughter and ease, and girding on their 
 armor, stand staunch and firm, fighting to the last 
 drop of their heart s blood. 
 
 In the faces about her, she read the exaltation that 
 must have lighted the countenance of the Maid of 
 Orleans, the determination that the proud head of 
 their beloved country should never be bowed beneath 
 a strange yoke. 
 
 She forgot Austria, forgot Germany, forgot her 
 alien blood, and gave her waking hours gladly, un 
 reservedly to be as useful as she could. 
 
 After the supply of trained nurses increased she 
 was set to making surgical dressings, and, as she 
 rolled the interminable yards of gauze, the room 
 would sometimes blur through her tears of sympathy 
 at the sad stories she heard. But as more and more 
 of the terribly wounded kept pouring into the city, 
 the hatred and resentment against the enemy who 
 was causing all this suffering grew, and she began
 
 158 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 to see a difference in the faces about her. Women 
 who had been kind and friendly before, who had 
 politely ignored her foreign origin, now began openly 
 to show their disfavor. 
 
 Sometimes when she entered the room filled with 
 women busy preparing supplies for the hospitals, 
 there would be a sudden cessation of conversation, as 
 though she had been the subject they were discussing. 
 
 As the days wore on, suspicion and distrust became 
 more open, friends of the Le Grands who knew her 
 origin, cut her as they passed her in the street, and 
 even her cousins asked her less and less to the apart 
 ment in the Avenue Victor Hugo. 
 
 Marie s sensitive nature shrank from the aversion 
 about her. She suffered keenly from the suspicion 
 directed against her. So at last it was decided that 
 she would be safer at the Chateau de la Motte than 
 here in Paris where she must of necessity be so much 
 alone. Tearfully, she closed the little apartment and 
 prepared to go to her husband s people.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 To Paulette, the fourth of August meant the sud 
 den ending of all her happy anticipations, for, shortly 
 after the declaration of war, Maurice had been taken 
 prisoner. 
 
 When the news came to the chateau, she refused to 
 believe it ; such a thing was impossible ! Maurice was 
 to fare forth and fight for France, he was to fly her 
 colors from his helmet as did the knights of old ! But 
 he had been obliged to fight the invaders of his own 
 country. The Germans had come! The Germans 
 had conquered ! Maurice was a prisoner ! 
 
 Paulette had never known in all her short life what 
 denial meant. To her parents, her word and whim 
 was law, and her brother idolized her. Her every wish 
 had been gratified. She insisted now that they de 
 mand her lover s freedom. She could not be made 
 to understand the futility of even asking. It was 
 impossible that what she wanted so ardently, should 
 be kept from her. 
 
 There came a letter, meagre, bloodless, sternly 
 emasculated by the Teuton censor, but it contained 
 one word that sent the blood from her lips 
 "Wounded." Other letters followed, but they were 
 pitifully empty, so lacking in everything that she 
 wanted to know, that they were more a source of 
 grief than comfort. After awhil&, even these stopped. 
 
 Old Nanine, the Breton woman, who had nursed 
 159
 
 160 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 Paulette and her brother, shook her head over the 
 shadows under her eyes, the listless droop of her 
 mouth, the hollows in the delicate oval of her cheeks. 
 
 The girl was filled with a flame of deep, bitter rage 
 that consumed her day and night. The tears that 
 came to the relief of other women, were denied her. 
 Hate, that most terrible of the children of War, was 
 born in her breast. 
 
 "Now dearie," crooned Nanine, "don t take it like 
 that ! It can t be long before the French will have 
 driven the Boches away, and the young Monsieur will 
 be back again. Come, calm yourself! What a pic 
 ture you will be for him to see when he comes, if you 
 go on so." 
 
 But Paulette refused to be comforted. The sunni- 
 ness of her nature changed into a brooding sullen- 
 ness. She grew to hate the very name of the Ger 
 mans, and little by little her resentment fastened itself 
 on Marie, her Austrian sister-in-law. 
 
 In the midst of her grief and despair, one day 
 one of her school friends, a girl of her own age, came 
 to the chateau. She wore the white coif of the 
 trained nurse with its little red cross of mercy bound 
 about her forehead. She was filled with wonderful 
 tales of bravery and suffering, and in a flash Paulette 
 knew that this was the work which would fill her 
 time and her heart while waiting for Maurice, and 
 perhaps enable her to help him. She began to dream 
 that it might be her hands that would nurse him back 
 to health. She must make those hands as skillful as 
 possible. She threw herself into the necessary studies 
 with feverish energy.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 161 
 
 Though the General had passed the retiring age, 
 he had been recalled to active service and was absent 
 most of the time. When he did come home, it was 
 only for hurried visits. The household was com 
 pletely changed. One by one, those of the men 
 servants who were young enough, had been called to 
 the colors and had marched away. Old Nanine had 
 seen her two eldest sons go, big, strapping fellows of 
 whom she was justly proud. In company with so 
 many other French mothers, she had said good-bye to 
 them for the last time. Jean had fallen in one of the 
 first skirmishes and Pierre had received his death 
 wound a few weeks later. Now the youngest, Jacques, 
 had just left for the front. Her heart was very 
 heavy, but she stifled her own sorrow to comfort the 
 grieving Paulette. 
 
 Madame de la Motte busied herself from early 
 morning to night, gathering supplies and looking 
 after the families of those who had gone with the 
 army. 
 
 Of the men about the chateau, none were left ex 
 cepting Joseph, the gardener, stooping under his 
 sixty heavy years, and the new butler. 
 
 This man was tall and thin, perhaps forty-five, his 
 hair graying at the temples, his dark, watchful eyes 
 looking out steadily from under heavy brows. He 
 was so well spoken of in the letters of recommenda 
 tion which he presented, that Madame de la Motte 
 considered herself fortunate to have found him. 
 
 Antoine this was his name and old Nanine, did 
 not agree very well. The Breton peasant distrusted 
 and disliked every one whose ancestry she did not
 
 162 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 know. Her broad, good-humored face would set in 
 wooden lines when she and Antoine encountered one 
 another, and if he took her to task about even the 
 smallest thing, she would shower upon him a volley of 
 sturdy Breton abuse. So usually the mild and quiet- 
 spoken Antoine avoided her as much as possible. 
 
 Nanine was a privileged character. She came and 
 went as she pleased in the household, although her 
 own home was the gate house just at the entrance to 
 the chateau grounds. Here she lived, with an orphan 
 girl named Angele, who was to marry Jacques when 
 he came back from the war. 
 
 To this cottage of Nanine s, Paulette came nearly 
 every day. She brought her letters as she received 
 them from Maurice, and the two girls would read 
 them over and over, Angele pointing out where the 
 censor had blotted out a phrase, Paulette, through 
 her tears, trying to supply it. And Jacques letters 
 were gone over in the same way. When the news 
 came that he, too, was taken prisoner and sent to 
 Belgium, they spent much of their time hoping that 
 he would be near Maurice, and so these two girls, 
 one at each end of the social scale, bridged the gap 
 that separated them and became one in a sorrow com 
 mon to both. For grief, as well as war, knows no 
 caste. 
 
 Old Nanine, her wide Breton skirts billowing about 
 her, the huge wings of her great white Breton cap 
 framing her broad face, trudged back and forth with 
 Paulette on her errands among the peasants, her 
 heart heavy with the sorrow that comes to every 
 mother of men, when men are waging war. She would
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 163 
 
 not trust the girl alone on her own familiar roads, 
 for the armies were nearing their quiet village. 
 
 So the days went by, those dreadful August days. 
 Into almost every household about them came the sad 
 news that some loved son who had marched away so 
 bravely, would never return. The faces of the women 
 grew wan and sad. Joy had gone from the world. 
 
 And now the air began to tremble with an ominous 
 intonation, a sound filled with grim menace that con 
 tinued day and night, a harbinger of death and de 
 struction, of devastation and terror. A sound that 
 was never to cease in the long months that followed, 
 sometimes swelling into a deep, distant roar, some 
 times dying away in a dull, intermittent muttering. 
 
 It was the voice of the guns !
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 ONE day there came a letter from Gerome. 
 
 "I am bringing my wife to stay with you," it said. 
 "Paris is growing uncomfortable for her, for though 
 she is as loyal as I am myself, there are those who 
 are unkind because of her foreign birth. I have leave 
 of absence, as I have important business to talk over 
 with you, my father, and so when I leave for the 
 front, I shall know that Marie is in the care of my 
 mother and Paulette. We shall motor from here 
 sometime on Wednesday, and will probably be with 
 you Thursday evening. Until then and the 
 letter ended with the loving messages Gerome always 
 sent his parents, for he was a devoted son. 
 
 The General, home for a few days, read the letter 
 aloud, Madame closed her eyes quickly for a moment, 
 to hide the sudden mist that rose to them. 
 
 "I shall see my boy again," she said softly, but 
 Paulette, her face sullen, sat staring into space. 
 
 "It seems a long while since we saw him," said the 
 General, folding the letter, and putting it back into 
 his breast pocket, "and he must be off again almost 
 at once !" 
 
 His wife sighed wistfully. 
 
 "We must be grateful that we are to see even this 
 much of our son. How many of our friends will never 
 see theirs again !" 
 
 Paulette swung about almost fiercely. 
 164
 
 MOTHERS OF .MEN 165 
 
 "It isn t only death that keeps them away ! Think 
 of the prisoners ! Oh, I wish I were a man ! To have 
 to sit here idly and wait, is maddening !" 
 
 She had finished her training and was daily expect 
 ing her commission as a qualified nurse. The inac 
 tion, the waiting, was wearing her already suffering 
 nerves to a wire edge. 
 
 Her mother cast a quick glance at the General and 
 reaching over, put a gentle hand on the girl s arm. 
 
 "Dear child," she began, but Paulette went on 
 almost fiercely. 
 
 "Sometimes I feel as though I shall go mad think 
 ing of Maurice, a prisoner in some filthy place, suffer 
 ing from his wound, with perhaps not even enough 
 to eat!" She bowed her head on the arm of her 
 chair and began weeping bitterly. 
 
 The General, helpless as so many men are in the 
 sight of a woman s suffering, paced the room with 
 long, military steps, his hands clutching each other 
 behind his back, his lower lip pursed out under his 
 mustache. 
 
 Madame tried to comfort the weeping girl. 
 
 "Paulette," she said, "you must be calm, your 
 brother and Marie will arrive at any moment." 
 
 The girl sprang to her feet, her eyes flashing, her 
 lips drawn back from her white teeth. 
 
 "Why did Gerome ever marry her?" she cried. 
 "Why do we have to have her with us?" 
 
 "Paulette," chided her mother, "she is your 
 brother s wife." 
 
 The General stopped a moment in his pacing. 
 
 "He returns to the front to-morrow," he said.
 
 166 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "She must not be left unprotected. It is not her 
 fault that she was born on the other side." 
 
 But the girl s pent-up emotion would have ex 
 pression. 
 
 "Who was she?" she demanded. "What was she? 
 We know nothing of her, nothing, excepting that she 
 came from Vienna, and God knows, we have no cause 
 to love anyone who comes from there!" 
 
 "Paulette," sighed her mother, "you hurt me, dear, 
 when you talk like that"; and the General added, 
 stern for the first time in his life to this beloved child 
 of his: "Paulette, you must promise me you will be 
 kind to your brother s wife." 
 
 The girl still faced them defiantly, her breast heav 
 ing with the sobs she was trying to repress. 
 
 "How can I?" she cried. "How can I bear any 
 good will to one of those fiends who are responsible 
 for all the suffering of Maurice, for all this terrible 
 agony !" 
 
 Madame s eyes were misty as she looked into the 
 drawn face which for the moment, rage had robbed 
 of all its charm. 
 
 "Dear child," she said softly, "Marie is not to 
 blame." 
 
 "She is, she is, I hate her!" and sobbing hysteric 
 ally, Paulette turned and ran from the room. 
 
 The General shook his head sadly as he looked 
 after her. 
 
 "One of the terrible evils of war," he said, "is that 
 it engenders hatred and prejudice that live for gen 
 erations after the war is over." 
 
 He paced the room thoughtfully. Now and then
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 167 
 
 he let his eyes rest fondly on Madame as she bent 
 over her knitting. The quiet, the air of peace that 
 seemed to surround them was in sharp contrast to the 
 distant rumbling where war s savage work was 
 going on. 
 
 He had spent his days after retiring from the 
 army, here at his chateau, cultivating its lands, plant 
 ing his vineyards, receiving from life what was to 
 him its most treasured possession, peace and content 
 ment. 
 
 When the children grew up, and Gerome, following 
 his father s career, entered the army, the General 
 revived his youth in his son s letters, while Madame 
 watching Paulette s romance grow and ripen, relived 
 her own love story. 
 
 They were the spirit of that people whose civiliza 
 tion had been measured by the hearth and roof-tree, 
 whose love of the home was the nucleus of that im 
 passible barrier which had opposed the Romans and 
 beaten back Attilla s advancing hordes, and who, 
 now that the enemy was again clamoring at their 
 gates, were prepared to prove that the spirit of their 
 fathers still lived and would fight to the last drop 
 of their blood to preserve that most sacred thing in 
 the hearts of all people Home !
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 PAULETTE, when she left her parents, threw a scarf 
 about her shoulders and ran across the courtyard to 
 the gate house. She longed for the sympathetic love 
 of old Nanine, on whose bosom she had always found 
 consolation. 
 
 The long summer twilight was graying off into 
 night, and the tall black poplars above the garden 
 wall showed black against the darkening sky. From 
 the low window, thrown open to the soft night air, 
 came a yellow shaft of lamp-light that lay in a square 
 patch on the neat gravel walk. 
 
 As Paulette s small heels crunched against the peb 
 bles, a figure suddenly started out of the shadows and 
 a man s voice called softly: 
 
 "Who comes?" 
 
 The girl drew back, startled. 
 
 "It is I, Paulette," she answered. He came closer 
 and Paulette stared unbelievingly into his face. 
 
 "Jacques !" she cried. 
 
 "Yes, Mam selle," answered the man, grinning 
 broadly, "from Belgium from prison !" 
 
 The girl gave a quick gasp. 
 
 "Captain le Cerf what of him?" 
 
 "I have news of him, Mam selle, but I must 
 report to the General first !" 
 
 Paulette swayed, and put out her hand to steady 
 herself against the wall. 
 
 "Maurice!" she whispered the name under her 
 168
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 169 
 
 breath as though half afraid of what the news might 
 be. "Tell me ! Quick !" but Jacques shook his head 
 stolidly. 
 
 "First the General," he said, and turning on his 
 heel, started toward the house. 
 
 There was nothing for her to do but follow. At 
 the door he stood aside to let her pass. 
 
 "Will you tell your father I am here, Mam selle?" 
 he asked. 
 
 She looked at him piteously. 
 
 "Give me my news," she begged. 
 
 "What I have to say must be said to the General, 
 Mam selle," and Paulette, the daughter of a sol 
 dier, knew he was right. But she was trembling and 
 breathless when she opened the salon door. 
 
 Her mother was still sitting as she had left her in 
 the chair near the table, her hands in her lap, the 
 lamp-light accentuating the silver of her hair. Her 
 eyes were closed and there were weary shadows under 
 them. 
 
 The girl went softly to her side and laid a loving 
 hand on her shoulder. The knowledge that she soon 
 was to have news of Maurice, had softened her heart 
 for a moment, and driven out the bitterness she felt. 
 
 Madame opened her eyes with a start. 
 
 The girl s cheeks were flushed, the hand on her 
 mother s shoulder shook. Madame looked at her 
 apprehensively. 
 
 "What is it!" she asked. These were days when 
 the most insignificant happenings might have the 
 direst foreboding.
 
 170 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "Jacques is back! He is in the hall. He is wait 
 ing to see father !" 
 
 Madame rose hastily to her feet. 
 
 "Jacques? Is it possible?" 
 
 "It is, mother! He is here! He has news of 
 Maurice !" 
 
 At the sound of her excited voice, the General 
 opened the door of his study. 
 
 Paulette waited for no more than the question in 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Jacques is here," she cried, "he is waiting to see 
 you! Oh, father, ask him quickly his news from 
 Maurice !" 
 
 The General looked from one to the other in sur 
 prise as the boy entered and stood at attention. 
 
 The girl clung to her father s arm, and Madame 
 smiled kindly. 
 
 "I understand you were a prisoner," began the 
 General. 
 
 In the full light of the lamp, they could see how 
 loosely the young soldier s dusty uniform hung on his 
 square shoulders. The skin across his cheek-bones 
 was tightly stretched, and there were lines about his 
 mouth that must have come from suffering. His chin 
 was blue with a week s growth of beard. 
 
 "I have a message from Captain le Cerf," he said. 
 
 Paulette clung to her father s arm, trembling with 
 expectation. 
 
 "What is it ?" asked the General patting the shak 
 ing hand reassuringly. 
 
 "It s a long story, Monsieur."
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 171 
 
 "Tell it in your own way, then," he said, motion 
 ing him to a chair. 
 
 Jacques seated himself stiffly, and began. 
 
 "We were prisoners in the same camp ! It was just 
 outside Liege. Soon after I got there, I saw the 
 Captain. He had been wounded." 
 
 Paulette, her eyes black and burning in her white 
 face, followed every word with pitiful eagerness. 
 
 "I was given permission to take care of him. 
 There was an English nurse there. She was very kind 
 to the prisoners. She told us how it would be possible 
 for some of us to get away. We made our plans, and 
 yesterday, two others and myself got across the 
 border. The Captain would have come also if he had 
 been strong enough, but he will be here soon," he 
 hastened to add, when he saw the look in the girl s 
 eyes, "and when it has all been arranged, a message 
 will be sent to Division Headquarters at St. Quentin, 
 giving the name of the town and the time when he 
 will reach the frontier." 
 
 Paulette was shaking with emotion. 
 
 "Escape !" she breathed. "If he only can !" 
 
 What a vindication of her pride in Maurice this 
 would be. To escape, to show the Germans how futile 
 their efforts were to hold him. Her eyes sparkled 
 and the blood surged to her cheeks. To trick the 
 hated enemy that held him, what a triumph ! 
 
 Then she thought of his wound, and her momentary 
 elation left her. Fear returned. 
 
 "Is he better? Are you sure he is better?" 
 
 "Yes, Mam selle, or I would not have left him!" 
 
 Madame rose.
 
 172 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "I must tell Nanine," she said, "that her son is 
 here !" She rang, and after a brief interval came the 
 old woman s knock. 
 
 For a moment, the Breton peasant woman stood 
 facing them, then with a glad cry, she stumbled 
 toward the young soldier. 
 
 "Jacques," she cried, and the joy and love in her 
 voice brought a lump into the boy s throat. 
 
 "Mother," he said huskily, as she rocked him in her 
 stout old arms, "Mother!" 
 
 Nanine was oblivious of the presence of the others. 
 She was the first mother, the primeval woman with 
 her child. The maternal love that goes out alike 
 from high and low, from civilized and savage, was 
 in her voice and eyes. 
 
 Presently she held him away from her. 
 
 "I knew they couldn t keep you," she said fondly. 
 "1 knew you d find your way back to me. Are you 
 well? Did they give you enough to eat?" she turned 
 to the others. "He always wanted such a lot to eat !" 
 
 Jacques grinned sheepishly. His mates too, had 
 found this out. 
 
 Paulette broke in eagerly. 
 
 "Tell me about Captain le Cerf, was he comfort 
 able? Were they kind to him?" 
 
 The old woman looked at her, surprised. 
 
 "What are you saying, Mam selle? Did the good 
 Lord bring them together?" 
 
 Jacques nodded and turned to the General. 
 
 "We were all well treated. The hardest part was 
 not getting any news. They told us things were 
 going against us, but we knew they were lying."
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 173 
 
 His mother s eyes devoured him. 
 
 "How were you taken ?" asked the General. 
 
 "Four others and myself were detailed one night 
 to cut some barbed wire. Their star-shells discovered 
 us to the Bodies, Three of our men went down, the 
 other and myself were captured and taken to a prison 
 camp in Belgium. Among the prisoners the men and 
 officers are kept separated, but one day when I was 
 doing some of the work they had set me at, I recog 
 nized Captain le Cerf as he passed near me with a hos 
 pital orderly. I suppose you ve heard that he was 
 taken in the first attack on Liege. He d been in the 
 hospital a long time when I got there, as his wound 
 had been serious. You will be glad to know, my Gen 
 eral, that in Belgium there is a band of men and 
 women whose good work it is to try and smuggle 
 French prisoners and their own men of military age, 
 out of the country. There s an English nurse one of 
 God s angels we call her who is at the head of this 
 band. She s helped a lot of us. But you see, when it 
 came to Captain le Cerf s turn to be helped to escape, 
 he was still so weak it was impossible for him to make 
 the attempt. I was next, so it was arranged that if 
 I got through the lines, I was to bring you word that 
 you might expect him. They re going to get him 
 across as soon as they can !" 
 
 "When where?" broke in Paulette. 
 
 "That I cannot tell, Mam selle. The next man 
 that is passed through will know the exact time and 
 place where Captain le Cerf will reach our lines !" 
 
 "Good!" said the General. "Now tell us how you 
 made your own escape." And Jacques, a little ner-
 
 174 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 vously, though proud of his momentary importance, 
 launched into his story. 
 
 "This English nurse was to give me all the par 
 ticulars, but so that I could get near her, I had to 
 be in the hospital, and I m a pretty healthy man," 
 his shoulders squared a little. "I was given some 
 medicine and told to take it and pretend to be sick." 
 He made a wry face at the memory. "I didn t have 
 to pretend. They got me to the hospital, and while 
 their doctor was near, my nurse was just like 
 any other nurse, but as soon as he left, she leaned 
 over me and whispered my instructions. You know, 
 sir, that the nurses have to report all deaths ; well, 
 I was to die and when I came to again, she d have 
 a Boche driver s uniform ready for me. That night 
 they smuggled me out. As far as those Bodies know, 
 I m lying out under one of their little crosses. I re 
 ported where I was told to, as an ambulance driver. 
 My uniform and accent were unquestioned, and I was 
 put in charge of an ambulance and detailed to pick 
 up the wounded. A man can feel as sorry for a 
 wounded Boche as for one of his own, and an ambu 
 lance driver sees a lot of suffering. I had to make 
 many trips before the time came when our Poilus 
 came charging across No Man s Land. I was in the 
 front trench with my stretcher-bearer at the time. 
 When I saw our men coming, I pretended to be 
 wounded, and dropped. They took the trench. I 
 tore off as much of the field gray as I could 
 and told them who I was. I was ordered to report 
 to my own regiment, and my commanding officer sent 
 me here!" Jacques told his story with the simple 
 directness of the man whose life is action, not words.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 175 
 
 Paulette had followed eagerly. Her mother s eyes 
 were wet as she listened. Old Nanine, her ample 
 bosom rising and falling with the breathless wonder 
 that this son, who was still a child to her, had come 
 through so much, murmured half aloud, a little 
 prayer of thanks for his safety. 
 
 The General nodded his approval. 
 
 "Good!" he said. "Report yourself to Colonel 
 Rambeau at St. Quentin. Tell him when word cornes 
 from Captain le Cerf, that my orders are that you 
 are to bring it here immediately. Be careful with 
 it, it is important that it does not get into other 
 hands." 
 
 Jacques saluted. 
 
 "I shall leave word that you may come directly to 
 Mademoiselle," continued the General, smiling indul 
 gently on his daughter. "That is all." \ 
 
 "Nanine," said Madame, rising, "you must want 
 to talk to your boy." 
 
 As the mother and son hurried along the path to 
 the gate house, the door opened, and Angele appeared 
 in the shaft of a light that poured out. 
 
 For a moment she stood and watched them, and 
 then with a cry, ran and threw her arms wildly 
 about the boy s neck. 
 
 Nanine turned with a sigh and went into the house, 
 leaving the girl to sob in her sweetheart s arms, and 
 it was some time before she called : 
 
 "Come in, Jacques is hungry !"
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 AFTER the door had closed on Nanine and her son, 
 the General patted the brown head resting on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Isn t it glorious news, Paulette?" 
 
 "It s wonderful how cheaply these men hold their 
 lives," Madame said musingly. "Chances that would 
 have seemed madness in normal times have now become 
 part of the day s work." 
 
 Paulette nestled closer in her father s arms. "If 
 he only reaches the frontier safely," she murmured, 
 "if he only is not discovered and taken back." 
 
 Madame s face was sad as she comforted the girl. 
 Her own sorrow and foreboding were kept close shut 
 in her heart. But self-command is measured by those 
 rare occasions when the evidence of inward struggle 
 is seen through the cloak of restraint. Something of 
 what she felt, shook for a moment her outward calm, 
 trembled in her voice, shone through the sudden mist 
 in her eyes. 
 
 "Poor Maman" said Paulette, "you have so much 
 to think of ! I have been a selfish little beast !" 
 
 The gilt clock on the mantle chimed out nine. 
 It would soon be time for Gerome to arrive. She 
 remembered with what happiness she had always 
 looked forward to his visits, their days of comrade 
 ship. Now all this was to be changed. She knew 
 she was unjust. But still there lingered in her heart 
 the resentment against this stranger whom she in 
 stinctively distrusted. If her brother might only 
 
 176
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 177 
 
 have been coming alone. All his time must now be 
 given to this woman of alien blood. She knew she 
 was unjust, that she had no grounds on which to base 
 her dislike, excepting the fact that she belonged to a 
 nation which was at war with her own. Her thoughts 
 were interrupted by the honking of a motor-horn, and 
 the swift-following sounds of clutching brakes and 
 mingling voices. 
 
 "Here they come now," she cried, her anger and 
 bitterness against Marie, which she had tried to 
 crush, surging back. 
 
 Madame rose to her feet. 
 
 "Ring for Antoine to get their bags," she said 
 quickly. 
 
 Paulette pulled the old-fashioned bell rope that 
 hung by the mantle, and then turned and stood star 
 ing sullenly into the fire. 
 
 The General hurried to the long windows and threw 
 them open. He could see the white light of the 
 motor lamps cutting a path through the darkness. 
 Gerome s voice, as he gave orders to the chauffeur, 
 came to him clearly, and presently he saw him come 
 swinging along the terrace, the light from the window 
 brightening the colors of his uniform. Marie, 
 swathed in motor veils and wrapped in a heavy coat, 
 clung to his arm. The lamp light silhouetted the 
 General s fine figure and Gerome called gayly as he 
 saw him. 
 
 "Here we are, father!" and he stood aside to let 
 Marie enter. 
 
 For a moment she stood in the window, almost 
 afraid to venture in. All the way from Paris, she had
 
 178 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 been torturing herself with the thought of how her 
 husband s people would receive her, how much they 
 would let the knowledge of her enemy blood mar 
 their love for her. She looked about her apprehen 
 sively, but the General s kind voice dispelled her fears. 
 
 "My daughter," he said as he led her in, "welcome 
 home!" 
 
 Marie threw back her veils, their soft gray fram 
 ing her sweet face and golden bands of hair. 
 
 "My dear," said Madame, "how happy we are to 
 have you with us !" 
 
 "You are all so good to take me in," faltered the 
 girl, her eyes full of tears. Gratefully, she looked 
 from one to the other, and turning to Paulette, 
 smiled wistfully into the handsome face, but Paulette s 
 greeting was ungracious and perfunctory, and the 
 smile died on Marie s lips. 
 
 Gerome s arm was about his mother s shoulders. 
 She drew his head down to hers and kissed him ten 
 derly, and then turned to his wife. 
 
 "Come dear, rest here," she said with sweet hos 
 pitality. "You must be tired after your long ride 
 from Paris." 
 
 Marie sank into the chair the General brought for 
 ward for her. 
 
 "There has been so much to weary me," she sighed. 
 
 "Yes, dear, we all realize that, and each of us, in 
 his own way, has tried to lighten the burden," and 
 Madame helped the girl unfasten her wraps. 
 
 "It is good to be here," Marie looked about her 
 gratefully, "it s it s almost like peace again." 
 
 "I knew you would be happy," said Gerome,
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 179 
 
 coming over and sitting on the arm of her chair. "I 
 told you they would be glad to have you with them." 
 
 The General beamed upon her. In the code of the 
 gallant old soldier, a pretty woman was meant to be 
 taken care of. 
 
 "We will do our best to make you feel at home with 
 us," he assured her. 
 
 "And to make you happy," added Madame; but 
 at her words, Marie broke down. 
 
 "Happy ?" she sobbed, "how can I be happy ? He 
 is going away to-morrow." 
 
 Gerome turned helplessly to his mother. 
 
 "What can I do for her?" he asked. 
 
 "Come, come," and the General patted Marie s 
 hand, "we each have our part to do, my child," and 
 then for the first time, Paulette joined in the con 
 versation. 
 
 "You are not the only one who is sending some one 
 to fight the enemy." She flung the word at Marie 
 as though it were her own name, and her sister-in- 
 law cowered under it. 
 
 Gerome was angry. He had foreseen trouble with 
 Paulette, but had hoped that the assurance of his 
 wife s loyalty, would have banished all resentment. 
 
 "Paulette !" he began, but his mother inter 
 rupted. 
 
 "Don t mind, dear, 5 * she said softly. "Paulette s 
 heart is in Belgium. Maurice is still a prisoner." 
 
 Marie looked at her pityingly. She could under 
 stand. She remembered the young, laughing-eyed 
 officer who had been so kind at her wedding. She 
 remembered the happiness of these two young people,
 
 180 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 and her heart bled for Paulette. But the girl looked 
 at her defiantly, ignoring the pity in her eyes. 
 
 "They ll find they can t keep him !" she said so bit 
 terly, that the General hastened to break in. 
 
 "I ll ring for Antoine to help you with your bags." 
 
 He was about to pull the bell-rope, when the door 
 opened and the butler stood on the threshold. His 
 thin shoulders stooped slightly with characteristic 
 deference. 
 
 At the sound of his voice, Marie felt a horrible fear 
 gripping at her heart. Her throat seemed to tighten 
 as though cold fingers clutched it. She turned 
 slowly, the blood in her veins suddenly frozen, for the 
 man standing in the doorway wearing the livery of 
 a servant, the humility of a menial, was Von Pfaffen. 
 
 For a tense moment they faced one another. The 
 man s eyes were like live coals in a face that was 
 otherwise dead. Marie s hand went to her throat. 
 There was such a look of terror in her face, that the 
 attention of all was directed to her, and the butler s 
 imperturbable mask, which for one swift moment had 
 slipped aside, had time to adjust itself. He stood 
 watching her closely, as the family gathered about, 
 all solicitude. 
 
 "She is faint," cried Madame, "some water 
 quick !" but Marie motioned them away. 
 
 "No, no," she said breathlessly. "It is nothing! 
 Thanks!" and by a supreme effort, she regained her 
 self-control. 
 
 The butler was still standing in the doorway 
 quietly waiting for his orders, his thin face set and 
 expressionless.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 181 
 
 "Get Madame s bags, Antoine," directed the Gen 
 eral, and the man turned with a slight bow and left 
 the room. 
 
 Gerome s eyes followed him. 
 
 "What has become of Fra^ois ?" he asked. 
 
 "Fra^ois was young enough to be called," the 
 General answered. "He left us a week ago." 
 
 "Antoine came to us highly recommended," 
 Madame assured him, disturbed for a moment by the 
 doubt in his eyes. "He is over age for the army, but 
 seems an intelligent, faithful servant." 
 
 As she spoke, the man returned carrying the bags, 
 and stood awaiting orders. 
 
 "Where are these to go, Madame?" he asked 
 quietly, and at his voice, Marie again turned and 
 stared into his face, like a bird that watches a snake. 
 
 The man paid no heed to her, however, but waited 
 respectfully for Madame to answer. 
 
 "Put them in the East room, Antoine," she told 
 him, and with a slight inclination of his head, he 
 crossed the room and went out into the hall. 
 
 Marie s eyes followed him, her lips apart, her 
 fingers tightly clenched. 
 
 Paulette, from her chair by the mantel, where she 
 had subsided after the speech flung at her sister-in- 
 law, watched her under sullen brows. She hated 
 Germans. They couldn t make her like this one. She 
 wouldn t ! 
 
 As the door closed after Antoine, Marie gave a 
 little gasp, and Madame, frightened, came to her 
 side. 
 
 "Marie," she said, "are you ill?"
 
 182 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 The girl s eyes were still on the door. 
 
 "I I " she began, and then turned piteously 
 to her husband. "Oh, Gerome !" 
 
 The blow had come so suddenly, so unexpectedly. 
 She felt as one stricken blind, groping in the 
 dark. This man, here, where she had come for 
 protection and shelter? Her mind could scarcely 
 grasp the full horror of the situation. Waves of 
 nausea passed over her, she was sick with unutterable 
 terror. Was it possible they could not hear the wild 
 beating of her heart, the voice of conscience crying 
 her guilt? Surely those about her must have seen 
 that she knew him ! The security into which she had 
 lulled herself, was shattered and fallen away. But 
 why had he not recognized her? What mission had 
 he here in this house? Oh, God, how was it to end? 
 But her brain refused her further service. Her face 
 grew white as marble, and her head fell on Gerome s 
 shoulder. 
 
 He put his arm about her quickly. 
 
 "Marie, my darling, what is it? Mother, bring 
 some cognac ! Quick !" 
 
 Madame hurried for the decanter, the General bent 
 over her, full of solicitude, even Paulette, stirred into 
 action by Marie s helplessness, knelt at her side, and 
 began chafing her wrists, her training as a nurse 
 making her forget her resentment for the moment. 
 As Gerome held the glass to his wife s lips, her blue 
 eyes opened mistily. 
 
 "Dearest," he said anxiously. "What is it? Are 
 you better?" 
 
 She roused herself with an effort.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 183 
 
 "It s nothing nothing; I m all right now I m 
 sorry I suppose I was over-tired," and she leaned 
 wearily against his shoulder. 
 
 "She has not been quite strong, lately," he ex 
 plained, "she is nervous, worrying because I must re 
 turn to the front to-night." 
 
 "To-night!" said his mother, startled, "so soon?" 
 
 "Yes, ma mere" he answered, smoothing his wife s 
 golden hair tenderly; "but," and he turned to his 
 father with a significant look, "I shall be here again 
 in the morning." 
 
 The General pursed up his lips and tapped them 
 with his forefinger. 
 
 "H m," he said, "so I supposed to-morrow h m !" 
 
 Gerome bent over his wife tenderly. 
 
 "Are you well enough to go to your room now, 
 dear ? I think you will feel better if you lie down !" 
 
 "Nanine will bring you some refreshments," added 
 Madame. 
 
 Marie forced a smile to her stiff lips. 
 
 "You are very kind," she said. "I I ll go di 
 rectly. I m quite well now. I m sorry to have been 
 so much trouble!" 
 
 Madame gently pressed her hand. 
 
 "My dear," she said, "it gives us pleasure to do 
 all we can for you. You must rest and when you have 
 recovered from your fatigue, here, in our wonderful 
 country air, you will soon be yourself again !" 
 
 Gerome looked about the room. His mother s eyes 
 smiled back into his. He had seen approval of Marie 
 in the General s face when they had arrived, but 
 Paulette was still unwon, What could he do to
 
 184 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 overcome this dislike that his sister was making so 
 apparent? He felt sure that if he were near, 
 Paulette could soon be made to see her injustice, but 
 he must leave Marie, and the thought troubled him. 
 His arm tightened about the trembling girl. 
 
 "There is no other place where I could leave my 
 little wife," he said. "You can t, any of you, know 
 what she means to me !" 
 
 "When you made her your wife, you made her our 
 daughter," said Madame graciously. 
 
 Gerome laid his cheek against his wife s, his eyes 
 on Paulette. 
 
 "You and Marie must be great friends, little 
 sister," he said; but Paulette shrugged sullenly, and 
 Marie hastily broke in: 
 
 "She is unhappy, dear, because her sweetheart is 
 a prisoner." 
 
 The last word whipped Paulette s resentment 
 again. She would take no pity from an enemy. 
 
 "A prisoner," she repeated, "held by the Ger 
 mans," and she swung about angrily ; "but he s going 
 to get away, he s coming back to me in spite of them !" 
 
 "Paulette !" the General was stern, "I must beg of 
 you " and Madame turned to Gerome in apology. 
 
 "She is unhappy, dear," she explained. 
 
 Marie lifted her head from Gerome s shoulder and 
 drew away from his arms. 
 
 "I can understand, I know what you are suffer 
 ing," she said tensely. "If Gerome were in the posi 
 tion of Maurice, if he were forcibly withheld from me, 
 I would hate, as you do, those who were responsible. 
 I am of the same blood as they, but I am just as loyal
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 185 
 
 to my husband s cause as you are. Don t you believe 
 me?" 
 
 Gerome looked at her fondly. 
 
 "Isn t she wonderful?" he asked. "Am I not the 
 most fortunate of men?" 
 
 "I do not believe that anyone who has the blood 
 of our enemies in their veins, can ever be truly loyal 
 to France !" said Paulette, and this time, her momen 
 tary courage gone, Marie hid her face on her hus 
 band s arm. 
 
 "Paulette," said Madame, "I am shocked! You 
 grieve me beyond expression !" 
 
 The General looked at his daughter in astonish 
 ment, this was carrying things too far. 
 
 Gerome s face flushed under his tan and a dan 
 gerous light came into his eyes. 
 
 "Paulette," he said passionately, "Marie is my wife 
 your sister," and he turned to comfort the trem 
 bling girl in his arms. 
 
 Madame drew her away tenderly. 
 
 "Come, dear," she said, "you are tired. Let me 
 show you your room. Paulette, you had best go to 
 yours, you are nervous. To-morrow you will be 
 yourself." 
 
 The girl s face flushed. They were treating her as 
 a bad child. Rising hastily, she hurried out of the 
 room. 
 
 Gerome kissed his wife tenderly as he bade her 
 follow his mother. 
 
 "Good-bye for awhile, dear," he said. "I ll come 
 to you when I have talked with my father."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE night was warm for October, and a late moon 
 was just rising. The garden seemed so peaceful, only 
 the distant muttering of the guns constantly re 
 minded one that not far away the Red Dragon lay 
 in wait, its maw insatiable. 
 
 Must all the youth, the beauty of France, be 
 offered up, before this monster was satisfied ? Would 
 this home with its pleasant orchards, its fertile gar 
 dens, be trampled under ruthless heels, laid waste as 
 so many others had? And when it was all over, and 
 nothing remained but smoking ruins and wasted 
 fields, deep scars on the country s breast that time 
 itself could scarcely heal, when all the youth and 
 flower had become only a memory to be cherished in 
 the bitter hearts of a saddened people, what then? 
 What would have been accomplished? Could any 
 price that might be paid to the victor, be great 
 enough to compensate for this? 
 
 Some such thoughts as these went through the 
 General s mind as he turned from the window to his 
 son. This son, the very apple of his eye, how much 
 longer would that eye behold him? 
 
 Gerome came to -the table. 
 
 "Well, sir?" he began. 
 
 The General led the way into his study. 
 
 "We can talk more freely here," he said. 
 
 They had scarcely entered, when the butler fol 
 lowed with a tray of glasses and a decanter of wine. 
 
 186
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 187 
 
 "Anything else to-night, Monsieur?" he asked. 
 
 The General filled a glass. 
 
 "No, Antoine, that is all. You may close the win 
 dows. The Colonel will see that the door is latched 
 as he goes out." 
 
 The man busied himself with the fastenings. 
 
 "They are to meet here to-morrow," began Gerome, 
 but his father, with a lift of his eyebrow, indicated 
 the butler who was just finishing his task. 
 
 "Tst !" he said warningly, and then to the man, 
 "That will do, Antoine." 
 
 He bowed with that oddly quiet air of his. 
 
 "Very well, Monsieur, good-night," he said, and 
 went out softly, but whether by accident or design, 
 the door he closed after him, failed to catch and re 
 mained ever so slightly ajar. 
 
 Gerome was impatient to impart his information, 
 and the man had scarcely gone, when he began. 
 
 "I have been given orders to notify the command 
 ing officers of all the brigades of our division to meet 
 here to-morrow," he said. "I must leave for St. 
 Quentin to-night." 
 
 "The others have been informed?" 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 The General tapped his pursed lips with his fore 
 finger as he always did when thinking. 
 
 "H m," he said, "by nine they should all be here." 
 
 "I have also been instructed to hand you this." 
 Gerome took a folded paper in a long blue cover from 
 his pocket and put it into his father s hand, much as 
 though he were handing him the wealth of the world. 
 "It is the plan of location of our batteries,"
 
 188 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "This is very important, my boy," said the Gen 
 eral, as he took the packet. "I wonder what their 
 intelligence bureau would say if they could get their 
 hands on this? Let us study the situation." 
 
 He pulled open a drawer and took out a leather 
 case. They drew up chairs on either side of the 
 table, and under the lamp light, the two heads, 
 father s and son s, bent over the maps which the Gen 
 eral unrolled. 
 
 The room was silent as they studied the drawings. 
 Only the clock on the mantel, ticking out the passing 
 minutes and the occasional rustle of the papers, broke 
 the stillness. They were both too absorbed to have 
 heard the sound, if there had been a sound to hear, 
 of the door behind them, as it slowly opened the 
 merest trifle, too intent on their work to see the lean 
 face of Antoine as it peered through, the meekness 
 gone from the watchful eyes, the humility from the 
 thin, hard lips. 
 
 "I hope we can make this blow a decisive one," said 
 Gerome. 
 
 The General flattened his finger over a spot on the 
 map and referred to the papers his son had brought. 
 
 "It is about here, I would say," he began. 
 
 Gerome looked at him in astonishment. 
 
 "Isn t that one of the most strongly fortified parts 
 of their line?" he asked. 
 
 "And therefore, the place where attack will be 
 least expected." 
 
 Gerome nodded, and the General went on. 
 
 "Our artillery is being heavily engaged along the 
 whole line, but it is at this point," and his finger
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 189 
 
 tapped the map, "that the infantry will be massed 
 for the thrust." 
 
 "How many men will be used?" asked Gerome, lean 
 ing closer to study the situation. 
 
 "About five corps with the necessary reserves." 
 
 The young Colonel leaned back in his chair. 
 
 "It seems logical," he said, "it should succeed." 
 
 The face behind them smiled evilly and melted into 
 the darkness back of it, and as quietly as it had 
 opened, so quietly the door was closed. 
 
 "It s a hard game we ve been playing," said the 
 General, "but we are holding them now. They have 
 taught us a great deal, but if this plan results as we 
 hope," the great head went up triumphantly, "it is 
 the beginning of the end!" His face lit up with a 
 proud smile. "You will be the youngest officer here 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "I am honored to be present at a conference that 
 may decide the fate of France," said Gerome earn 
 estly, as he rose. 
 
 His father pushed back the maps, rose to his feet, 
 and laid a hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "My boy," he said, and his voice was full of love, 
 the love that a fine father gives to a fine son, "I be 
 lieve you are worthy of the honor. Now go and kiss 
 your pretty wife good-night. You have a long ride 
 before you. I am going into the garden to smoke." 
 
 Gerome looked into the kindly old eyes. 
 
 "Good-night, sir!" he said, his shoulders squared 
 to meet the trust he saw there. "Good-night." 
 
 For a moment after his son had gone, the General 
 stood under the lamp-light looking over the papers,
 
 190 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 his shaggy brows were pulled down over his eyes, his 
 lower lip pursed out. There was a wordless prayer 
 in his heart, that this might be the end. Soldier 
 though he was, born and bred to the sword, the red 
 flood that was sweeping the world was nauseating, 
 sickening. He, like many others, as bravely fighting, 
 as unflinchingly facing the storm of war, longed for 
 the peace that must come. 
 
 He started to roll the paper with his maps in their 
 case, but suddenly he stopped, reconsidering, and 
 shaking his head, placed the case carefully in his 
 pocket. This was of too much importance to be 
 trusted away from his keeping. From the humidor 
 on the table he carefully selected a cigar, bit off the 
 end, and lit it leisurely, then opening one of the long 
 windows, strolled out into the garden to think as he 
 smoked.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE light of the General s cigar had scarcely dis 
 appeared when the door opened softly, and a head 
 was cautiously thrust in. After a careful look about, 
 Von Pfaffen entered. His humility was gone, and 
 the slight stoop of his shoulders had lifted into a 
 straight military line. He went directly to the table 
 and began eagerly searching among the papers. 
 Once or twice he stopped, his head raised, alertly 
 listening, but the house was quiet and the General s 
 walk had carried him far into the garden. 
 
 The man turned the papers over and over. Evi 
 dently he failed to find what he sought. His brows 
 bent in disappointment, but loath to give up easily, 
 he went on with the search. 
 
 Suddenly, the door opened again, and he turned 
 with a start to face Nanine. 
 
 "What are you jumping for?" she laughed, her 
 broad Breton face wrinkling curiously like one of her 
 native russet apples. 
 
 "What do you want?" he snarled, furious at being 
 interrupted. "I thought you were gone." 
 
 "You did, did you ?" she asked suspiciously. "What 
 difference would it make to you? I came back when 
 the young Colonel and his wife arrived, I m needed." 
 
 "But you re not needed here," the man s voice was 
 shaking with impatience and anger. He had borne 
 the insolence of this Breton peasant woman long 
 
 191
 
 192 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 enough. Nanine, however, was impervious to his 
 dislike. 
 
 "Madame wants you to take some tea and biscuits 
 to the Colonel s wife," she said stolidly, and Antoine, 
 with a scowl, turned back to the table. 
 
 There was so little time. Through the window he 
 could see the red tip of the General s cigar moving 
 back and forth as his steps carried him nearer the 
 house. 
 
 "I can t go now, I m busy," he said. 
 
 Nanine put her hands on her heavy hips and stood 
 facing him insolently. 
 
 "Is the General talking, or the butler?" she mocked. 
 
 "Don t be impertinent," Antoine s brow darkened, 
 "it s your work !" 
 
 "My work!" sneered the old woman. "It is my 
 work to clean up about the house. What are you 
 bothering in here for anyway?" and her small eyes 
 narrowed suspiciously. 
 
 It did not suit Von Pfaffen s plans to have her 
 ill-will just now. She must be cajoled. 
 
 "Look here," he said more graciously, "if you take 
 up the tea and biscuits, I ll give you two francs." 
 
 "Two francs ! H m !" Nanine s scorn was un 
 bounded. 
 
 "Five francs," he bargained. 
 
 Nanine looked at him out of the corner of her eye. 
 Five francs was five francs in these hard times. It 
 might pay to be good-natured. 
 
 "Well then," she mumbled grudgingly. "I ll do 
 it ; five francs and a bottle of Burgundy for Jacques." 
 
 The man dived into his pocket hurriedly.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 193 
 
 "There s your money," he said thrusting it into 
 her hand. "I ll get you the wine later. Run along, 
 run along now, it is late," and he urged her toward 
 the door, his eyes on the window and the ever-nearing 
 red spark of the General s cigar. 
 
 Nanine shook his hand from her arm. 
 
 "Don t be pushing me," she grumbled, "I ll go 
 fast enough," but Von Pfaffen fairly shoved her 
 through the door, and shutting it tightly after her, 
 hurried back to the table. 
 
 Once more, he searched among the maps and scat 
 tered papers. All these weeks spent here in this 
 menial position must not be wasted. This paper was 
 the crowning point of his work, it must be found, but 
 the sound of the General s step on the terrace, sent 
 him to the fireplace, where, his shoulders once more 
 stooping in the meekness of the servant, he busied 
 himself with the dying embers. 
 
 As the General came through the window, he 
 glanced hastily from the man by the grate to the 
 scattered papers on the table. 
 
 "I thought you had gone to bed," he said sharply. 
 
 "No, Monsieur," answered the man, turning to him 
 mildly. "I have been waiting to let the Colonel out, 
 I don t like leaving the doors unlatched these nights." 
 
 The man looked so humble, so harmless, as he rose 
 and faced him, the sagging lines of his thin face were 
 so pitiful, that the General was ashamed of his 
 suspicions. 
 
 "I suppose, Antoine," he said kindly, going over 
 to the table and beginning to gather the papers to 
 gether, "you regret not being at the front?"
 
 194 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 The man s eyes sparkled a moment, as they rested 
 on the General s bent head. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur," he said, with a meaning of his 
 own, "but in serving you, I am serving my country." 
 
 This was a sentiment the old soldier could appre 
 ciate. How loyal all these men were, he thought. It 
 was true, one could serve one s country in being of 
 service to those who could give their blood for her. 
 
 "It must be hard for a patriot like you," he said, 
 beginning to roll up his maps, "not to be engaged in 
 active service." 
 
 The man dropped his eyes discreetly. 
 
 "It is, Monsieur," he said quietly, "but at present 
 I can only watch and wait." 
 
 "Our cause must not fail, Antoine," said the Gen 
 eral as he fastened the straps of his map case, and 
 the man answered vehemently. 
 
 "That is what I have been saying to myself, Mon 
 sieur." 
 
 The words had such an earnest ring to them, that 
 the General looked up curiously. 
 
 "You have been in the army, Antoine?" 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur, when I was younger. I hope to 
 serve my country soon again." 
 
 The other sighed. At the rate France was needing 
 men, age would soon be no barrier. 
 
 "The time may come before you expect, Antoine," 
 he said. 
 
 The man s eyes sparkled again, and a curious smile 
 played about his thin lips. 
 
 "I am patiently awaiting that opportunity, Mon 
 sieur," he replied.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 195 
 
 The General looked at him with approval. 
 
 "I admire your patriotism, Antoine," he said, and 
 the man bent in his slight, servile bow, as he answered : 
 
 "I shall endeavor to live up to it, Monsieur." 
 
 His master gathered the map cases and turned to 
 the door. 
 
 "Well," he said a little sadly, "France may need 
 you before the war is over." 
 
 Von Pfaffen smiled ruefully. 
 
 "I hope not, Monsieur," he said, and then added 
 hastily, "that is I trust it will not be necessary." 
 
 "Well," said the General, turning to the door, "see 
 that the lights are down. Good-night," and with the 
 map case carefully under his arm, he left the room. 
 
 Von Pfaffen stood watching him go, his eyes fixed 
 covetously on the packet he carried. Then he 
 shrugged his shoulders contemptuously and came 
 back to the table, but after another fruitless look, he 
 decided that what he was in search of was out of his 
 reach for the time being. How to get it, that was 
 the problem, for get it he must. For a moment he 
 stood thinking, then carefully locking the windows, 
 he turned out the lights and went slowly out of the 
 room.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 MADAME, all kindness and solicitude, showed Marie 
 to her room. Everything she could, she did to make 
 the girl forget the sting of Paulette s words. She 
 insisted upon her tasting the tea and biscuits which 
 old Nanine brought, although Marie could scarcely 
 swallow. She helped her out of her dusty traveling 
 dress into a loose robe, and while Nanine brushed out 
 the long, golden hair and plaited it loosely for her, 
 Madame talked of the trip from Paris, asked regard 
 ing their mutual friends, and spoke of their own 
 affairs. 
 
 Marie recognized and appreciated her kindness, 
 knowing that she was trying to give her an oppor 
 tunity to regain her composure, but she had to bite 
 her lips till they almost bled, to refrain from giving 
 way to her emotion. 
 
 When Nanine had tied the long plaits with ribbons 
 and hung up Marie s clothes, she took the almost un 
 touched tray and courtesied good-night. 
 
 After she had left, Madame kissed the girl tenderly. 
 
 "Sleep well, my daughter," she said, "we must help 
 one another in whatever may come." 
 
 Marie s eyes overflowed, and for a moment she 
 clung to the older woman desperately. 
 
 "Love me," she whispered, "I want you to love me 
 in spite of anything, and oh, please remember I have 
 never known a mother of my own !" 
 
 196
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 197 
 
 Madame soothed her. 
 
 "Gerome will be here in a moment, dear," she said. 
 "I must say good-night to my boy, too," and with a 
 parting kiss, she left her. 
 
 Marie stood a moment gazing about the large, old- 
 fashioned room the great bed with its sombre dra 
 peries of faded blue, the heavy black walnut dresser, 
 in the tall mirror of which the two candles, in their 
 silver sconces, reflected her own tear-stained face, the 
 small white stove with a vase of flowers standing on 
 its cold top, the long blue curtains which Nanine had 
 carefully pulled across the windows. It was very 
 stately, but very cold, and Marie shivered as she 
 looked about her. 
 
 Gerome had brought her here among his own peo 
 ple for protection, to insure her safety and comfort 
 when he was away. But almost her first step across 
 the threshold, had brought her face to face with all 
 that was horrible in her past. What a plaything 
 Fate had made of her, first to hold out so much that 
 was wonderful and beautiful, and then suddenly it 
 came over her with sickening horror what it would 
 mean if this man, into whose eyes she had looked not 
 more than an hour ago, should tell what he knew. 
 
 She had thought herself so secure, the past had 
 seemed utterly obliterated, and here, on the very 
 brink of her shelter, that past had reared its hideous 
 head. And now, when she had all the world to lose ! 
 If he should tell ! If he should, even now, be talking 
 to Gerome or the General! She almost screamed 
 aloud with the terror of it. 
 
 The horror and shock of finding herself face to
 
 198 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 face with the man whom she thought had gone from 
 her life forever, convulsed her with fear so terrible, 
 as almost to deprive her of reason, but she must 
 think, or go mad. 
 
 Why was he here in the garb of a servant ? Would 
 it suit his purpose to expose her or to try to force 
 her back to him? He was in disguise here. He had 
 refrained from recognizing her before the others. 
 What could it all mean? Had he failed to recognize 
 her because he feared to? Was there some power she 
 might have over him now? If so, how could she 
 use it? 
 
 The thought of facing him, of living under the 
 sane roof, was agony. In her bag was a small bottle 
 of chloral which the doctor had given her to quiet her 
 nerves before she left Paris. With shaking fingers, 
 she rummaged among her clothes to find it. But sud 
 denly she threw the bag from her. A quick flutter 
 at her heart called loudly her need to live. With 
 the knowledge that she must go on, whatever came, 
 she paced the floor in an agony of suspense and 
 terror. 
 
 When Gerome knocked, she could scarcely answer, 
 her voice died in her throat. Did he know? Had he 
 guessed? Had her terror shown itself too plainly in 
 her face? 
 
 He came in smiling, and as she looked at him, her 
 chin trembled like an unhappy child s. 
 
 "Sweetheart," her husband took her in his arms, 
 "you must not mind Paulette." So he thought it 
 was Paulette s words that hurt, he didn t know, oh,
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 199 
 
 the relief, the blessed relief. She scarcely heard him, 
 as he explained. 
 
 "My little sister and Maurice love each other so 
 very much, she is really the dearest sister in the 
 world. Be patient with her, for my sake." 
 
 Marie lifted her eyes to his. 
 
 "When you made me your wife," she said, "your 
 people became my people ; your ways, my ways ; your 
 country, my country !" 
 
 He held her close. 
 
 "We are truly one, are we not, ma cherie?" he 
 whispered. 
 
 Marie s answer was passionately earnest. 
 
 "Forever and ever !" she cried. 
 
 For a long time they were silent, content to be here 
 with one another, to know how much each meant to 
 the other. 
 
 Presently he spoke. 
 
 "Dearest," he said, "I ll be back in the morning; 
 you re going to be a brave little woman, aren t you?" 
 
 Marie turned away from him with a half sob. 
 
 "Oh Gerome," she stammered, "I I need you 
 more than ever !" 
 
 Something in her voice, in the flush on her cheek 
 as she turned from him, startled him. He put his 
 hands on her shoulders and drew her face close to his. 
 
 "What do you mean?" he asked. 
 
 "There s something something I ve been waiting 
 to tell you," she whispered. 
 
 Gerome stared at her. Her cheeks were glowing 
 with the flush that illumines the sky at dawn, and in
 
 200 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 her deep blue eyes shone a light he had never seen 
 there before. 
 
 "Don t you know?" she asked, "can t you 
 guess ?" 
 
 And then, in a blinding flash, he understood. 
 
 For a long moment they stared into each other s 
 eyes, a happiness too great for words transfiguring 
 them. The world that was bent on destroying itself, 
 did not exist for them. It was as though God had 
 only just spoken the words, "let there be light!" 
 With just such wonder and awe might the first man 
 have looked into the eyes of the first woman when 
 she had told him the miracle. 
 
 Tenderly, very tenderly, he drew her into his arms. 
 
 "Marie, my darling," he whispered, "is it true?" 
 
 "Yes," she breathed ; then fearfully, "it does make 
 you happy?" 
 
 He led her to the couch and drew her down beside 
 him. 
 
 "Now, every one must be kind to you, so gentle 
 with you." 
 
 Marie hid her face against his shoulder. 
 
 "You understand now why I dread to have you 
 leave me," she moaned. 
 
 "I ll be back to-morrow !" 
 
 "But after to-morrow " and she began to weep 
 
 bitterly. 
 
 Miserably, he sat and held her close. That this 
 should come now, when he was going, perhaps to his 
 death. Perhaps he should never even see this child of 
 his. Well, if he must die, it would be in such a man 
 ner that a son of his would remember with pride !
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 201 
 
 "When 1 knew what was to be," she said, staring 
 straight ahead of her, "I wanted you to take me to 
 your home, so that if you had to be away when 
 our baby came, I could still have the care and protec 
 tion of your family, but," and the memory of the 
 sinister face that had looked into hers, and all that 
 it meant, sent the blood from her lips, "I m sorry, 
 I m sorry !" 
 
 Gerome turned to her in wonder. 
 
 "Sorry you came here?" he asked. "Have Pau- 
 lette s words " 
 
 "No, not Paulette," broke in Marie hastily. "She 
 does not really mean to be unkind. It is something 
 else! I I can t explain, but I m afraid I m 
 afraid!" 
 
 Gerome drew her close to him and gently smoothed 
 her hair. 
 
 It was natural, he thought, for women to be fright 
 ened at such a time, and Marie was so young, so inex 
 perienced. 
 
 "Bien aimee" he whispered, "how happy we are 
 going to be. Our lives are going to be so perfectly 
 attuned to one another, that between us there can be 
 nothing but harmony !" 
 
 She was sobbing afresh. 
 
 "But you are going away from me." 
 
 "Only for a few hours," he assured her, "and in 
 the meantime you will be with my mother and sister. 
 What harm can come to you here?" 
 
 But the girl was almost hysterical now, the strain 
 of that sudden meeting was beginning to tell. 
 
 "Gerome," she sobbed wildly, "you will love me 
 always? Nothing can make you change?"
 
 202 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "Need you ask that, now?" 
 
 But she scarcely heard him. She was thinking of 
 Von Pfaffen, and what she had run away from in 
 Vienna. She was dreading the time when he would 
 tell, for that he would tell when it suited his purpose, 
 she never doubted, nor did she doubt that the knowl 
 edge would take from her her husband s love. 
 
 "Oh Gerome," she sobbed, "if anything takes you 
 from me ! Your love is all I live for !" 
 
 Across the garden, sounded the chiming of a village 
 clock. Gerome lifted her to her feet. 
 
 "Kiss me, ma cheric" he said. "I must go. Noth 
 ing can ever make me change. Are you satisfied?" 
 
 Marie clung to him. 
 
 "Let me go to the gate with you. I want to be 
 with you as long as I can," she begged, and with his 
 arm about her, Gerome led her down the stair. 
 
 The lights were burning dimly in the entrance hall, 
 and the house was quiet. He slipped into his motor 
 coat and opened the hall door. The moon was full 
 now and the garden lay peaceful and shining under 
 its light. 
 
 "Good-night, my darling," he said as he stooped 
 and kissed her ; "good-night, my boy s mother !" 
 
 Marie clung to him. 
 
 "Good-night," she whispered, "good-night, my 
 dearest !" 
 
 She stood on the step and watched him go, and 
 when the sound of the motor was no longer audible, 
 she closed the door and started up the stairs.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 "WAIT!" 
 
 Out of the shadows came the whispered command. 
 Marie staggered back against the wall with a stifled 
 scream as she turned and looked into the face of the 
 man she abhorred. He had thrown off all semblance 
 of the servant and stood confronting her as she had 
 known him in Vienna. In a swift vision, the months 
 she had spent with him flashed by her. That night 
 in the little beer hall when she had gone home with 
 him ; and that other night when he had laughed and 
 told her just how little she had meant in his scheme 
 of things. Why had he followed her? He had not 
 wanted her enough to keep her with him always. 
 
 To Von Pfaffen, the sight of her when she had 
 thrown back her veils, had been anything but pleas 
 ant. He had known for several days that the Gen 
 eral s son was bringing his wife to the chateau, but 
 he was not prepared for the overwhelming surprise 
 to find that it was Marie. He saw at once that she 
 recognized him and his first fear had been that she 
 would betray him. But the moment passed, and she 
 made no sign. He realized instantly that it was fear 
 for herself that had kept her silent. His knowledge 
 of the natural timidity of her nature, coupled with 
 the power he had over her, led him to think out a 
 plan that might put her presence here to his advan 
 tage. The deadly fear he saw in her face, as he 
 
 accosted her now, pleased him. He knew that she 
 
 203
 
 204 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 was his to do with as he liked. She would prove a 
 useful pawn in the game he was playing. 
 
 He reached to the step where she stood and seized 
 her hand roughly. 
 
 "Hush," he whispered, "you will not betray me !" 
 
 Marie leaned away from him, looking into his eyes 
 with terror. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" she breathed. 
 
 "You need not ask that! I m here for my coun 
 try !" he said proudly. 
 
 The meaning of his words dawned upon her slowly. 
 So this was the interpretation of all those strange 
 papers she had been forbidden to touch in Vienna, his 
 secret journeys, his mysterious business! He was a 
 spy! Why hadn t she realized this and screamed it 
 out when she had faced him those few hours ago? 
 They would have taken him away before he had a 
 chance to tell; now it was too late. 
 
 He saw that she understood, and bowed coldly. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "and you?" 
 
 "I " she faltered. "I am a daughter of the 
 
 house !" 
 
 "You?" the contempt in his voice cut her lihe a 
 lash, and blindly, she started up the stair again, but 
 his fingers grasped her wrist. 
 
 "Wait!" 
 
 She turned and looked down at him where he stood 
 on the step below. 
 
 "Would you be so welcome if they knew, do you 
 think ?" he sneered. 
 
 Marie cowered as though against a blow. 
 
 "You you won t tell!" she whispered.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 205 
 
 Von Pfaffen went on fiercely. 
 
 "Listen to me," he said, "there is something I must 
 know, something for which I have taken their inso 
 lence, their patronage," he spat out the words, "but 
 it is for the Fatherland ! Your country, and mine ! 
 You must help me !" 
 
 The girl drew herself up proudly. 
 
 "My husband s country is my country," she said, 
 "his people are my people. Let me pass !" 
 
 Von Pfaffen dropped her hand. 
 
 "Very well," he said slowly. "Then to-morrow I 
 will go to your husband s people, your people, and 
 tell them that the precious wife of their son and 
 brother " but the girl wheeled in terror : 
 
 "Oh, no," she said, "you won t do that, you can t !" 
 
 He smiled sardonically. 
 
 "I can and will," he said, "unless you do as I wish." 
 
 Marie turned toward him piteously. 
 
 "It it would kill him," she pleaded. "They will 
 disown me." Her husband s kiss was still warm on 
 her lips. Would he love her if he knew? Could he? 
 
 The man watched her closely. He knew he had 
 struck the right note. Nothing must stand in the 
 way of his getting the information he sought. 
 
 "How proud they would be to welcome you as their 
 daughter if they knew !" he went on cruelly. 
 
 Marie shuddered. 
 
 "You won t tell them," she whispered, "you can t !" 
 
 His brilliant eyes narrowed. 
 
 "Will you do what I ask?" he bargained, and as 
 she looked into his face, the hard, cold face of the 
 fanatic who would sacrifice everything, including him-
 
 206 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 self, to gain his end, the girl knew that he held her 
 in his grasp. 
 
 "What is it you want ?" she murmured helplessly. 
 
 With a swift motion, he seized her wrist again and 
 brought his face close to hers. 
 
 "Remember," and he almost hissed the words, "if 
 you betray me, I ll give the proofs I ll 
 
 "What do you want !" she asked miserably, "tell 
 me, what do you want?" 
 
 Vcn Pfaffen drew her down and away from the 
 stair. He looked about carefully, and then, sure that 
 they were secure from interruption he began : 
 
 "There is to be an important conference here to 
 morrow," he said in quick, short tones, his voice 
 scarcely above a whisper, "the General and others. 
 They are to decide the time and place where an attack 
 is to be launched ; this much I know. You must get 
 me the name of the town the time." 
 
 "I can t I can t," broke in Marie, horror of what 
 he was asking her, searing her very soul. "I can t 
 betray them, my husband s people !" 
 
 He tightened his fingers on her arm till the pain 
 was almost unendurable. 
 
 "Would they think twice about you if I told them 
 who you are? What you are?" he sneered. 
 
 She stared into his eyes, her own wide with terror. 
 
 "It would mean their ruin," she gasped, "perhaps 
 death to my husband ! I can t ! I can t !" 
 
 "It means disgrace to you, and the death of his 
 love if you don t." 
 
 Marie twoke away from his hold and buried her 
 face in her hands.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 207 
 
 "Oh God," she moaned, "and I thought the door 
 had been closed on that part of my life, forever." 
 
 Von Pfaffen was impatient. 
 
 "Quick," he said, "decide ! We may be interrupted. 
 Will you? Remember, I always keep my word. If 
 you get this information, I promise in the name of 
 my government, no one shall know your share in it. 
 Will you? Will you?" 
 
 Her slender shoulders shook with the sobs that were 
 breaking her. 
 
 "I can t! I can t!" 
 
 Was she going to fail him af ter*all ? 
 
 "Remember," his voice was softer, "it is your coun 
 try asking this, your own country!" 
 
 "My country?" Marie raised her head. "This is 
 my country !" 
 
 Von Pfaffen looked at her with hatred in his eyes. 
 This weak little creature, was she going to be the 
 stumbling-block in the great work he was doing? 
 
 "Do you realize what it means if you refuse!" he 
 asked coldly. 
 
 She knew, .alas ! she knew only too well what it 
 would mean, not only to her, but to the little life she 
 carried under her heart, the little, new life, that God 
 himself had given into her keeping. It might cost 
 that as well as the love of its father. 
 
 "Let me think," she gasped. 
 
 Von Pfaffen was quick to see his advantage. 
 
 "Get your husband to tell you," he said eagerly. 
 "He will. Write the name of the place and the time 
 where the attack is to be made, on a piece of paper. 
 Put it where I can get it !"
 
 208 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 Marie looked about her wildly. 
 
 "Where, where?" she asked, bewildered. 
 
 The man s face was glowing with the success of his 
 plan. 
 
 "You ll find a place," he told her eagerly, "and a 
 way to let me know. That is all. I promise your 
 secret dies with me. I am the only one who knows. 
 Young Franz was killed at the Marne. There is no 
 one else." 
 
 Marie covered her face with her hands, but he drew 
 them away and made her look at him. 
 
 "I can trust you?" he said, his eyes narrow, his 
 thin mouth set and cruel, "you won t play me false? 
 If you do, remember, it is the end of your happiness 
 forever !" 
 
 "Yes," she said dully. "I know. I ll I ll do it!" 
 
 With a sigh of relief, the man dropped her hands, 
 and after a moment, she turned and went slowly up 
 the stair. Her heart seemed dead in her bosom, her 
 eyes were dry and burning. She clung to the balus 
 trade with the dizziness that threatened to engulf her. 
 
 Von Pfaffen stood and watched her till she had dis 
 appeared, then he turned out the lights and softly 
 left the hall, a smile of triumph on his lean, hard face.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE clock had chimed the hour, the half, and the 
 hour again, and still Marie lay tossing with mental 
 anguish under the heavy blue hangings of the great 
 bed. What terrible thing had she promised to do? 
 Sell her husband s honor to this creature who had 
 taken her own. She tried to look at every side of 
 the problem, to work out in her tortured brain just 
 what would happen if she defied Von Pfaffen. She 
 knew he would not hesitate to go to the General and 
 brand her. She knew he could do that without in 
 criminating himself. He was diabolically clever. 
 She could see the kind look fade from the General s 
 eyes, the flush on Madame s cheek. She could hear 
 Paulette justifying her suspicions of her, and Gerome 
 she crushed her knuckles against her lips till her 
 teeth cut into them. 
 
 To see the lovelight die in his eyes, contempt taking 
 its place, to know that she would become an object 
 of loathing to him! The thought was so terrible 
 that she smothered in the pillows the cry she could 
 not restrain. She would rather see him dead, she 
 thought, and know that he had died loving her, be 
 lieving in her purity. 
 
 What was country, war, people, everything, com 
 pared to just this one man who was life itself and 
 all that life could mean to her? She couldn t give 
 
 him up. She couldn t stand by and let his love and 
 
 209
 
 210 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 faith in her be killed; she couldn t. She tossed and 
 turned in an agony of despair. 
 
 Her imagination swept her on to the hour of her 
 destiny, to the time when Gerome s child should be 
 laid in her arms. If it were a son, could she bear to 
 have him know the blot on his mother s life? Suppose 
 it were a daughter, could she bequeath it this heritage 
 of shame? 
 
 She went over, day by day, her life in Vienna since 
 her father s death. In the scorching light of self- 
 condemnation, she realized that she need not have 
 stayed with Von Pfaffen after that one dreadful 
 night. She could have run away then, as she had 
 later. She saw herself as the foolish, inexperienced 
 girl, tired of teaching stupid children, tired of sing 
 ing for music hall habitues, tired of scrimping in 
 order to live, glad of the haven and the companion 
 ship of one of her own class. She knew now that she 
 had not been wholly ignorant of Von Pfaffen s inten 
 tions, or rather lack of intentions, toward herself, 
 that she had simply let the days glide by, blinding 
 herself to the situation and hoping against hope that 
 he would marry her. 
 
 She realized now that the story, if it had ended 
 after that first night in Von Pfaffen s apartment, 
 would not have been so beyond pardon. But how 
 could she ever explain those long months with him? 
 She knew her husband s high standard of morals. She 
 knew his intolerance of the thing that she had done. 
 She knew his pride in the ancient family name that 
 both he and his father had kept unsullied. And now 
 what a blot on that honored escutcheon this would be !
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "I can t bear it !" she sobbed. "I can t bear it !" 
 
 Then Von Pfaffen s words echoed in her mind like 
 a siren s song. 
 
 "I promise in the name of my government, that no 
 one shall know of your share in this. Your secret dies 
 with me !" 
 
 Why hadn t he been killed at the Marne instead of 
 Franz ? Why did he have to live on to come here and 
 torture her? Her thoughts were distorted, feverish. 
 She saw herself an outcast, thrust into the streets, 
 jeered at by her husband s people, despised by 
 Gerome, her child taken from her, nothing left! 
 
 "God, oh, dear God," she moaned, "I can t let them 
 know, I can t !" 
 
 France was her country only by adoption. The 
 people meant nothing to her, their aims, nor this 
 great struggle in which they were involved. Her 
 own country meant little more. Her world was 
 Gerome. If he were killed in battle, she could die too, 
 and happily, if she knew that he had gone to his death 
 loving and trusting her. But the thought that this 
 knowledge would turn him from her, would make him 
 curse her, living or dead, was too much for her to 
 bear. 
 
 She hated Von Pfaffen with the deadly hatred 
 of the woman whose betrayer uses his power over 
 her against the man she loves. She was powerless in 
 his grasp. She seemed to feel the steel bars of the 
 trap he had set for her, closing against her tender 
 flesh. Through the darkness, she could see his bril 
 liant eyes, cold and cruel as they had looked into hers 
 to-night. She knew she was helpless, she could only
 
 pray that Fate might be kind, might find some avenue 
 of escape. 
 
 The down coverlet smothered her. She tossed it 
 to the floor and slipping her bare feet onto the 
 polished boards, began noiselessly pacing up and 
 down the long room. The moonlight came between 
 the heavy curtains and lay in a white streak on the 
 floor. Back and forth, across this, she swung like a 
 prisoned tigress, her nails biting into the flesh of her 
 palms, the dry sobs catching in her throat. She knew 
 that she would do what Von Pfaffen had insisted on 
 her doing. She knew her courage was not great 
 enough to take the consequences if she did not, but 
 she loathed and hated herself, her very soul cried out 
 against what she was going to do, cried out, as it 
 beat against the bars her tormentor had forged for 
 her. 
 
 Suddenly, through the stillness, came a slight 
 sound, a faint rustling on the thick carpet of the 
 corridor outside her door. 
 
 She stopped her wild pacing to listen. There it 
 was again. Some one was astir, some one, whose 
 stealthy, furtive movements, plainly told of their wish 
 to be unheard. 
 
 She slipped into the loose robe Madame had left 
 with her, and softly opened the door. Down the cor 
 ridor, a spot of light from an electric torch danced 
 uncertainly. Presently it stopped at the door of the 
 General s bedroom, which was opened cautiously. The 
 light was extinguished, and then silence. 
 
 Soundlessly she crept along the corridor toward 
 the door which had been left purposely ajar, and
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 through the crack, she could see the spot of light flut 
 tering about the room. It rested for a moment on 
 the fine face of the old soldier lying peacefully asleep, 
 then shifted to the chair at the foot of the bed, over 
 which hung his coat. A hand suddenly sprang out 
 of the darkness and groped through the pockets. She 
 heard a faint rustle of paper and the light was ex 
 tinguished again. 
 
 She had only just time to slip back and flatten her 
 self against the wall, when a man came out and softly 
 closed the door after him. 
 
 She watched the light winking on and off, as he 
 went down the stair and across the hall, and then 
 noiselessly, she started to follow.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE great stairway took a wide turn at a sort of 
 landing about halfway down, from where the whole 
 length of the hall could be seen, as well as the rooms 
 opening upon the corridor above. Here Marie paused 
 for a moment, and watched the light as it crossed the 
 hallway. 
 
 On the left, the double doors of the great dining- 
 room were slightly ajar, and through these it dis 
 appeared, leaving the hall in darkness save for the 
 moonlight that came through the tall windows. 
 Without further thought, she hurried down the stair 
 and after the dark figure. As she reached the dining- 
 room, the light had just disappeared through the 
 green baize swinging-door that led into the butler s 
 pantry, and holding her robe close about her, the girl 
 followed. 
 
 The dining-room looked very cold and vast in the 
 pale moonlight, the massive chairs and heavy carved 
 table sending black shadows along the polished floor. 
 From around the edges of the swinging-door came 
 a faint light. Cautiously, she put her hand against 
 the panel and pushed the door open the merest trifle. 
 Through the crack she could see a man at the serving- 
 table which stood against the wall. In the faint light 
 of a candle which he had evidently just lit, she recog 
 nized Von Pfaffen. 
 
 In what fresh evil was he engaged? What was it 
 214
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 215 
 
 he had taken from the General s room? She might 
 be of use after all. Apparently satisfied that he was 
 alone, he slipped a paper out of his pocket, and 
 spreading it on the table began making a tracing. 
 
 She could not see what this was. She could only 
 distinguish its blue cover and that it appeared to be 
 some sort of a map. 
 
 He worked quickly, and with the ease born of long 
 experience. 
 
 Wondering, she watched as he rolled the thin tissue 
 paper copy he had made, in a tiny tube and thrust it 
 into what appeared to be a quill. Then she saw him 
 stoop and pick up a basket from the floor. Opening 
 the wicket, he took out a gray pigeon, which fluttered 
 for a moment in his hands. Carefully, he fastened 
 the quill to its leg, his head bent low over the task. 
 
 She must see more. Cautiously her hand pressed 
 the door, but the hinge creaked faintly under her 
 light touch, and at the sound he hastily thrust the 
 pigeon back into the basket, secured the wicket, and 
 blew out the candle. Under cover of the darkness 
 the girl pushed the door wide. This time the hinge 
 made no sound, and after a tense moment, Von 
 Pfaffen cautiously turned on his electric torch. The 
 little stream of light struck full in her face. 
 
 "You !" he swore hoarsely. 
 
 "What are you doing?" she demanded. 
 
 He scowled at her. He had thought her safely out 
 of the way for the night. 
 
 "My duty !" he said, between his teeth. 
 
 She took a step backward, but the man grasped her 
 by the arm, and drew her into the little room. As the
 
 216 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 green baize door swung shut after them, with a quick 
 movement, he latched it securely. 
 
 "You will be silent," he hissed. 
 
 She held away from him defiantly. 
 
 "Suppose I were to call the General?" 
 
 "He would have me shot !" his voice was coldly in 
 different. "But before I died, by God, I d tell a story 
 that would send you into the streets to-night." 
 
 Marie gasped and he clutched her arm tighter. 
 
 "If you make a sound," he said, "I shall go to the 
 General now, and tell him what you are." 
 
 For a moment, she had a wild thought of running 
 swiftly back the way she had come, of awakening the 
 General, of facing the consequences. 
 
 "But if I give the alarm?" she asked, almost under 
 her breath. 
 
 He shot a quick look at her, sure of his quarry. 
 
 "I m not afraid of that! You would not dare!" 
 he said, looking at her evilly. 
 
 Marie subsided. She could not. He was right. 
 
 "Is is it all so important?" she faltered. 
 
 Was the woman mad? Couldn t she be made to 
 understand ? 
 
 "Important?" His voice was hoarsely eager. "If 
 I get this safely over, it will mean thousands, hun 
 dreds of thousands to me, it will mean the Cross, it 
 will mean glory to my country. Why, the Fate of 
 France might depend upon it !" 
 
 Marie stared at him, wide-eyed. 
 
 "The Fate of France," she echoed. The Fate of 
 France was (Jerome s fate, was hers! The Fate of 
 France !
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 217 
 
 Von Pfaffen held up the long blue envelope. 
 
 "This must be returned," he said; "no one must 
 suspect that it has been tampered with." A plan was 
 forming itself in his mind. It was the inspiration of 
 the moment, and his cruel nature gloated over it. He 
 regarded her with a sardonic smile, as he relit the 
 candle. "You have come upon me very opportunely," 
 he said. 
 
 She did not hear him, she was staring into vacancy, 
 his phrase, the "Fate of France," echoing over and 
 over in her mind. 
 
 Von Pfaffen drew her eyes to his. 
 
 "I cannot take this back," he said. "If I were dis 
 covered, I could not complete my work here. You 
 must do it," his words cut across her brain clearly, 
 definitely. She shrank away from him, terrified. 
 
 "I!" she gasped. 
 
 "Yes, you," went on her tormentor, "at once. He 
 sleeps soundly. On a chair by his bed, hangs his coat. 
 You must slip this into the left inside pocket. Do 
 this," there was a deep meaning in his voice, "and 
 we are both safe !" 
 
 "My God," she whispered, "I can t do it. I, an 
 alien here, under their roof for the first night! If 
 he waked and found me, what could I say to clear 
 myself? I can t!" 
 
 Von Pfaffen s eyes were almost hypnotic as they 
 glittered in the dim light. 
 
 "You will take the paper back!" he repeated dis 
 tinctly. 
 
 "I cannot!"
 
 218 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "You must !" his face was very close to hers in the 
 little pool of yellow light. 
 
 She wrung her hands. In her fancy, she seemed 
 like the gray pigeon she had seen fluttering in his 
 grasp. She was just as helpless. 
 
 "What shall I do? What can I do?" she kept re 
 peating over and over. 
 
 Von Pfaffen kept his eyes on hers. 
 
 "Do what I say," he answered; "and to-morrow, 
 after you have given me the information that will 
 cap this, I have sworn to you, and I shall keep my 
 word, I go out of your lif e forever !" 
 
 She was groping desperately in her mind for some 
 way out of it, something she could do to save the 
 "Fate of France." 
 
 % 
 
 Von Pfaffen turned and went back to the table. 
 
 "I ll arrange this again carefully," he said, "no 
 one must suspect." 
 
 As he bent over his task, Marie s eyes fell on the 
 wicker basket in the shadow. Through the bars, pro 
 truded the edge of the little tube fastened to the 
 bird s leg. She looked at it fascinated, a daring pos 
 sibility shaping itself in her mind. The Fate of 
 France ! She glanced swiftly from the basket to the 
 man silhouetted against the light, her heart beating 
 wildly. 
 
 It was the work of an instant to insert her hand 
 in the basket, extract the tracing from the quill and 
 hide it in her bosom. 
 
 The next moment, he had finished his work, and 
 was examing it critically before the light. 
 
 "There," he said, as he turned to her again, "I
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 219 
 
 think now, even to the eyes of the old fox, it will seem 
 untampered with." 
 
 She held out a trembling hand. 
 
 "Give it to me," she cried hurriedly. "Give it to 
 me." 
 
 "You have grown most anxious suddenly!" Von 
 Pf affen eyed her suspiciously. 
 
 The girl bit her lip. She was in an agony of sus 
 pense lest he should discover the absence of the trac 
 ing before she could have time to return the original. 
 
 "I want to get it over with," she said desperately. 
 
 "If you play me false now," his face was terrifying, 
 "I swear that there will be nothing I won t do to make 
 you suffer !" 
 
 "Give me the paper," she begged. 
 
 Von Pfaffen slipped it into his pocket with a mock 
 ing smile. He thought he understood her sudden 
 eagerness. 
 
 "It won t do to run any risk. First my copy must 
 be off!" 
 
 "But every moment is precious," pleaded Marie, 
 fearful of discovery, "some one may waken." 
 
 The man stooped and picked up the basket. 
 
 "You are right," he agreed. "Do you know what 
 this paper is? It is the exact location of their bat 
 teries. Our aviators have searched and searched, but 
 they have masked them so damn well, we couldn t find 
 them. But I ve got it!" In his triumph, his voice 
 rose and his eyes sparkled wildly. 
 
 Would he never have done? She felt that her 
 nerves would snap under the strain. 
 
 "Oh, hurry, hurry," she breathed.
 
 220 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 Von Pfaffen went to the door and opened it softly. 
 She followed close at his heels as he went noise 
 lessly out through the long dining-room and across 
 the hall. Carefully he opened the great door, and, 
 seizing her hand, led her out onto the terrace. 
 Then he opened the little wicket and lifted the cage 
 above his head. 
 
 For a moment they waited. There was a faint 
 rustle. The bird had sensed its freedom. It stood 
 poised a moment at the opened cage door, then with 
 a swift whirr, it was out, soaring upward and away 
 through the moonlight. 
 
 Von Pfaffen, his square shoulders straight, his lean 
 face lifted to watch the flight, raised his hand in a 
 military salute. 
 
 "Take my greetings to the Fatherland," he cried 
 softly, and Marie, her hands pressed tightly against 
 her bosom, where the paper lay hidden, breathed a 
 prayer for France. 
 
 When the bird had disappeared, he turned and led 
 her back into the hall, softly closing the door after 
 them. 
 
 "Now your work," he said as he handed her the 
 blue envelope, "here is the paper. Remember to put 
 it in the left inside pocket, and for God s sake, be 
 careful !" 
 
 She took it eagerly and started toward the stair. 
 
 Von Pfaffen handed her the little torch. 
 
 "Take this," he said, and with the light held in her 
 hand, she went up the broad stair. 
 
 He stood below watching her until she disappeared 
 into the General s room. After what seemed an age
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 to the man below, she came out again noiselessly and 
 closed the door after her. Her bare feet made no 
 sound on the thick carpet. Breathlessly, she leaned 
 against the railing. Up through the darkness, came 
 Von Pfaffen s hoarse whisper. 
 
 "All right?" 
 
 Her answer floated down to him, "yes !" 
 
 With a muttered exclamation, he turned and left 
 the hall. Quiet settled down once more over the house. 
 
 Marie crept softly into her own room, and lit one 
 of the tall candles. Then she locked and barred the 
 door and stood motionless, listening, before the great 
 walnut dresser. She fumbled in the bosom of her robe 
 and brought out the little tracing. Her lips were 
 dry, her eyes dilated, her cheeks scorching. Dimly in 
 the mirror she could see herself outlined partly by the 
 faint moonlight, partly by the flickering candle. 
 
 With a strangled sob, she held the paper to the 
 flame. It coiled quickly into a tiny black ribbon and 
 lay a pinch of ashes in her hand, then she blew out the 
 candle and crept into the great bed under the shadow 
 of the heavy blue curtain.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 UP and down, up and down, outside the long study 
 windows marched a sentry. Outside the great gate 
 stood another. Even the house door was guarded. 
 
 Angele, her round arms bare, a great apron tied 
 about her, her feet in wooden sabots, was busy scrub 
 bing the kitchen floor of the gate house when the first 
 company arrived. Soldiers were no new sight to the 
 girl by now, but so many here, what could it mean? 
 She dried her hands and clattered out to open the 
 gates. 
 
 "Keep them open, my girl," smiled the Captain. 
 "Others are coming," and leaving her standing round- 
 eyed and open-mouthed, he took his men and stationed 
 them about the place. 
 
 "What does it mean?" she asked one of them. 
 
 The young soldier left to guard the gate, smiled 
 at her as he shouldered his gun and began pacing up 
 and down, but his Captain was still within ear-shot 
 and so he made no answer. 
 
 The girl turned and hurried back into the house. 
 
 "Ma mere" she called (Nanine was the only 
 mother she had ever known) "ma mere, war has come 
 even into the chateau." 
 
 "Eh," wheezed the old woman, coming heavily down 
 the stair. "What are you saying?" Angele bade her 
 look out of the window. By now, several automobiles 
 had arrived and were dislodging their passengers at
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 223 
 
 the great door, care-worn looking men for the most 
 part, grizzled of hair and mustache, their heavy army 
 coats dusty and mud-splashed. 
 
 Nanine put her head, in its broad Breton cap, out 
 of the door, only to find herself facing a sentry stand 
 ing there. 
 
 "Orders are to stay indoors this morning, bonne 
 femme," he said cheerily. 
 
 If anyone but a French soldier had dared to bar 
 her way, a storm would have broken about his head, 
 but to Nanine, the horizon blue of a poilu s uniform, 
 was never to be gainsaid in anything. 
 
 "Eh bien, mon gosse, if you say so, I ll stay in all 
 week!" she answered. 
 
 The man grinned and resumed his sentry-go. 
 
 The purring motors brought Marie to her window. 
 She had tossed and turned through the dark hours, 
 dreading the task that was before her. Her mind 
 whirled trying to plan a way that might satisfy Von 
 Pf affen and yet not betray her husband s cause. But 
 like a wild bird, she beat against her prison bars, 
 knowing there was no way out. 
 
 As she parted the curtains and looked out on the 
 driveway, Gerome was just stepping from a motor 
 car. There were three other officers with him, a tall 
 thin man with a long nose and a heavy gray mus 
 tache, and a fat, red-faced man who wore a general s 
 stars. The third, she could not see, his face was so 
 muffled in his coat collar, although the day, early as 
 it was, was quite warm. Another motor, whose occu 
 pants had evidently already entered the house, was 
 just turning from the door.
 
 224 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 She pushed the curtains back and stood looking out 
 into the sunshine. How peaceful everything looked, 
 and yet in the room below her, men were planning 
 the best way to surprise and kill thousands of their 
 fellow men, and here was she, her brain whirling, try 
 ing to devise a means to discover how they were to 
 accomplish it. 
 
 She slipped quickly into her clothes and sat down 
 again by the window to wait until the conference 
 should be over. She knew that Gerome would come 
 to her then. Every nerve was strained with a har 
 rowing expectancy. It was as though she awaited 
 her execution. 
 
 The little gilt clock on her dressing-table, cheerily 
 ticked out the minutes as though they had been filled 
 with joy, instead of agony. The sun sparkled and 
 glittered on the dew-wet leaves as brilliantly as 
 though the whole world on which it shone was as 
 peaceful as the chateau garden. A robin was fluting 
 happily. But up and down, before the door and be 
 fore the great gate, paced the sentries, and from the 
 distant horizon came the ever-present rumbling of 
 the guns. 
 
 She sat staring at the thin lace curtains fluttering 
 gently in the breeze, under the faded blue ones. What 
 was the day to bring her, she wondered ? 
 
 There was a gentle knock at the door. She turned 
 with a start. In answer to her faint, "Entrez," 
 Madame came in. 
 
 "You are awake, dear?" she said gently. "I came 
 to see. The General is having a very important meet 
 ing in his study and has asked me not to have the
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 225 
 
 servants come into the house. Will you mind waiting 
 for your breakfast?" 
 
 Marie had risen to greet her. 
 
 "No, no," she said hastily, "I don t think I shall 
 want anything to eat," and her hands trembled at 
 her throat. 
 
 Madame led her back to the chair and made her 
 sit down. 
 
 "We must all be brave," she said gently. 
 
 As she spoke, they could hear the door of the Gen 
 eral s study opening and a murmur of men s voices. 
 
 Madame listened attentively for a moment. 
 
 "The conference is over," she said, "pray God what 
 they have decided may be successful." 
 
 Marie turned miserably back to the window. The 
 time for her task was drawing nearer. There might 
 be some way out of it. There must be. 
 
 "I ll order coffee now," said Madame. "Try to be 
 calm, dear, we women live in a man s world," and 
 with a sigh, she left her. 
 
 Marie watched the officers come out and get into 
 their motors. She watched the General standing tall 
 and straight in the sunshine, as he shook hands with 
 his confreres. Gerome s voice came up to her, as he 
 told his father he would go as far as the village with 
 them, and then come back, and she knew it meant he 
 was coming back to her. 
 
 She watched the motors go down the driveway and 
 out of the great gates. The General saluted the last 
 man as he left, and then turned back into the house. 
 The little band of soldiers mustered under their Cap 
 tain and started after the chugging cars. Angele
 
 226 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 pushed the heavy gates closed after them and clat 
 tered back to her scrubbing, and as the sound of the 
 motors died away in the distance, Marie fell on her 
 knees by the bed. 
 
 "Oh God," she prayed, "help me ! Help me !"
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 As the General strode back across the hall, Madame 
 came down the stairs. 
 
 "May I come in?" she asked. "Is the conference 
 over?" 
 
 He looked up at her seriously. 
 
 "I have just bade them good-bye, Cecile; we have 
 had an anxious morning, but please God, it will result 
 in victory for France." 
 
 Madame smiled. 
 
 "Is that all I am to hear, my husband?" 
 
 "A soldier s wife must not ask," he said, "what 
 there is for her to know is told without a question." 
 
 "And I am content that you know best," she said, 
 looking at him tenderly. 
 
 He put his hands on ^r shoulders. For a moment 
 they stood looking inid each other s eyes. 
 
 "I am waiting to say good-bye to Gerome," she 
 said at last. 
 
 Her voice was calm and even, her clear eyes looked 
 into his bravely, unflinchingly. These two had lived 
 together so long that the spoken word was unneces 
 sary to convey their thoughts to one another. The 
 absence of demonstration in sorrow is often its best 
 indication of sincerity, and although her proud face 
 gave no sign, he knew the struggle that was going 
 on in her breast. He knew that she lived only for 
 this son of theirs, a son who was worthy of the pride 
 
 227
 
 228 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 they felt in him. And to-day, he was to march away 
 to take his place in that Armageddon from which so 
 few returned, or returned in such a manner as to 
 mock the splendid manhood that had been theirs. 
 
 "Cecile," he said, "I understand! We can only 
 hope ! He is one of the army, and the army is France ! 
 If he does not come back to us, then he will have died 
 the noblest death that can come to a man ! He will 
 have given his life for his country !" 
 
 She smiled bravely. 
 
 "And when their country has needed them," she 
 said, "the women of France have never been called 
 upon in vain." 
 
 Her husband looked at her, the fine lift of her 
 stately head, the calm poise of her clear eyes. 
 
 "You are the spirit of France itself," he said; 
 "women like you have been the inspiration in every 
 crisis in our history !" 
 
 Madame sighed. This beautiful life of theirs, these 
 years of happiness together, how could she even think 
 of so bitter an ending as war must bring. But he 
 must not be disappointed in her. She must be what 
 he thought her, the spirit of France itself. 
 
 "I am so concerned about Marie," she said, after a 
 moment ; "do you think the government will take any 
 action because of her being an alien ?" 
 
 "No, no," he said, "they were married before the 
 war. She has lived in Paris now over a year, there 
 is no cause for anxiety." 
 
 The girl s sad face was still vividly in her mother- 
 in-law s memory. 
 
 "Still," she said, "I m glad Gerome brought her
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 229 
 
 here, it lessens the chance of her being embarrassed 
 by prying officials." 
 
 "My dear," he said, "we won t criticise the govern 
 ment for taking every precaution at a time like this." 
 
 Madame looked up the stairs toward Marie s room. 
 With a woman s intuition, she had sensed something 
 of the struggle going on in the girl s soul; with the 
 eyes of a mother she had laid the cause at one door. 
 
 "There must be many marriages such as this," she 
 said, "and how sad it is for all concerned, for although 
 their loyalty may be unquestioned, in the minds of 
 some there may lurk a doubt." 
 
 "And yet," he said, "if there had been more of 
 these international marriages, this war might never 
 have occurred!" 
 
 She smiled faintly. She was accustomed to these 
 Utopian theories. She had heard him work out to his 
 own satisfaction all the problems of humanity, won 
 dering at a blundering world for not finding the solu 
 tions that were so simple to him, but this was a new 
 subject. 
 
 "Universal peace would be the most precious gift 
 God could bestow on his people," she said. "How will 
 these international marriages help to bring it about ? 
 War not only tears husband and wife apart by death, 
 but by allegiance to different causes. How could that 
 be overcome?" 
 
 He looked at her seriously. 
 
 "I believe that our sons and daughters should seek 
 their proper mates from environments far removed 
 from one another. In that way, the best of civiliza 
 tion would be evenly distributed. The best blood, the
 
 230 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 best intellect, the best culture. Then no one country 
 could believe itself to have a monopoly. There would 
 be one universal language, mutual interest, new blood 
 would be infused into decadent veins, new vigor, 
 strength, mental and physical. Political boundaries 
 would be meaningless, political differences would be 
 impossible, and the sword would be sheathed for 
 ever !" 
 
 "This is a strange philosophy for a soldier," she 
 said smilingly, "one whose profession is arms !" 
 
 "The soldier is the nation s surgeon," he said ; "he 
 tries to cut away the evils that menace its existence, 
 and he most of all is glad when his work is finished. 
 He seldom feels the hatred and rancor that is so com 
 mon to the civilian who fights his battles over a dinner 
 table/ 
 
 Together they walked to the window. Up and 
 down the drive the tire marks of the recent motors 
 crossed and recrossed. Low down on the distant 
 horizon hung the dark form of an observation balloon. 
 And dull, reverberating, incessant, muttered the guns. 
 
 With a sigh the General turned from the window. 
 
 "Come, my dear," he said, "there are some im 
 portant papers to go over before I leave !"
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 WHEN Von Pfaffen came into the salon, the cur 
 tains were still drawn across the windows, the chairs 
 still awry, and on the little escritoire papers lay 
 scattered about as they had been left the night before. 
 
 Madame had obeyed the General s orders literally, 
 and the servants had been excluded from the house 
 while the conference was going on. 
 
 He pushed back the heavy curtains and opened 
 the windows. His shoulders squared as he filled his 
 lungs with the crisp morning air. His cloak of 
 humility was completely cast aside, but at a step in 
 the hall, he turned quickly, again the servant. 
 
 Marie opened the door softly. As she saw him, her 
 face blanched. She stepped back, but the man 
 stopped her. 
 
 "Shut the door," he said peremptorily, and scarcely 
 conscious of what she did, the girl obeyed him. 
 
 He came close to her, his lean face eagerly alight. 
 
 "Well," he said, "any news?" 
 
 "None !" Marie shrank away from him. "I haven t 
 seen my husband yet." 
 
 Von Pfaffen s lips pulled back across his teeth in 
 an oath, and the girl looked up at him piteously. 
 
 "Why couldn t you do it ?" she pleaded. "It s your 
 work, and honorable, I suppose, for you." 
 
 He turned on her fiercely. 
 
 "How could I?" he snarled, "with a guard at every 
 door." 
 
 231
 
 232 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 Marie looked into his cold eyes. 
 
 "Have you no mercy ? Was not last night enough 
 to ask of me?" Her memory went back again to 
 those dreadful moments at the General s bedside. 
 "Once I thought he was awake," she whispered, "his 
 eyes staring straight at me. It was all I could do to 
 prevent myself from shrieking aloud." 
 
 Von Pfaffen s jaw set, a little muscle in his cheek 
 worked nervously. 
 
 "You re not going to fail me now? You haven t 
 let him go without getting me that information ?" 
 
 Marie shuddered under the hatred in his eyes. 
 
 "No, no," she said hastily, "he has only gone as far 
 as the village with the other officers. He ll be back 
 to say good-bye to me," and then she added 
 piteously, "Must I? Must I?" 
 
 "There is no other way!" Von Pfaffen clutched 
 her wrist in a grip of iron. "He must not leave be 
 fore you know," he said almost against her face ; "do 
 you hear? If he does, and this information which 
 means so much to our country yes," as she tried to 
 pull away, "yours as well as mine if this informa 
 tion slips away from me, I ll 
 
 She struggled in his grasp. 
 
 "Oh, please, please !" she pleaded, but he went on 
 brutally : 
 
 "I ll fling your shame in every face I meet. I ll 
 brand you as " 
 
 "Please! Please!" 
 
 He flung her hand away from him. 
 
 "See then that you do as I tell you, and I give you 
 my word you are safe, otherwise " There was a
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 233 
 
 step on the gravel outside. "Hush," he whispered, 
 "here he comes," and as Gerome stepped through the 
 window, Von Pfaffen relapsed once more into the 
 manner of a servant. 
 
 "Good morning, Monsieur," he said softly. 
 
 Gerome smiled into his wife s white face. 
 
 "Good morning," he said. 
 
 Von Pfaffen turned to Marie, his shoulders stoop 
 ing with the meekness of Antoine, his eyes blazing 
 with the threat he held for her if she failed him. 
 
 "Anything more, Madame ?" he asked softly. 
 
 She was breathless. Why didn t he go, v/hy 
 couldn t he leave her alone? 
 
 "No," she said desperately, "only go !" 
 
 "Yes, Madame," adding with deep significance, 
 "I am serving luncheon in the garden to-day," and he 
 turned and left the room, but even while she looked 
 up into her husband s wondering face, she knew that 
 Von Pfaffen would be going back and forth just out 
 side the windows, as he laid the table, going back and 
 forth much as the sentry had done earlier in the morn 
 ing, watching every move she made, everything she 
 did. She was trapped. Her Judas-hour had come! 
 
 Gerome put his arm about her shoulders and lifted 
 her lips to his. 
 
 "My dear," he said, "why this impatience? Poor 
 Antoine, what must he have thought ?" 
 
 She hid her face against his arm, her shoulders 
 quivering. 
 
 "I don t know," she sobbed, "I don t care, I only 
 know that you are going to-day this morning oh 
 God, am I ever going to see you again?"
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 Gerome held her close. 
 
 "Marie," he murmured, "it is for you and for our 
 beloved country !" 
 
 She clung to him. Oh, to have him with her 
 always, to be away from everything and everybody, 
 just they two. Why hadn t some power told her that 
 somewhere this man was waiting for her, so that she 
 might have come to him as pure as he thought her? 
 
 "You re all I have," she cried, "what is France, 
 people, armies, the whole world, compared to you?" 
 
 His heart was bleeding too, with the tragedy of 
 having to leave her now, of all times, but he must not 
 let her see. 
 
 "My dearest," he said unsteadily, "are you a sol 
 dier s wife, and send him into battle this way? Are 
 you going to let me go remembering only your 
 tears?" 
 
 "I love you, I love you !" Her very soul was shak 
 ing with her grief ; "you re all I have." He held her 
 away from him and tried to force her to look into 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Let me feel that you arc sending me to fight for 
 France and you," he pleaded, "with a smile on your 
 lips, pride in your heart, because of the honor done 
 me!" 
 
 Marie looked at him, all the love she had to give 
 in her eyes. The pride he asked for was in her heart, 
 the smile struggled to her lips, then through the win 
 dow she caught sight of Von Pfaffen. He was too far 
 off to hear what they were saying, but his eyes held 
 hers meaningly. 
 
 The smile faded, leaving her face set and tragic.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 235 
 
 "Where are you going?" she began desperately, 
 "where are you going?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "That," he said seriously, "I may not tell you." 
 
 "I must know, I must know !" Von Pf affen was 
 watching her. She must go on. The tide was too 
 strong, it swept her on relentlessly. "I must know !" 
 
 "Marie," he said, pressing his cheek against her 
 hair, "Don t you know you re asking something that 
 I must guard with my honor?" 
 
 For a moment she sobbed aloud against his 
 shoulder. Even with her eyes hidden, she knew that 
 Von Pf affen was standing just beyond in the garden, 
 meekly laying the table for luncheon, but ready to 
 throw aside the humility of the servant and stand be 
 fore her, her accuser. She must go on. 
 
 "Then it s true," she sobbed, "it s true, what I ve 
 been fearing, what I ve been dreading. There is to 
 be a terrible battle somewhere, soon. I won t know 
 where." 
 
 "Hush, ma cherie" soothed Gerome, but she 
 sobbed on. 
 
 "I must know ! I must know !" 
 
 "Marie," it was almost more than he could bear. 
 The agony of her grief frightened him. 
 
 "Don t you love me enough to tell me?" she 
 pleaded. "I must know ! You may be wounded, you 
 may be killed !" 
 
 Gerome s endurance was almost worn away. 
 
 "Listen, Marie " he began, but she shook her 
 
 head.
 
 236 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "I must know," she begged, "you don t know what 
 it means to me !" 
 
 Her sobs were so wild, her form shook so with their 
 force, the man s will broke. 
 
 "Darling," he whispered passionately, "I can t bear 
 this ! Please please if I tell you, will you promise 
 to be brave?" 
 
 Marie sprang away from him. 
 
 The consciousness of the awful thing she was doing 
 overwhelmed her like a deluge. Now that the infor 
 mation she wanted was trembling on her husband s 
 lips, her soul cried aloud to stop it, to prevent his 
 telling before it was too late. 
 
 "Don t tell me," she cried, "don t tell me," but he 
 crushed her close to him. 
 
 "Will you remember," he said tenderly, "that it is 
 not only my honor that I am giving into your keep 
 ing, but my country s safety?" 
 
 He must not tell her, she would not listen. She 
 cowered in his arms, but Gerome went on. It was 
 too late. 
 
 "My loved one, listen," he whispered, "I want you 
 to pray as you have never prayed before, that to 
 morrow, at dawn, before the forts of Draise, God 
 will grant our beloved country victory !" 
 
 Marie sank into his arms. 
 
 "Ah," she breathed, "Draise to-morrow at 
 dawn !" 
 
 She had nerved herself for the ordeal and it had 
 come. A cold wave passed over her, she felt her ex 
 pression alter, her features set. She seemed to hang 
 in a great void, all the natural forces of her nature
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 237 
 
 for the moment were suspended. And then she was 
 looking into his eyes again. As from a great dis 
 tance, she heard his voice. 
 
 "Marie, what is it? Don t look at me like that! 
 I am only one of the millions and for every man who 
 goes there is a woman who mourns. It is hard for 
 you, I know, terribly hard, yet they endure, and so 
 must you. In a great struggle like this, the indi 
 vidual is lost. He is only a stone in the rampart 
 erected against tyranny. We do not serve our own 
 ends, but we are united for a cause that means more 
 to all of us than life or any personal sacrifice that 
 man can make ! I would be unworthy of your love if 
 I were not willing to do my duty for my country at 
 no matter what cost to me, and I know that you would 
 do likewise." 
 
 His arms were about her, his face close to hers, 
 there was a light in his eyes that she had never seen 
 there before. 
 
 A veil that had obscured her clear vision was torn 
 away. For the first time she understood how false, 
 how wrong had been the structure on which she had 
 built. Real sacrifice meant denying oneself so that 
 ideals much greater than can have to do with indi 
 vidual affairs might be served. A country s cause, 
 the saving or the loss of which would make millions 
 happy or miserable, that is what she was about to 
 jeopardize! In her weakness and miserable selfish 
 ness she had almost been tempted to do a dreadful 
 deed. 
 
 For a moment she shuddered, then she lifted her 
 face to his. The light in his eyes flooded into hers,
 
 238 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 sank into her heart, transfigured her. Gerome, look 
 ing at her, saw a miracle come to pass, for the weak, 
 trembling creature, quaking with terror who had 
 crept into his arms with the kiss of betrayal upon her 
 lips, had passed away leaving a radiant-faced, glow 
 ing-eyed, courageous woman. 
 
 She had the information that would assure her 
 safety, yet she knew that no matter what the conse 
 quences to her, she would never use it. 
 
 "My darling," she said, and her voice was clear 
 and firm, "my gift to your country is the most 
 precious thing I have, and I give it proudly !" 
 
 There was a tense silence, too sacred for words. 
 
 "I must go," he said at last, unsteadily ; "kiss me 
 again !" 
 
 She lifted her lips to his in a long kiss, wildly, 
 passionately, a kiss that might be their last in this 
 world, but that to her meant the sacred seal of his 
 faith in her. . 
 
 Then he tore himself away. As long as she could 
 see him from the window, her eyes held their new 
 light of exaltation, but when the gates had closed 
 after him, she sank huddled into a chair, weeping 
 bitterly. 
 
 Presently she raised her head. Von Pfaffen stood 
 in the garden watching. His sinister stare had pene 
 trated her consciousness and brought her back to a 
 realization of what lay before her. 
 
 With an effort she calmed herself. It was neces 
 sary for her to think, to plan. In a few moments he 
 would come for the information. What was she to 
 tell him? There was no doubt that he knew she had
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 239 
 
 obtained it. Would she defy him ? Tell him to do his 
 worst and take the consequences? Would she expose 
 him to the General, give him up to arrest, and so 
 make it impossible for him to do further harm? Or 
 was there a better way? 
 
 In the whirling tangle of her thoughts a plan was 
 shaping itself. Vague, formless as yet, but a plan 
 the daring of which set her heart throbbing with the 
 magnitude of its possibilities. 
 
 Gerome s words echoed and re-echoed in her brain. 
 
 "Draise to-morrow at dawn !" 
 
 Von Pfaffen s instructions had been 
 
 "Write the name of the town and the time on a 
 slip of paper." 
 
 Suppose she should substitute the name of some 
 other town for the one which her husband had told 
 her, a place far removed from the point where the 
 attack would actually be made? 
 
 If the enemy could be given the wrong informa 
 tion and act upon it, would it not mean that he 
 would turn his forces away from the point where the 
 battle was to be fought and so assure victory for 
 the French? 
 
 This man had taken advantage of her inexperience 
 and had wrought evil and unhappiness in her life in 
 the guise of a friend. He was so sure of his power 
 over her, that he was trying to use her as an in 
 strument against her husband and the cause for which 
 at this moment he might be giving his life. Surely 
 she was justified in bringing confusion to his plans 
 which were directed against herself and those who 
 were dear to her.
 
 240 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 To outwit him! To make his efforts to crush her 
 be the means of his own undoing. To prove to him 
 that the wife of Gerome, developed and strengthened 
 in the atmosphere of love with which she had been 
 surrounded, was a different woman from the weak, 
 inexperienced Marie of Vienna. 
 
 Her gentle heart had never known the desire for 
 revenge, but as her mind reviewed all that she had 
 suffered at the hands of Von Pfaffen, she felt for the 
 first time the flame of bitter hatred. She would crush 
 him as he had thought to crush her. She would give 
 him information, but of such a nature as to ruin his 
 career, defeat the plans of the cause he served. 
 
 But what place should she substitute for the right 
 one? She had often heard her little maid in Paris 
 speak of Sains, the town where she was born. She 
 knew it was near the frontier, though some distance 
 from Draise. Why not write Sains instead of Draise? 
 
 She well knew the nature of the man with whom 
 she was dealing. He would never rest until he had 
 been revenged upon her. She scarcely dared think 
 what it would mean to her when her husband and his 
 family knew everything. But Grerome had spoken of 
 sacrifice. This would be hers for the cause he loved. 
 
 Her cheeks flushed, her eyes were brilliant. She 
 hurried to the little escritoire and wrote hastily on 
 a slip of paper: 
 
 "Sains to-morrow at daybreak." 
 
 As she finished Von Pfaffen entered from the 
 garden. He came toward her, an eager gleam in his 
 eyes, but before he could speak the door opened and 
 Paulette entered.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "Antoine," she said, "father wishes to see you in 
 the library." 
 
 He ground his teeth. 
 
 "Yes, Mademoiselle," he answered curtly, but as 
 he made no move to go, Paulette, surprised, repeated : 
 
 "At once, do you hear ? He is waiting !" 
 
 Again he answered, his face purple with suppressed 
 rage: 
 
 "Yes, Mademoiselle," and with almost a military 
 turn, he left the room. 
 
 Marie waited, breathlessly. 
 
 Paulette noticed her agitation and attributed it 
 to her rudeness of the night before. She came over 
 to her sister-in-law contritely. 
 
 "Marie," she began, "I was unkind yesterday. 
 Forgive me, I can feel for you. I know what you are 
 suffering." 
 
 Marie s fear was that the little paper on the desk 
 might fail to serve its purpose, that something might 
 occur to warn Von Pfaffen. She knew that he would 
 leave as soon as he got possession of it. She was in 
 an agony of apprehension lest this interruption now, 
 when every moment was precious, might in some way 
 thwart her plan. 
 
 But Paulette saw only in her distress sorrow at 
 Gerome s going. Her heart, naturally kind, warped 
 though it was for the time by the bitter hatred for 
 the enemies of the man she loved, sympathized with 
 her alien sister-in-law. Love she could understand. 
 She must do what she could to help her. Her mother 
 had been right.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "Let us be friends," she said. "Gerome wishes it. 
 Let us comfort one another." 
 
 Marie stared at her blindly. Could she tell this 
 girl? Would she have done the same thing? Her 
 eyes looked far away. 
 
 "Paulette," she said at last, "there is nothing worth 
 while but the love of the one you care for, is there?" 
 
 "That and his honor," answered the girl. 
 
 "His honor !" repeated Marie. Thank God she had 
 not betrayed his honor. She took her sister-in-law s 
 hands in hers. Perhaps after all her plan had not 
 been the right one. Perhaps this girl could tell her 
 a better way. "Suppose you had to choose, and you 
 could save only one thing," she said, "Maurice s 
 honor, or his love for you, which would it be?" 
 
 Paulette looked at her in surprise. 
 
 "I don t understand," she said, "that could not be 
 possible. We can all only pray that they come back 
 to us." 
 
 Marie turned away with a catch in her throat. 
 
 "Paulette," she said, "if you only understood !" 
 
 The girl put her arm about her waist. 
 
 "Come," she said soothingly, "let me take you to 
 your room. We can be more quiet there." 
 
 With all her heart Marie prayed that the sacrifice 
 she was making might not be in vain, that it would in 
 some small measure make amends for what she had 
 done in the past. 
 
 With a sigh she let Paulette lead her away.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 MADAME coming in later, found the room still dis 
 ordered, and as she rang the bell, she shook her head 
 over the interrupted routine of the household. Even 
 with all the serious problems before them, the little 
 every-day things must not be neglected. 
 
 "Nanine," she said, when the old woman answered 
 her ring, "the General s friends are gone, and you 
 can put the room in order now." 
 
 "Yes, Madame," the old woman looked about her, 
 grumbling. Long before this hour the work of the 
 household was usually finished. 
 
 "The little desk also, Nanine," Madame reminded 
 her as she was leaving the room ; "gather up all those 
 waste papers and burn them," and she closed the door 
 after her. 
 
 The old woman went about heavily, pulling the 
 chairs in place and arranging the disordered table. 
 Then she went to the desk and swept into her broad 
 apron the loose papers. With them went the little 
 note Marie had left for Von Pf affen, the slip of paper 
 that was to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of 
 France. 
 
 But Nanine only grumbled at this extra work. 
 This was what Antoine should do. Where was he? 
 Why wasn t he here? She shuffled to the fireplace 
 and emptied her apron into the grate. Stooping 
 stiffly she struck a match and lit the little pile of 
 papers. As they blazed up, she rested back on her 
 
 heels, her shriveled old hands held out to the tiny 
 
 243
 
 244 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 blaze, grateful for the warmth on this crisp morning. 
 
 She didn t hear the door open, nor see the dusty, 
 hard-ridden young soldier who entered. Her faded 
 old eyes stared into the flames, tearless, but full of 
 the hopeless tragedy of the peasant who gives all and 
 must never ask why. 
 
 "Mother!" and at the word she turned with a 
 start. 
 
 "Jacques!" she cried, scrambling to her feet. 
 "Back so soon?" 
 
 "The message from Captain le Cerf was received 
 at Headquarters," he told her as he kissed her, "and 
 I was ordered to bring it here at once." 
 
 Even in her joy at seeing this dearly loved son the 
 old woman s heart was glad for Paulette. 
 
 "So he got away?" she said; "won t my little 
 Mam selle be happy? When is he expected?" 
 
 Jacques stretched his dusty length in Madame s 
 damask-covered chair, and his mother did not repri 
 mand him. Nothing was too good for him. 
 
 "He ll be at Sains," he said, "to-morrow, at day 
 break!" 
 
 "At Sains?" she said, "why, that s not far!" 
 
 Jacques held up a note. 
 
 "He arrives to-morrow at daybreak," he said ; "it s 
 written here." 
 
 She came to his side with her head as close to his 
 as the great wings of her Breton cap would allow, 
 and peered at the paper the boy held out to her. 
 
 " Sains to-morrow at daybreak, " she read 
 slowly, her broad forefinger tracing out the words. 
 
 She laid the note down on the desk, almost on the
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 245 
 
 same spot where not many minutes before had rested 
 Marie s hasty scrawl. 
 
 "Do you have to go back at once?" she asked 
 wistfully. 
 
 The boy patted her shoulder. 
 
 "Yes, mother," he said; "there is great work to 
 do, and I must get back and do my share !" 
 
 "But," and her voice shook, "when will I see you 
 again ?" 
 
 "I don t know, mother," he said, "I can t tell!" 
 
 Quite suddenly the tears started from her faded 
 eyes and trickled down the furrows of her rough 
 checks. 
 
 "You will be careful ?" she asked huskily ; "you re 
 all I have now, I m I m getting a bit old and 
 you re all I have," she finished weakly. 
 
 Jacques patted her shoulder roughly. 
 
 "Don t worry, mother," he grinned, sheepishly 
 conscious of the tears in his own eyes, "don t worry, 
 I ll come back !" 
 
 The old woman clung to him fiercely, her chin 
 quivering, her faded eyes blazing with the fire that 
 outlasts all others. 
 
 "Why do you have to go?" she cried hoarsely, 
 "what have we ever done ? Why should you kill any 
 one? Why should anyone kill you? Why? What s 
 it all for? What s it all about?" Her withered 
 cheeks were wet, her staunch old heart was torn with 
 a sort of bewildered sorrow. "Why should my other 
 two boys be taken from me?" she went on. "Pierre, 
 the finest smith in Brittany! Jean, who could lift 
 an ox off its feet ! I don t understand !"
 
 246 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 The last of her brood shook his sturdy head. He, 
 too, had asked himself "why?" He had heard others 
 about him asking why, and to none had there been 
 given an explanation. 
 
 "I don t understand myself, mother," he said ; "but 
 the country says we must go, and so we go !" 
 
 The old woman s anger flared up again. 
 
 "The ones who should suffer are those who set 
 them on," she cried ; "but they never do ! They never 
 do ! It is only we mothers of strong young men. I 
 don t see why!" 
 
 Jacques looked at her gravely. "It is for our 
 country," he said; "they want to invade it, destroy 
 our homes, our fine old buildings. We can t let them 
 do that," and he squared his shoulders as his country 
 was doing. "We ll go on fighting till they stop 
 trying!" he said. 
 
 Nanine dried her eyes on her apron. 
 
 "I suppose you re right, Jacques," she sighed, 
 "but I ve given two." 
 
 "The officers say it will be over soon !" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "they ve said that for a long 
 time, but it goes on, and men are being ground up 
 like like coffee in a mill !" 
 
 Jacques laughed. 
 
 "Not me, mother," he assured her. 
 
 "How do I know?" her heavy lips were quivering 
 pathetically again ; "when you were a prisoner I 
 thought you were safe till it was all over. I thought 
 I d saved one out of the three !" 
 
 Jacques sighed. He never remembered seeing his 
 mother break before. When the news had come about
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 247 
 
 Jean, she had sat wide-eyed and silent for an hour, 
 and then had risen and gone about her usual tasks 
 without mentioning his death. Pierre had lain 
 wounded for days at Neuilly. She had made the long 
 trip to see him and the finest smith in Brittany had 
 gasped away his life in the arms that had first held 
 him. She had journeyed back to the little gate-house 
 of the Chateau de la Motte, dry-eyed and silent. 
 But to-day, now that this last one of her brood was 
 leaving her perhaps forever, the strong old heart 
 could no longer bear its burden of grief. 
 
 "I ll come back, mother," he said huskily, "I ll 
 come back a a sergeant." 
 
 "Much good that ll do without arms or legs," she 
 grunted. "I ve seen a lot like that!" 
 
 Jacques laughed uneasily. 
 
 "But not me, mother!" 
 
 "I was proud to think that you got away from 
 them," she went on, "that they couldn t hold you, but 
 I almost wish you were back." 
 
 Jacques looked at her heaving shoulders and tragic, 
 withered face. 
 
 "When Pierre and Jean went, you didn t take on 
 so." 
 
 "I didn t know what it was like then," she choked, 
 "I didn t know what it was like !" 
 
 "I must go now, mother," he muttered. 
 
 The old woman tried bravely to smile into the 
 young face. 
 
 "Can t you stay and have something to eat?" she 
 begged. 
 
 Jacques was hungry, very hungry. His soul
 
 248 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 yearned for the many good things his mother cooked. 
 
 "I wish I could," he said wistfully, "but it s orders." 
 
 Nanine threw her arms about his neck and rocked 
 him back and forth. 
 
 "Be careful," she pleaded, "you re all I have. God 
 bless you!" 
 
 The boy tore himself away. 
 
 "Good-bye, mother; be sure and give the note to 
 Mam selle," he called as he went through the long 
 window into the garden. Nanine waved him a tear 
 ful good-bye, her apron held to her lips, her heart in 
 her eyes. She watched him till he was out of sight. 
 
 What a bitter lot is woman s. The world belongs 
 to men. For women it is only a meeting, a parting, 
 a supreme joy for awhile, and then endless, hopeless 
 tears. With a groan she turned heavily back into 
 the room. 
 
 The note for her Mademoiselle must not be for 
 gotten. 
 
 As she turned to the desk where it lay, Von Pfaffen 
 came in. His face darkened. 
 
 "Here," he said roughly, "what are you doing?" 
 
 Nanine eyed him resentfully, her heavy Breton 
 face flushing. 
 
 "Who are you to order me about?" she asked, in 
 her coarsest peasant manner. 
 
 The man was furious at her insolence. 
 
 "You ll go out of here," he said, between his teeth ; 
 "this is no place for you !" 
 
 "Norn ffun chien" the old woman s voice rose in a 
 tirade of abuse, her eyes blazed with anger; "I ll do 
 what I please ! You black coat !"
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 249 
 
 Von Pfaffen s face reddened under her insult. 
 
 "I ll teach you how to talk to your betters," he 
 said with an oath, and crossing to her with a quick 
 stride, he laid a rough hand on her shoulder. 
 
 She twisted under his clutch. 
 
 "You scum ! You toad !" she screamed ; "you leave 
 me be !" 
 
 Her strident, peasant voice carried out into the 
 hall, and Madame came hurrying in. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked. "What is wrong?" 
 
 Nanine stopped her scolding and stood sullenly, 
 while the man explained. 
 
 "I did not give her permission to come in here, 
 Madame," he said, "and she refuses to go !" 
 
 "It is all right," said Madame quietly. "I told 
 her to come and arrange the room. You were busy 
 with the General. Go to Mademoiselle Paulette, 
 Nanine, she is expecting you. Her commission has 
 come. She wants you to help her with her costume." 
 
 The old woman started for the door, her anger at 
 the butler making her forget for a moment the paper 
 that Jacques had brought, and which lay on the desk. 
 
 The man opened the door. She went through 
 heavily, turning just enough for him to see the sneer 
 she flung at him as she left. 
 
 "Anything more, Madame?" he asked. 
 
 She shook her head, and he turned ungraciously, 
 closing the door after him. 
 
 Madame stood for a moment by the table. Her 
 heart was heavy. War is crudest to women, for their 
 wounds are of the soul ; but Marie, opening the door, 
 met a brave smile, kindly welcoming eyes. When
 
 250 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 Paulette had left her, she had promised to try and 
 rest, but it was impossible, and nervously she paced 
 her room, her brain in a turmoil with the thoughts 
 that harrassed her. Would her plan succeed? 
 
 It must ! It must ! There must be nothing to pre 
 vent it ! She was filled with a breathless hope as the 
 bewildering possibility became clear to her, that she 
 might indeed become the instrument by means of 
 which France was to be saved ! The thought trans 
 figured her, lifted her out of the doubt and agony 
 which had surrounded her. To be of use to the one 
 she loved, to save what was more to him than his life, 
 was her mission. This accomplished, whatever hap 
 pened to her was of no consequence. 
 
 There were so many things that might interfere 
 with the success of her plan, Von Pfaffen might dis 
 cover it, her note might fall into other hands. There 
 was so little time, so much to be done. She realized 
 that she must deliver her message as soon as possible. 
 Perhaps he was waiting even now. She flung open 
 her door and hurried dovrn the stair and into the 
 salon, but here was her husband s mother with her 
 quiet smile and sweet, kind eyes, and on the little 
 desk still lay the folded slip of paper that was so 
 like the one she had placed there. 
 
 Madame s voice was compassionate as she looked 
 into the white face. 
 
 "Come in, dear," she said. "You must try and 
 compose yourself, your cheeks are pale. I think a 
 walk in the garden would do us both good." 
 
 "You are so sweet to me, so kind!" murmured 
 Marie. "I want you all to love me !"
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 251 
 
 Madame pressed her hand tenderly. 
 
 "We will, dear," she said. "You and Paulette and 
 I will be alone for luncheon to-day. We can all learn 
 to know each other better." 
 
 Marie looked at her wistfully. 
 
 "I do love you," she said earnestly; "no matter 
 what happens, I want you to believe that." 
 
 Madame had divined her condition with the quick 
 sense of the mother heart, and her kindness doubled. 
 
 "Come," she said, "and we can talk of our dear 
 ones," but the girl was thinking of the little paper 
 on the desk. 
 
 "I can t," she gasped, "I can t," and she shrank 
 away. 
 
 Madame went to the bell. 
 
 "Come," she said, "Antoine shall bring us wraps. 
 The morning air is cool." 
 
 Marie watched her, a prayer in her heart, to be 
 able to do something to repay these people for the 
 love they were giving her. 
 
 Presently Von Pfaffen opened the door. He shot 
 a swift glance at the girl from under his heavy brows. 
 
 "Madame?" he asked, turning to his mistress. 
 
 "Bring the scarfs you will find in the entrance 
 hall, Antoine." 
 
 As the man left the room, Marie sank breathlessly 
 into a chair. Would she be able to carry out her 
 plan? Would her pale cheeks, or anything in her 
 manner, betray her to her tormentor s keen gaze? 
 
 Madame looked pityingly into the white face. 
 
 "Come dear, you break my heart with your tragic 
 eyes. Remember, I am his mother!"
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 With a cry, the girl started to her feet, but Von 
 Pfaffen opened the door, the scarfs over his arm, and 
 again she subsided into her chair, waiting. 
 
 Madame took a filmy gray scarf and let him wrap 
 it about her shoulders, and as she went toward the 
 window, he came to Marie with the ostensible humility 
 of a servant. 
 
 She rose to her feet, and forced herself toward this 
 man whom she loathed. 
 
 As he slipped the wrap about her shoulders, he 
 muttered under his breath : 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 And in a quick whisper she answered 
 
 "On the desk!" 
 
 Madame at the window, turned. 
 
 "Coming, dear ?" she asked, and as the man stepped 
 aside Marie followed her out into the garden. 
 
 Von Pfaffen watched them disappear, then he 
 turned hurriedly to the little desk, where he found the 
 paper that told of Maurice s coming. Eagerly he 
 seized it and held it close to his eyes, his face glowing 
 with triumph. 
 
 " Sains to-morrow at daybreak, he read. 
 "Ah, my Fatherland!" lie breathed, then lifting his 
 fist, shook it fiercely at his surroundings. "Now 
 I am rid of all this !" 
 
 Triumphantly he went through the door, his 
 shoulders squared, the cloak of the servant dropped 
 forever.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 WHEN Nanine and Paulette came down the great 
 stairway a few minutes later, the girl was trembling 
 with excitement. She was dressed in the field uniform 
 of an army nurse. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes 
 feverishly bright. The letter telling of her commis 
 sion had just reached her that morning and the long- 
 prepared costume was donned for the first time. 
 
 "Are you sure you remember the message, Nanine ?" 
 she asked. "Tell me again what it said." 
 
 Patiently the old woman repeated the words. 
 
 "I have told you, dearie," she said, " Sains to 
 morrow at daybreak ! 
 
 "Sains, that s not far away ! But I must be sure, 
 Nanine. I must be sure ! I must see the note. Where 
 is it? Where is it?" 
 
 Nanine crossed heavily to the little desk. Not 
 finding what she sought, she uttered a sharp excla 
 mation. The girl flew to her side. 
 
 "What is it, Nanine? What is it?" she cried fear 
 fully. 
 
 The old woman looked up at her blankly. 
 
 "It s gone!" she gasped. 
 
 Paulette echoed her words, her eyes wide and 
 frightened. 
 
 "Gone?" 
 
 Nanine rummaged frantically. 
 
 "Oh, my dearie," she wailed, "I put it here, a bit 
 of paper with Sains to-morrow at daybreak 
 
 written on it. Where can it be? Where can it be?" 
 
 253
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 Paulette stood watching her breathlessly. 
 
 "Nanine," her voice shook, "there is something 
 wrong !" 
 
 The old woman stopped in her search. 
 
 "Will harm come to him, dearie?" she quavered. 
 
 "Oh, Nanine," cried the girl, terror beating at her 
 heart, "I don t know I m afraid !" 
 
 "Mon petit chou!" soothed the old woman. "What 
 does the loss of the paper matter? I remember the 
 words, Sains to-morrow at daybreak, " but her 
 deep breast rose and fell with some of the terror that 
 was shaking her young mistress. 
 
 "Someone has stolen it!" said Paulette miser 
 ably. "What good does it do for you to remember? 
 Maurice will be taken back to prison, perhaps shot !" 
 The thought sent her hand to her throat in terror. 
 
 "Shot !" Nanine stared at her, frightened. "What 
 shall we do?" she cried. 
 
 "We must get word to father." 
 
 In all Paulette s short life her father had always 
 been her refuge in time of trouble. He would know 
 what to do. 
 
 "Oh, Nanine, why didn t you bring it to me at 
 once? Why didn t you?" 
 
 The old woman shook her head sadly. For the 
 sake of those few last moments with her boy this new 
 trouble had come upon them. 
 
 "Perhaps Madame can help us," she said; "let us 
 ask her !" 
 
 "Where is she?" asked Paulette eagerly. "Go find 
 her at once ! I ll go to her room, she may be there !" 
 
 The old woman hurried out and Paulette had just
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 255 
 
 crossed the threshold into the shadows of the outer 
 hall when, through the long window, came Marie. 
 Paulette turned and watched her curiously as she went 
 straight to the little desk. 
 
 The sunlight of the garden was still in Marie s 
 eyes, and she did not see the girl standing in the 
 loorway. One glance was enough to show her that 
 the note was gone. The Fate of France was on the 
 knees of the gods. She had done her best. Turning, 
 she found herself facing Paulette, whose eyes blazed 
 with rage and hatred. 
 
 "So," she cried, "it s you !" 
 
 Marie recoiled. For a moment she failed to recog 
 nize the girl in her nurse s garb. When she did, her 
 face went white. 
 
 "I knew I suspected you with reason," went on 
 Paulette furiously, "no one else could have taken it. 
 No one would be interested. Here, we are all friends, 
 
 working for each other, but you " and at the 
 
 scorn in her voice, Marie cowered away from her. 
 
 "Don t please," she breathed. 
 
 Paulette shook her roughly by the shoulders. 
 
 "Where is it?" she cried, "the paper that was here; 
 where is it?" 
 
 Marie s heart stopped beating. What could 
 Paulette- know of the paper ? 
 
 "God!" she gasped. 
 
 Her sister-in-law looked at her, sorrow struggling 
 with hate. 
 
 "Why did you? Why did you ?" she asked. "What 
 have I done? What has Maurice done?" 
 
 Marie leaned away from her in astonishment.
 
 256 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "Maurice?" she asked. 
 
 "My sweetheart," went on Paulette, "in a German 
 prison. He was to escape! You have stolen the 
 note telling where he is to be. What have you done 
 with it?" 
 
 Marie started. In a flash she understood that she 
 and Paulette were thinking of different things. Von 
 Pfaffen had undoubtedly found her own note. But 
 if there had been two notes? Would this not create 
 confusion and suspicion in his mind and so defeat her 
 plan after all? 
 
 "Listen," she said hurriedly, "I did not take it! 
 I swear I did not take it. If someone has it, we must 
 get there before it is too late ! We must save 
 Maurice. Where is he ?" 
 
 "How can I trust you ?" began Paulette bitterly. 
 
 For a long moment the two women stared at each 
 other. At last Marie spoke. 
 
 "Tell me where is he?" she repeated. "Tell me, 
 or you will regret it all your life !" 
 
 There was something so convincing in the tone of 
 her voice that Paulette found herself eueving in 
 spite of herself. Unconsciously their positions were 
 changed; it was Marie who now stood firm and sure 
 of herself, Paulette who trembled. 
 
 "He will be at Sains to-morrow at daybreak," 
 she whispered. 
 
 Marie s eyes slowly dilated, her face froze into the 
 expression of an ancient Greek tragic mask. From 
 the depths of her very soul came a groan of anguish. 
 Tensely she repeated the words: 
 
 "Sains to-morrow at daybreak !"
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 257 
 
 She had thought her plan so sure, so certain to aid 
 her husband s cause, but whichever way she turned, 
 she seemed doomed to bring misery to those she loved. 
 She knew that Von Pfaffen was already well on his 
 way to the enemy. The words she had written were 
 stamped on her memory. What evil spirit had made 
 her choose Sains? Sains, where to-morrow at day 
 break, Paulette s sweetheart, having risked his 
 life for liberty, would only be reaching this haven 
 of safety as the guns of the enemy were turned 
 against its walls. 
 
 Paulette looked at her, frightened. 
 
 "What is it ?" she whispered. At last Marie spoke, 
 the words coming through her stiff lips in jerking, 
 staccato tones: 
 
 "You must go to him," she said; "you must go 
 now, at once." 
 
 Go to him herself! The thought staggered her. 
 The difficulty! The danger! The horrible country 
 she must cross before she should arrive at Sains, 
 where battles were even now raging ! 
 
 "Oh, how can I go?" she cried, covering her eyes. 
 "Out there in the midst of all those horrors! How 
 can I?" 
 
 "There is no time to lose," urged Marie, "you are 
 going to the man you love." 
 
 Slowly Paulette lifted her brown head. 
 
 "Can I? Dare I?" she murmured. 
 
 In the distance she could hear the sound of the 
 guns, which all morning had been growing louder and 
 louder, sometimes swelling into a roar which seemed 
 to shake the very earth.
 
 258 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 Marie put her hand on her arm, her whole body 
 vibrating with emotion. 
 
 "Listen," she said, "the Germans are to make an 
 attack on Sains to-morrow at daybreak!" 
 
 Paulette uttered a cry. 
 
 "How do you know this? What are you? Who 
 are you?" 
 
 "Don t ask me how I know," went on Marie, "don t 
 ask me anything, only for God s sake go to Sains ! 
 Warn the town! Warn the commanding General! O 
 hurry, hurry, there is not a moment to lose!" 
 
 Paulette stared at her fiercely, her hatred and dis 
 trust returning and blazing from her eyes. 
 
 "I knew you were a spy," she cried. "I knew I 
 hated you with reason. Tell me how you know this, 
 tell me, tell me!" 
 
 Into Marie s heart came a great sadness, her 
 punishment was beginning. How could this girl be 
 lieve her? Would anyone ever trust her? 
 
 "Your note was stolen," she said. "The one 
 who has it is taking it to the enemy! I know! I 
 tried to help my husband s cause, but in doing so I 
 have endangered Maurice s life. Oh, Paulette, I 
 thought that what I did was for the best. Don t look 
 at me like that. Some day you will understand !" 
 
 Paulette was wild with rage. This woman whom 
 they had made one of themselves, whom her parents 
 had taken to their hearts and given the position due 
 the wife of their beloved son, had betrayed them. But 
 there was a punishment for such as she. 
 
 "I ll have you shot," she panted. "I ll have the
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 259 
 
 soldiers drag you to prison for the spy that you 
 are " but Marie was at her side. 
 
 "Paulette," she said earnestly, "will you allow your 
 hatred and distrust of me to stand in the way of 
 doing a great service for France and saving Maurice ? 
 There is no doubt that the Germans will attack Sains 
 to-morrow at dawn. I need not tell you what it 
 would mean to your countrymen to know this and 
 prepare for their coming. If you do not heed me, 
 you will never know happiness again! This is the 
 opportunity of your whole life to serve the cause you 
 love. Do not cast it aside! Go to Sains! Save the 
 city! Save your love, then come back and do what 
 ever you will to me, only, for God s sake, hurry !" 
 
 Her voice was so earnest, so vibrant with the desire 
 that prompted her, that in spite of her suspicion the 
 girl paused and looked into her eyes. 
 
 "If I could only trust you," she said. 
 
 Quick to sense the momentary lowering of the 
 barriers, Marie put a pleading hand on her arm. 
 
 "You can," she said, "oh, do believe me. The cause 
 you love is as dear to me as to you. You must go, 
 there is no other way !" Her eyes rested on the little 
 insignia on the collar of the girl s costume, and 
 mentally following her gaze, Paulette became sud 
 denly aware of her uniform. This would be the means 
 of reaching Maurice. Her hands would nurse him 
 after all. He would be her first patient. 
 
 Her eyes cleared of the vision of blood and terror, 
 the hatred and distrust died in her heart. Her 
 shoulders squared with the strength of her father, 
 her chin lifted with her mother s poise.
 
 260 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "I ll go," she said. "I am a soldier s daughter! 
 I am to be a soldier s bride! I ll go!" 
 
 "Go now," urged Marie; "it isn t far. I swear I 
 didn t take it. Won t you believe me? It isn t your 
 happiness that is threatened. Oh, believe me! Be 
 lieve me !" 
 
 "If I am only in time," breathed Paulette, as she 
 turned to go. 
 
 Marie followed her to the window. 
 
 "Little sister," she pleaded, "you at least I would 
 save unhappiness. God speed!" and suddenly, be 
 lieving, Paulette turned and flung her arms about 
 her neck, then with her head held high, she went out 
 through the garden. 
 
 Marie watched her go. How many partings there 
 had been in these short hours. She watched Nanine 
 close and bar the heavy gates after the slender figure, 
 drying her eyes with the back of her hand as she 
 did so. 
 
 " Sains to-morrow at dawn !" the words were 
 burned into her brain. Her head went down on her 
 arms across the little desk. 
 
 From the depths of the garden, Madame saw the 
 girl go through the gate, and hurried into the salon. 
 Her quick step in the hall roused Marie. She rose to 
 meet her. 
 
 "She has gone, ma mere" she told her gently ; "she 
 has gone to the man she loves." 
 
 "Gone my little Paulette, gone? Out there, 
 without a word to me," her face was suddenly old, 
 gray, the lines about her mouth seemed drawn with 
 a shaded pencil.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 261 
 
 "A message came this morning," said Marie; "it 
 told of Maurice s escape. Someone has intercepted it, 
 and Paulette, fearing for his safety, has gone to him." 
 
 "We have been waiting for this message," said 
 Madame, "but Paulette, alone! Out there!" She 
 looked toward the horizon from whence came the 
 deep-throated roar of the guns, savage and menacing. 
 
 Quite suddenly she broke down. Bowing her proud 
 head in her hands she wept bitterly. 
 
 Marie stood beside her, silent, until just as sud 
 denly she gained control of herself again. The white 
 head rose proudly, the bright brown eyes shone 
 bravely through their tears. 
 
 "I am glad she has gone," she said. "I would not 
 have it otherwise. She must go to help the man she 
 loves, if she can! I m glad she was brave enough 
 to go." 
 
 Marie looked at her wonderingly. How fine she 
 was, how strong and true. Why could she not have 
 been as brave as this? She saw herself as she had 
 been, a pitiful, weak creature, almost ready to sell 
 her soul to tie herself like a millstone about the neck 
 of the man she loved. She knew that even now she 
 was dreading the scorn she would see in this kind face 
 when she knew all the truth concerning her. But 
 she thought of Gerome, with his lofty ideals; she 
 thought of Paulette forgetting her dread of the 
 horrors "out there," taking her young life into her 
 hands willingly, eagerly, to serve, if she could, both 
 France and the man she loved, and she knew that she, 
 too, would accept her martyrdom gladly for the cause 
 that was theirs.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE long road that led through the village and 
 on into Sains lay before Paulette like an unexplored 
 country. The familiar smoothness was gone, cut into 
 by heavy army wagons and many marching feet. The 
 fields themselves that bordered its dusty edges were 
 trampled and bare. Even the tall poplars, standing 
 like sentinels along its way, were draggled and un 
 kempt. 
 
 When the gates closed on her, Paulette drew a 
 quick breath as she looked about her. How often 
 she had ridden through the green shadows of these 
 familiar lanes with Maurice; now the difference 
 frightened her. 
 
 She turned to look at the gray towers where they 
 showed above the trees. Would she ever see them 
 again, she wondered? Poor little Paulette, the way 
 before her was a long and weary one, but she knew 
 if she were only in time nothing else mattered. 
 
 Resolutely she turned her face away from her be 
 loved home and started on her journey. The muffled 
 roar of the guns which had been coming to them ever 
 since the war began seemed deeper, more menacing 
 now that she was outside the shelter of the chateau 
 walls, but until she neared the village, the road was 
 deserted. She hurried down the pretty little street 
 that wound among the houses. Here and there sol 
 diers lounged against the doorsteps and gazed 
 
 curiously at her under their caps. Once she flattened 
 
 262
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 263 
 
 herself against a wall to let a company swing by 
 through the narrow street. Once she stumbled out 
 of the way of an automobile filled with officers. Once 
 a woman leaned out of an upper window and waved 
 to her as she passed, but without turning her head 
 Paulette hurried on. 
 
 At the tiny railroad station she found the plat 
 form crowded with soldiers, a detachment of men 
 waiting to be sent along the line. The officer in 
 charge, a tall smooth-faced youngster, greeted her 
 politely. She showed him her orders and begged to 
 be allowed to stop off at Sains. He piloted her down 
 the platform, alongside of which there stood little 
 gray box-cars. Out of the windows crowded round 
 heads, black, brown, yellow; laughing, joking, smok 
 ing. 
 
 But with all the willingness in the world, there was 
 no corner for her, and she was just turning away 
 disappointed when a gray motor ambulance came 
 alongside the platform. The driver called out, seeing 
 her uniform: 
 
 "There s room for you," he said cheerily, reaching 
 out a helping hand. 
 
 "I have an important message for the commanding 
 officer at Sains," said Paulette. "Will you take me 
 there as quickly as possible?" 
 
 She climbed up to the seat beside him. The 
 ambulance turned about and as it swung into top 
 speed the soldiers in the little cars waved their caps 
 to them. 
 
 The driver and his orderly laughed and joked as 
 the machine sped along and tried to draw her into
 
 264 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 their conversation, quite as though it were a pleasure 
 excursion they were having. 
 
 Outside the village the road wound steeply up a 
 hill and then dipped in a great curve down to the 
 river bank. 
 
 She began to see more and more frequently the 
 work of the guns which up to now she had only 
 heard. Deep furrows cut into the fields by exploding 
 shells, ruined barns with great gaping holes in their 
 sides, farm houses, roofless, with empty, staring 
 windows. She could see the dust of the supply trains 
 crawling along the horizon, and occasionally the 
 white cloud of a bursting shell. 
 
 Presently the ambulance drew up at a field hos 
 pital. Nurses robed like herself hurried from one to 
 another of the shattered forms lying in the straw. 
 Doctors with tired faces went silently to and fro. 
 Paulette s heart shrank from the suffering about her, 
 she tried to shut from her eyes the pitiful sights, to 
 close her ears to the moans and cries, but they beat 
 against her strained nerves, almost breaking them. 
 
 This ambulance was to go no further. But there 
 was a constant stream going on toward Sains. Into 
 one of these she climbed and in a moment they were 
 speeding on their way again, past long lines of sol 
 diers, some resting by the road, others trudging 
 rhythmically along, their faces turned toward the 
 sound of the guns. The line seemed unending. These 
 were the men who were standing between France and 
 unthinkable disaster. 
 
 How proud she was of them! Her courage re-
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 266 
 
 turned. Her nostrils dilated. They represented 
 France, and she was one of them! 
 
 This message that she bore might enable them to 
 inflict a blow upon the enemy that would sweep him 
 from her beloved country forever ! 
 
 At last, the distant spires of Sains came in sight, 
 and her heart was full of the hope that she might 
 not be too late. 
 
 Back at the chateau, a mother s heart was fol 
 lowing her with a prayer for her safety and another 
 woman paced restlessly up and down, pausing fre 
 quently at the window to look with straining eyes 
 toward Sains, hoping, praying with her whole soul 
 that she would reach there in time. 
 
 At Draise, not many miles away, a great army was 
 gathering quietly, secretly, waiting for the dawn and 
 success, while here, toward the ancient spires which 
 were their guide, another army in field gray and 
 spiked helmets was directing its guns; and between 
 them, on the long stretch of dusty road, cut and 
 slashed by army wagons and many marching feet, the 
 ambulance sped the girl on her way, the love of one of 
 this world of men filling her heart, a prayer on her 
 lips that the message she carried might bring victory. 
 
 When they drew up at the gates of Sains, Paulette s 
 new uniform was dusty and soiled. The tall spires 
 of the cathedral and the red roofs of the houses 
 sparkled in the afternoon sunshine as she entered the 
 town. Here and there the walls lay in crumbling 
 heaps, reminders of the German shells. Near the 
 gate several soldiers were lounging. One man, his 
 cap pulled low over his eyes, his rifle against his 
 shoulder, paced back and forth.
 
 266 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 The sergeant in command approached her. 
 
 "Where do you wish to go, Mademoiselle?" he 
 asked politely. 
 
 "I must go to Headquarters. I am to see the 
 officer in command there. It is very important !" 
 
 The sergeant called one of the men. 
 
 "Guerin," he said, "conduct this lady to Head 
 quarters. See that she is taken care of. Under 
 stand?" 
 
 The man saluted. 
 
 "This way, Mademoiselle," he said, and they 
 hurried down one street, across another, and through 
 a ruined archway, riddled by German shot. Some 
 times they were obliged to scramble over heaps of 
 brick and mortar and broken glass where some shell 
 had struck. Presently they came out into the market 
 place. The broad, open space was deserted, save for 
 the sentries pacing to and fro. Around the fountain 
 in the center were piled heavy burlap bags, evidently 
 filled with grain. The Hotel de Ville, which formed 
 one side of the square, had part of its roof gone, and 
 a heap of dust and mortar lay piled against one side. 
 The Cathedral, opposite, whose spires had been their 
 guide all day, was battered and crumpled, a great 
 empty space where the beautiful glass of the rose 
 window had been. 
 
 At the door of the Hotel de Ville a sentry chal 
 lenged them. There was a whispered word with her 
 guide. The man looked at her sharply and saluted. 
 
 "Pass, Mademoiselle," he said. 
 
 They stumbled up a dark stair, and across a wide, 
 dusty hall lined with doors, closed and bolted for the
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 267 
 
 most part. At the far end, Guerin bade her halt and 
 rapped loudly on the panel of a door standing partly 
 ajar. 
 
 "Entrez," called a hoarse voice, and he pushed it 
 open with a jerk of his elbow and motioned her to 
 enter. 
 
 Paulette stepped across the threshold. 
 
 In the middle of the room a man with thick iron- 
 gray hair was writing at a table. At his side stood 
 an orderly waiting, and under a window a young 
 officer sat before a telegraph instrument. 
 
 He rose as they entered and came forward. 
 
 "Well?" he said and Guerin saluted stiffly. 
 
 "I am the daughter of General de la Motte. I 
 have important information for the commanding 
 officer," began Paulette. 
 
 He glanced at her keenly for a moment, then 
 turned to the man at the table. 
 
 "General," he said, "Mademoiselle de la Motte has 
 something of importance to say to you !" 
 
 The iron-gray head lifted and Paulette saw a finely 
 formed face with a firm, resolute mouth and a pair of 
 very keen steel-gray eyes. 
 
 He rose and bowed. 
 
 "Mademoiselle de la Motte? By any chance of 
 the family of General Phillipe de la Motte?" 
 
 "His daughter, sir !" 
 
 A bright smile lighted his face, relieving it of all 
 its sternness. He extended his hand. 
 
 "This is a great pleasure, Mademoiselle," he said ; 
 "pray be seated and tell me what I can do for you !" 
 
 "Thank you," she said, "but I prefer to stand.
 
 268 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 What I have to tell you is very important!" She 
 paused for a moment and the General fixed his keen 
 eyes upon hers. "I have just come from the chateau. 
 I received information this morning that the enemy is 
 to attack Sains to-morrow at daybreak." 
 
 The General was a man long schooled to mask his 
 emotions, and his face gave no sign except a barely 
 perceptible tightening of the muscles about the mouth 
 and a deeper gleam in his clear eyes. 
 
 "This is important, Mademoiselle. Are you sure 
 that it is authentic?" 
 
 "I have every reason to believe so, Monsieur." 
 
 "How long have you known it?" he asked. 
 
 "Just a few hours," she said. "I came here as fast 
 as I could!" v 
 
 "You say you received this information at the 
 chateau this morning?" She bowed. "Can you tell 
 me how this became known to you?" 
 
 "I regret, Monsieur, that I am not at liberty to 
 do so!" 
 
 "How many others know of this?" 
 
 "One other, Monsieur." 
 
 "The source of your information?" 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 He looked searchingly into her eyes. 
 
 "Are you sure this other is loyal to our cause?" 
 
 The girl paused. Through her mind ran the events 
 of the past few hours. 
 
 Her brother s wife was of the enemy s blood. She 
 had hated and distrusted her, and this morning her 
 suspicions had seemed to be confirmed. Was she
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 269 
 
 sure of her loyalty? Marie s eyes seemed to look 
 into hers. Again she heard her voice saying, 
 
 "The cause you love is as dear to me as to you !" 
 
 She raised her eyes to the General s. 
 
 "The other is loyal !" she said. 
 
 He turned from her and paced the room thought 
 fully, his hands behind his back, his brows contracted. 
 
 "If what you say is true," he said at last, pausing 
 before her, "then you have done France a great 
 service. Wait here a moment." He crossed the 
 room, and spoke in an undertone to the officer in 
 waiting, who saluted and went out, accompanied by 
 the orderly. Then he turned to Paulette, smiling. 
 "In the name of France, I thank you, Mademoiselle, 
 for what you have done to-day. Can I be of any 
 service to you?" 
 
 Paulette looked at him piteously. 
 
 "Is there any news of Captain le Cerf ?" she asked 
 eagerly. "We have had word that he had escaped 
 from Belgium and was to arrive here to-day. He is 
 my fiance, Monsieur." 
 
 The General smiled kindly. 
 
 "I congratulate you, Mademoiselle," he said; "the 
 Captain and his family are dear friends of mine. I 
 have good news for you ! He has arrived safely." 
 
 He touched a bell and an orderly entered. There 
 was a whispered word or two, and the man, saluting, 
 left the room. 
 
 Paulette s eyes glowed. All sense of fatigue left 
 her. She would see him soon. Her heart throbbed 
 Suffocatingly. 
 
 The General looked at her benevolently. With a
 
 270 MOTHERS OP MEN 
 
 Frenchman s love of romance which is never absent, 
 even in the face of grave danger, he watched the 
 flush on her cheeks, her parted lips, and with a sigh 
 for his own lost youth, he picked up his pen again 
 and bent over his writing. 
 
 Presently, heavy steps came down the hall and a 
 knock at the door. 
 
 "Come in," called the General without raising his 
 head, and the young officer reentered, followed by a 
 slim figure in a soiled uniform. 
 
 Paulette leaped to her feet. With a cry she flew 
 across the room and into the arms of Maurice. His 
 drawn face was almost as gray as his eyes, his 
 shoulders thin, though now squared with hope and 
 determination, his cheeks hollow and heavily lined. 
 There were purple shadows under his eyes and his 
 hands shook pitifully as he caressed her hair. 
 
 The General patted his shoulder* 
 
 "Sit down, Captain," he said kindly; "you re not 
 strong yet, sit down," and Maurice let them lead him 
 to a chair. 
 
 Paulette knelt beside him, her arms about his neck. 
 
 "Maurice, Maurice, I ve missed you so," she mur 
 mured ; "you re not going to leave me ever again !" 
 
 He held his lips tenderly against her forehead. 
 
 General de Line stood looking down on them. 
 
 "Captain," he said, "do you think you are strong 
 enough to travel to-night? I must get you both 
 away from Sains as soon as possible." 
 
 Something in his tone made Maurice look up at 
 him inquiringly. 
 
 "We have had news that the enemy are to attack
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 271 
 
 here at dawn, you must be safely away by then. 
 That is the least France can do in return for the 
 service Mademoiselle has rendered," and he bowed 
 gallantly to the girl. 
 
 Maurice looked from one to the other not under 
 standing. 
 
 "Mademoiselle will explain," said the General, 
 smiling. 
 
 Maurice put his feeble arms close about the girl s 
 trembling shoulders. 
 
 "My dearest one," he murmured, "I am so proud 
 to know that you have served France. You must tell 
 me everything. We must be married at once ! And 
 then, are you willing to go with me, wreck that I 
 am, wherever I go?" 
 
 She looked at him adoringly. 
 
 "How can you ask me?" she cried; "don t you 
 know?" 
 
 Le Cerf rose shakily to his feet. 
 
 "My General," he said, "Mademoiselle and I are to 
 be married at once, if you can make it possible to 
 have the cure here, and then " 
 
 "And then," finished the General with a fatherly 
 smile, "you will go with Captain Merton to Calais; 
 he drives there within the hour with these despatches. 
 You will cross to England where your parents are. 
 I have a letter from them. They write they have 
 taken a house, and, of course, are most anxious to 
 see you. You will stay with them until you are 
 strong." 
 
 Maurice s eyes held Paulette s. 
 
 "Will you?" he asked.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 She looked down at her nurse s uniform. 
 
 "I have been ordered to St. Quentin for duty," she 
 faltered. 
 
 The General broke in hastily : 
 
 "I will adjust that, my dear young lady," he said 
 kindly. 
 
 A quick vision of her mother, her father, her home, 
 flashed across her mind, but she looked up into 
 Maurice s eyes, infinite love in hers. Where he was, 
 was home to her. He needed her. She asked herself 
 no further questions. 
 
 She went through the hurried marriage like one 
 in a dream. She was scarcely conscious of the black- 
 frocked cure, of the General standing on one side of 
 him, and Maurice who had left her so short a time 
 ago, strong and virile, shaking against her arm. 
 
 She scarcely remembered the words or their re 
 sponses; she had a dim recollection of the closing 
 lines of the ceremony, of Maurice s lips on hers. Then 
 came the quick run down the dark stairs and into the 
 waiting car, the wild flight through the growing 
 dusk and into the deepening night, stopping every 
 now and then to answer the challenging sentries. She 
 dared not think of what the morning would bring. 
 She could only hope that the message she had brought 
 had been in time to be of service. Her memory still 
 held the vivid picture of her sister-in-law s agonized 
 face when she had hurried her off to Sains. How 
 could Marie have known, she wondered? Who had 
 it been in their own loyal household who had stolen 
 the note? Her head ached with the endless repetition 
 of her questions to which she could find no answer.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 273 
 
 She looked down on the dear head pillowed on her 
 arm and drew the heavy army blanket closer about 
 them both, thanking God that he was safe. 
 
 Toward dawn they came in sight of Calais. The 
 tall, ugly spires of Notre Dame showed gray against 
 the brightening sky. There was a brief pause at the 
 gates of the fortress, a short parley with some soldiers 
 and one or two keen-eyed officers another quick dash 
 across the Place d Arme to the New Harbor. 
 
 Captain Merton shook their hands cheerily as he 
 left them. 
 
 With the heavy army blanket as their only lug 
 gage, they boarded the boat for Dover. 
 
 Her face was turned away from France, the water 
 slipping under the keel of the Channel boat was 
 carrying her from everything she had ever loved, 
 carrying her and the man who was to fill her life from 
 now on, into a strange land. 
 
 When she had wrapped Maurice in the warm folds, 
 Paulette sat with his hands close clasped in hers. Just 
 as the first rays of the morning sun sparkled on the 
 white cliffs of Dover, showing vaguely on the horizon 
 eighteen miles away across the Channel, borne on the 
 fresh salt breeze, came a deep-throated, far-away 
 roar. She stiffened in her chair and bent her ear to 
 listen. 
 
 The attack had come! But her warning would 
 render it futile. Her trust in Marie was vindicated. 
 
 Her heart swelled with pride. Her lips murmured 
 a prayer of thankfulness, her fingers clung closer to 
 the feeble ones they held. For the first time in many 
 months she was at peace.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 IN the chateau, Madame and Marie, together with 
 the old Breton woman, were the only ones left. After 
 Paulette s departure they searched for Antoine, but 
 found that he had gone, as Marie knew he would be. 
 
 The long day had worn away somehow. Madame 
 went up to her room and shut herself in. Marie s 
 nerves, almost at the breaking-point, sent her 
 feverishly wandering about the house and grounds, 
 up and down and back and forth, never seeming to 
 find a place to rest. Once or twice she came back to 
 the gate-house and tried to talk to Angele, but the 
 girl, her eyes red and swollen, her face mottled with 
 weeping, splashed and scrubbed the already im 
 maculate floor in a frenzy of industry, her conversa 
 tion limited to monosyllables, and Marie turned back 
 again to her own room. 
 
 She had brought with her from Paris materials for 
 the little layette that would be needed, but her hands 
 shook so over the tiny garments that the needle ran 
 deeply into her finger and the blood stained the white 
 linen. She stared at the red spot with wild eyes. 
 What a horrible omen, she thought, what a frightful 
 thing. Blood stains on her baby s clothes ! Did that 
 mean that her efforts at reparation had come too 
 late? 
 
 She threw aside the bit of linen as though it 
 scorched her fingers, and fell on her knees in agony. 
 
 "Holy Mother," she began. Surely the blessed 
 274
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 275 
 
 Virgin would hear a woman who longed so sincerely 
 to right whatever wrong she had done. 
 
 When she rose from her knees it was with re 
 newed courage and hope. The one poignant remorse 
 that stabbed her was that when Gerome had told her 
 of his love, she had not bared to him her life in 
 Vienna. How much sorrow, how many endless days 
 of regret are caused by the first deception practised 
 from a false sense of pride or for the purpose of 
 hiding some truth about ourselves which if disclosed 
 might cause us at the time embarrassment, or pain. 
 Often whatever is gained is paid for a hundredfold 
 by the humiliation and grief that follows when the 
 truth must be told. 
 
 To Marie, pacing her room, came the full realiza 
 tion of this. If she had only confided in Gerome, he 
 might have forgiven her and they would have been 
 almost as happy as they had been, without this 
 dreadful suffering being possible. She could then 
 have denounced Von Pfaffen when she had found her 
 self face to face with him again. 
 
 The burning tears coursed down her cheeks, and 
 with all her soul she prayed to be given the oppor 
 tunity to tell her husband everything. 
 
 Toward evening Madame knocked at her door. 
 
 "Let us go down to the salon, dear," she said. "I 
 shall bring little Angele up to the house and we 
 will stay together to-night." 
 
 "Yes, Maman," answered Marie, through the 
 door ; "I shall be down directly." 
 
 As Madame s footsteps died away, she hastily 
 smoothed her hair and refreshed her face with water,
 
 276 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 then went downstairs to join the others in the long 
 vigil that was before them. 
 
 All night long the voice of the guns rose in deafen 
 ing crescendo, making sleep impossible, while on the 
 horizon, orange, crimson, and mauve flashes broke 
 the darkness. 
 
 All night long the four women sat together in the 
 little salon, waiting for what they dared not put into 
 words. 
 
 Madame sat silent and tragic in her great chair, 
 her delicate hands clasped loosely in her lap. Her 
 eyes looked far away, beyond to-night, beyond to 
 morrow, even beyond this world. 
 
 Angele whimpered in her corner. 
 
 Marie staring from one to the other, wondered 
 what they would say when they knew everything. 
 
 The roar of the guns was incessant, rolling, 
 thundering, like mighty waves beating against 
 granite cliffs, deafening, appalling, filling all the air 
 with an agony of sound. Then just before dawn, 
 suddenly, as though a giant hand had intervened, 
 the tumult ceased and was followed by a breathless 
 hush. The women looked at one another. There 
 was something in this unusual stillness that was 
 ominous, fearful, more terrible than had been the 
 pandemonium of sound. 
 
 Far away a cock crowed and was answered by 
 another. The wind stirred among the leaves and set 
 them to whispering. Then they heard a distant, in 
 termittent rattle, sharp, spiteful, venomous, unmis 
 takable to anyone who had ever heard it. It was 
 the sound of rifles and machine guns. Instantly they
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 277 
 
 understood. That which shot and shell had begun, 
 the bayonet was to finish. The artillery had ceased, 
 to permit the men to come out of the trenches ! To 
 go over the top ! To charge ! 
 
 As the light grew, the staccato rattle of the dis 
 tant rifle fire was interrupted every now and again 
 by a dull boom. The enemy was answering. 
 
 Several times a terrible detonation roared in their 
 ears, the windows shook with the concussion, the very 
 rafters of the old chateau shivered and trembled, 
 and across the fields a great column of black smoke 
 and dirt spouted wildly in the air where a shell had 
 struck and burst. 
 
 Madame, standing tall and erect by the window, 
 vibrated with every sound of the distant battle. She 
 was fighting by the side of her men, this woman, 
 reared in luxury, in whose veins ran the blood of her 
 country s best, whose indomitable will lifted her 
 above all difficulties, leveled all obstacles and knew 
 no fear. A worthy mother of a noble son ! 
 
 Old Nanine sat dry-eyed, seemingly unconscious 
 of the sounds of the conflict about them. Centuries 
 of passive obedience, of unreasoning sacrifice, had 
 left its heritage of outward indifference. Stolid, 
 emotionless, she waited, but in the core of her heart 
 burned the unquenchable flame of mother-love for the 
 last son, out there, where flesh and blood was holding 
 its unequal contest against steel and iron. 
 
 Silent, with white cheeks, and lips tightly com 
 pressed sat Marie, every nerve strained taut, as her 
 imagination carried her into the battle. Each shot 
 that was fired seemed aimed at her own heart, each
 
 278 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 sound in the air shrieked aloud of some calamity to 
 Gerome. She knew that she would gladly have un 
 dergone whatever tortures could be given her to 
 know that he would come back to her, maimed, torn, 
 bleeding, no matter how, but only come back to her ! 
 
 As the reverberations grew louder and more 
 terrifying, she rose to her feet, and went to the 
 window beside Madame. 
 
 "God give them victory !" she breathed at last. 
 
 Madame stared at the ridge of the hill where the 
 road wound over to Draise. 
 
 "My husband is there," she said, with calm exulta 
 tion, "my brothers are there ; my son is there." 
 
 Marie flung out her arms, an agony of longing in 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Gerome," she cried, "Gerome !" 
 
 "And somewhere out among it all," went on 
 Madame, in that strange, vibrant voice, her eyes never 
 leaving the horizon, "somewhere out there is my little 
 Paulette, my baby, gone from our shelter to the man 
 she loves." 
 
 "She is taking to him much more than her love!" 
 murmured Marie, but Madame did not seem to hear 
 her. 
 
 "And now," she said, wondering, "even Antoine is 
 gone !" 
 
 Marie closed her eyes with a shudder of horror. 
 Antoine! How she loathed even the mention of his 
 name. His going had brought about all this! For 
 the thousandth time she asked herself if it would not 
 have been better to have denounced him at once. 
 
 "Antoine left without a word, without a sign.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 279 
 
 Even he must fight for his country," went on 
 Madarae s steady voice. 
 
 Marie rose to her feet and paced up and down the 
 room. 
 
 "When will it be over?" she cried. "When will it 
 be over?" 
 
 Madame turned her eyes from the ridge which lay 
 incongruously sparkling in the early sunshine, while 
 the air shook with the terrific thunder of the guns, 
 shouting their message of death and destruction. 
 
 "We women must watch and wait," she said. 
 "Daughters of men ! Wives of men ! Mothers of 
 men !" 
 
 Marie stopped in her restless pacing. 
 
 "Mothers of men t" she whispered. When the day 
 of reckoning came, what would she say to Gerome s 
 child, if it should be a son? Would he be able to 
 look into her eyes with pride, or would her memory 
 be hateful to him? 
 
 Madame looked at her with tender understanding. 
 
 "It is for that, dear," she said, "we women must 
 watch and wait !" 
 
 To watch and wait ! If that were all ! This great 
 struggle must end some day. And to each of these 
 women would be given her measure of sorrow. The 
 agony of suspense would be over. 
 
 But for her it was different. 
 
 No matter what the consequences were of her effort 
 to circumvent the enemy, the fact of her having with 
 held the truth from her husband might never cease to 
 bear its harvest of evil. 
 
 She threw herself face down again on the couch,
 
 280 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 her shoulders heaving convulsively, her slight frame 
 torn with the bitterness of her sorrow. 
 
 Nanine looked at her stolidly. 
 
 "There are others of us," she said, "who have our 
 griefs." 
 
 "Poor Nanine," said Madame sympathetically, 
 "you have given two sons, and now the youngest, 
 Jacques, is out there !" 
 
 The old woman s eyes were dry, her face was set. 
 
 "Yes, Madame," she said; "what are women for? 
 In peaceful times the country takes our money for 
 the army, and when war comes we must give our men 
 who ve earned the money !" 
 
 Marie lifted herself from among the pillows and 
 stared at her wonderingly through her red, swollen 
 lids. 
 
 "And you d give all?" she asked, "everything you 
 care for, everything, for your country?" 
 
 "But yes," the old woman s answer was a matter 
 of course ; "what else is there to do ?" 
 
 "We all would !" Madame spoke with the voice of 
 France. "Our men are not fighting for material 
 gain, but in defense of our homes. The enemy s heel 
 is on the breast of our beloved country, and to re 
 move his hated tread that defaces our sacred soil, we 
 will give our loved ones to the last man !" 
 
 Her words woke in Marie s heart the eager, breath 
 less emotion that comes into being with the sound of 
 martial music. 
 
 "I m beginning to understand what all that means," 
 she said. "This wonderful love that came to me 
 seemed greater than anything in the world; it made
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 281 
 
 me happier than I ever dreamed of being. If this 
 cause for which he is fighting is more glorious, I want 
 to give him to it. I want to make the sacrifice. But 
 oh, it s hard, it s terribly hard !" 
 
 Madame put her arm about the shaking shoulders. 
 
 "You are not strong," she said, gently smoothing 
 the girl s hair as she let her weep against her 
 shoulder. After a moment she went on, "Don t you 
 think that I know the wonder, the beauty of a great 
 love? Don t you think I realize what it means? 
 Every woman does, from Nanine here, and little 
 Angele, to the greatest queen, but each of us sees it 
 differently. Real love is unselfish, it makes you want 
 to give as well as receive. It will not let you choke 
 with clinging arms !" 
 
 The old woman had followed her mistress words 
 with wonder, not understanding, but feeling the 
 thought that lay back of them with the intuition of 
 universal womanhood. 
 
 "Even when a poor peasant woman like me cares 
 for her man like I cared for mine," she said, "you 
 fight for him, with him, but you don t hang onto his 
 coat-tails when he wants to fight for himself." 
 
 Madame rose and crossed to the window, where she 
 stood looking in the direction from whence came the 
 incessant thunder of the guns. 
 
 "I d rather have my boy die out there," she said 
 proudly, "fighting in defense of his country, than to 
 know he did not have the will to go." 
 
 Marie stumbled across the room and threw herself 
 at Madame s feet, her arms about her knees.
 
 282 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "You wonderful woman," she cried. "His mother, 
 can you forgive me? How different everything would 
 have been if my own mother had lived !" 
 
 Madame tried to raise her. 
 
 "Marie dear," she pleaded, "don t; there is noth 
 ing you have done, excepting love my boy too much. 
 Come, don t ask my forgiveness for that !" but Marie 
 clung about her knees, still weeping bitterly. 
 
 "You don t know," she sobbed, "you can t know 
 how much I love him ! And I am so unworthy !" 
 
 Madame stooped and lifted her to her feet. 
 
 "You must not feel unhappy because you are of 
 our enemies blood," she said ; "no one questions your 
 loyalty to our cause !" 
 
 But Marie covered her ears to shut out the sounds 
 that grew louder and louder every minute, and sank 
 miserably into a chair. 
 
 Angele s fingers were busy again with her rosary, 
 her lips with a prayer, and old Nanine crossed her 
 self. 
 
 At the window Madame stood watching, her soul 
 in her eyes. Over the brow of the hill long lines of 
 gray motors were crawling, on the sides of which she 
 could just make out a blood-red cross. 
 
 A spasm of pain touched her heart. The never- 
 ending line of ambulances, what agony, what misery 
 they carried. An hour ago splendid young man 
 hood, now shattered wrecks ! 
 
 And going in the opposite direction swung a long 
 blue column of marching men. Strong, virile, filled 
 with courage ! Forward ! Onward ! For France !
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 283 
 
 Faintly, through the dull roaring, came the sound 
 of the Marseillaise. 
 
 She stretched out her arms to them in an ecstasy 
 of patriotism. Her voice clear and sweet as a bugle. 
 
 "March on," she cried. "March on to victory or 
 death!"
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 THE morning wore on. The firing grew nearer, 
 louder, more insistent. Madame, watching at the 
 window, suddenly uttered a cry. The others rushed 
 to her side. 
 
 Outside on the road an ambulance had stopped, 
 gone on again, and through the gates came two sol 
 diers bearing a stretcher. 
 
 Slowly, tenderly, they carried their burden 
 toward the house. 
 
 The women stared through the window with an 
 agony of apprehension, each with the name of the 
 one she loved best trembling on her lips. Was it 
 Gerome the General Jacques ? 
 
 The men entered through the long window the 
 women opened for them, and laid their burden on the 
 couch. As they did so, the fainting man revived and 
 lifted his head. With a cry Nanine stumbled to his 
 side. 
 
 "Jacques! Jacques! Couldn t I save one of the 
 three?" 
 
 The boy turned his eyes toward her. 
 
 "I m all right, mother," he said bravely. 
 
 The old woman fondled him, the slow tears follow 
 ing the wrinkles down her cheeks. 
 
 "My boy," she cried, brokenly, "my last one; is 
 it bad?"
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 285 
 
 He turned his head on the cushion she had placed 
 under it. 
 
 "I m a sergeant, mother," he murmured, his eyes 
 lighting up. 
 
 Little Angele was standing staring down at him, 
 her pretty mouth quivering, her breast fluttering. 
 She was afraid, somehow, to speak, to call his atten 
 tion to herself. 
 
 Marie looked on helplessly, with a feeling of de 
 tachment. She felt as one in a dream. These men 
 who had stared death in the face within so brief a 
 time, seemed unreal to her. 
 
 Madame turned to one of the stretcher-bearers. 
 
 "What is happening out there?" she asked. 
 
 He looked at her, his eyes, in his square, mud- 
 plastered face, bloodshot from lack of sleep. 
 
 "We don t know, Madame," he said, removing his 
 cap ; "we can t tell, we can only hope." 
 
 She turned to the other man and recoiled slightly. 
 
 He wore the field-gray uniform of a German 
 private soldier. His face was pale and expression 
 less, a red stubble covered his cheeks and chin. 
 Under one eye was a gash with the blood blackened 
 on it and surrounded by purple discolorations. 
 There was a bloody rag around his closely cropped 
 head, and his spiked helmet sat upon this in a gro 
 tesquely jaunty fashion. 
 
 "What is this man doing here?" she asked. 
 
 "He is a prisoner, Madame." The orderly 
 hunched an expressive shoulder toward Jacques, "he 
 helped bring him in." 
 
 Madame s eyes were on the bloody bandage.
 
 286 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "You are hurt, too," she said. 
 
 The man smiled, a wan, crooked smile. 
 
 "Yes, Madame," he said in guttural French. "It 
 is not serious." The orderly frowned as he looked 
 from one to the other. 
 
 "They both need patching up," he said; "can you 
 get water and bandages and perhaps something to 
 eat?" 
 
 Nanine was still bending over Jacques, and Angele, 
 too, was on her knees beside the couch as Madame 
 turned to go. 
 
 Marie touched her arm. 
 
 "Let me help," she said. 
 
 "Yes, dear, you go," she said softly. It would do 
 the girl good, she thought, to be occupied in this 
 service. "Bring water and some food." 
 
 Suddenly the pale face of the German soldier went 
 a shade whiter, he staggered a step toward the 
 couch and put out a shaking hand to steady him 
 self. Nanine, suspicious of his uniform, made a quick 
 gesture of protection over her wounded son, but the 
 boy looked up quickly. 
 
 "He s all right, mother," he said ; "he s my friend." 
 
 "Your friend," said Madame in astonishment. To 
 these women the uniform this man was wearing was 
 symbolic of everything barbarous. 
 
 Jacques held up a feeble hand and clasped the one 
 the German held out to him. 
 
 "I wouldn t be here, if it weren t for him," he said 
 brokenly. "We charged early this morning. We 
 reached their first trench. I got this," he laid his 
 free hand on his side. "I didn t know anything for
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 287 
 
 awhile. When I came to, the rest of our boys had 
 gone on and left me behind. God, I was thirsty I 
 tried to crawl -" the horror of it all twisted his 
 face in an agony of memory. 
 
 "Hush, mon lapin, hush," whispered his mother, 
 but the boy went on: 
 
 "I tried to crawl," he panted ; "I couldn t ! Over 
 me, around me, beside me dead bodies every 
 where " He tightened his grasp on the German s 
 
 hand; "then he dragged himself over to me he had 
 some water I believe I got most of it he opened 
 his kit and gave me first aid " 
 
 Madame looked on in astonishment. 
 
 "One of the enemy to do such a thing!" she won 
 dered. It was incredible to think that two men who 
 only so short a time before had been striving for each 
 other s lives should now call one another "friend." 
 
 Through the door came Marie with a tray of 
 bread and coffee, and a basin of water and some 
 bandages. 
 
 The German put his hand against the bloody rag 
 about his head. 
 
 "We are not enemies now," he said in his guttural 
 French, "only fellow-sufferers!" 
 
 "Fellow-sufferers," Marie echoed the words from 
 the depth of her heart, as she handed the man a cup 
 of the hot coffee. 
 
 The German took it with a polite bow. 
 
 "You are good to me," he said simply. 
 
 "In spite of the uniform you wear," said Madame, 
 "we will do our best for you." 
 
 He shook his head sadly.
 
 288 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "It is our countries who are at war," he said, "not 
 we !" 
 
 Marie s eyes turned toward the far horizon where 
 the rumble of the guns still thundered unceasingly. 
 
 "It is the countries who are at war," she echoed, 
 "and between them men s bodies and women s hearts 
 are broken !" 
 
 Jacques was lying on his pillow, white-faced and 
 with closed lids. 
 
 His mother leaned back on her heels and looked 
 at him. 
 
 "Yes," she said, and her voice broke, "it is the 
 people who suffer." 
 
 Her mistress white head raised itself proudly. 
 
 "Here in France," she said, "the people and the 
 country are one. We are fighting to preserve that 
 unity." 
 
 For a moment there was silence, then Marie turned 
 to fill the German prisoner s cup. 
 
 "Oh, the pity of it all," she said under her breath. 
 
 The man caught her words. 
 
 "You are right, Madame," he said, "war is pitiful ! 
 It is terrible and it is unnecessary!" 
 
 Madame looked at him wonderingly. 
 
 "You speak our language well," she said. The 
 tales of German efficiency, their ability to do all 
 things, had not been exaggerated. 
 
 "I was one of the professors of languages at 
 Heidelburg," he said wistfully. "I thought to spend 
 my life in instruction, not destruction." 
 
 Jacques stirred at his voice.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 289 
 
 "He was good to me, mother," he muttered. 
 
 "Yes, yes, mon cheri" soothed Nanine. "I know! 
 Lie quietly!" 
 
 As she spoke the thunder of the guns seemed to 
 come nearer. The women shuddered and the orderly 
 shook his head. 
 
 "We seem to be getting in range," he said. "I 
 advise you all to leave this place, and go further to 
 the rear." 
 
 Nanine s eyes were on her son. 
 
 "How can we move him?" she asked. 
 
 "Where can we go?" questioned Madame. 
 
 The orderly went to the door and peered out. 
 
 "He will be all right," he said. "I ll hail one of 
 the passing ambulances. It can take us all in." He 
 left the room and hurried down the driveway to the 
 gate. 
 
 Angele had Jacques head against her breast now, 
 and old Nanine rose to her feet. 
 
 "Oh, Madame," she pleaded, "let us go quickly. 
 I must save this one." 
 
 Her mistress looked about at the house and garden 
 where she had spent so many happy years, and 
 which, the loud roars of bursting shells warned her, 
 might be laid in ruins at any moment. 
 
 "Very well," she said resignedly, "the General will 
 know we have tried to reach safety. He will under 
 stand." 
 
 The orderly at the gate had stopped a passing 
 ambulance. 
 
 "Hurry," he called. 
 
 "Come," said Nanine to the German, "help carry 
 him. Be careful! Don t hurt him."
 
 290 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 As they started through the door, the boy turned 
 and smiled into his mother s face. 
 
 "I m all right, mother," he said, and they went out 
 to the waiting motor, little Angele at their heels. 
 
 With a feeling of utter hopelessness Marie watched 
 them go, the empty coffee pot in one hand, the plate 
 of bread in the other. All this could mean only one 
 thing. The battle had been lost. Paulette had been 
 too late, or had perished on the way. Before her 
 wide, horror-stricken eyes was a vision of Gerome, 
 dead on the field, his forgiveness lost to her forever. 
 
 Madame put a gentle hand on her arm. 
 
 "Marie," she said hurriedly, "there is no time to 
 lose." At her words the girl seemed to waken as 
 from a trance. 
 
 "No," she cried, "no no no !" 
 
 "You must come," pleaded her mother-in-law, but 
 the girl shook her head wildly. 
 
 "I am not going," she cried. Life, for her, was 
 finished and over. The elder woman tried to urge 
 her, half dragging her through the door as the 
 terrific roar of a shell bursting quite near the 
 chateau, thundered in their ears, but the girl strug 
 gled and broke away. 
 
 At that moment the air seemed to split with a 
 deafening explosion, a splintering of glass, a flash of 
 flame. The acrid, bitter smell of powder and smoke 
 was stifling. 
 
 Madame staggered against the door as the orderly, 
 his head held low, came running through the court 
 yard. He grasped her by the hand and dragged her 
 out to the waiting ambulance.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 291 
 
 Marie, half fainting, fell on the coueh, her head 
 buried deep in the cushions. 
 
 Her last conscious thoughts were: 
 
 "Let the house fall upon me, the ruins cover me 
 deep ! They cannot bury my grief !"
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 FOR awhile she lay motionless, half stunned by the 
 force of the explosion. When full consciousness re 
 turned to her the firing had grown fainter, more in 
 frequent. She rose to her feet and went to the win 
 dow. Out in the courtyard a great hole gaped where 
 the shell had struck. Glass from the windows lay 
 scattered about, a garden bench was splintered and 
 overturned. Havoc and ruin stared back at her. 
 Had Madame and the rest escaped? Or had they 
 been killed, and she, alone, left untouched? 
 
 She stood in the center of the room, dazed, her 
 fingers clutching nervously, her chin quivering. It 
 seemed years ago that she had arrived here with 
 Gerome to be in the shelter of his home, to be with 
 his people in her hour of need, and now she was alone. 
 
 She seemed to see France, like the bleeding body 
 of a woman, lying dead at her feet. Her wild eyes 
 visioned Gerome s white, upturned face, staring 
 vacantly at the sky he loved. She tore at her breast, 
 panting for breath. 
 
 "God! God!" she cried. "What have I left in all 
 the world? Why am I not lying out there with 
 Gerome? Gerome, I will not go on without you, I 
 can t!" 
 
 She stopped her hysterical crying. Her hands 
 dropped to her sides, her mouth set. She remembered 
 
 seeing a pistol in the drawer of the little desk when 
 
 292
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 293 
 
 the General had opened it searching for some 
 papers. 
 
 She walked slowly toward it now as though pro 
 pelled by some force outside of herself. With shaking 
 fingers she pulled open the drawer and for a moment 
 stared down at the weapon. After a hesitating effort 
 she forced herself to pick it up, but the touch of the 
 steel set her trembling. 
 
 "It s cold," she shuddered. "It s horrible," and 
 then after a moment she closed her eyes and whispered 
 a prayer for strength. 
 
 Her pitiful weakness disgusted her. With nothing 
 left to live for she was even afraid to die. Slowly 
 she raised the pistol to her heart, her eyes tightly 
 shut, her lips pressed in a stiff blue line. 
 
 Suddenly she stopped, her eyes sprang open. 
 Footsteps were coming up the path, running, 
 stumbling, heavy footsteps. Marie wheeled, the hand 
 with the pistol hidden behind her back. 
 
 Someone came through the outer door an_d crossed 
 the hall. She backed against the wall, her hand still 
 behind her. The door was kicked open. A man 
 stood on the threshold, dusty, bloody, spent with 
 running. His face was twisted with hate, his lips 
 drawn back from his teeth. 
 
 "You !" she breathed, for her wide, frightened eyes 
 were staring straight into the terrible ones of Von 
 Pfaffen. 
 
 "You she-devil," his voice was curiously low ; "you 
 thought to trick me, didn t you? You thought by 
 giving me the wrong information you d be rid of 
 me! Do you know what you have done? You have
 
 294 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 killed hundreds, thousands of your countrymen. You 
 have sent them to their death in vain !" 
 
 She was following his words, shaking, sinking 
 almost to her knees, cringing before the blow she 
 knew was coming. 
 
 The man s fury was blinding him. He took a step 
 toward her. She must be tortured for what she had 
 done to him. 
 
 "You let me take that information to my 
 superiors," he cried hoarsely; "they acted upon it. 
 You brought ruin to my cause, disgrace to me. My 
 career is ended. Did you imagine you could deceive 
 me and no harm come to you?" 
 
 In Marie s breast a faint suspicion of what had 
 taken place was awakening. She scarcely dared 
 voice it, even to herself. 
 
 "I gave you information," she panted, but Von 
 Pfaffen burst in upon her words with a string of vile 
 oaths. 
 
 "But wrong! Wrong!" he shouted. "Twenty 
 miles wrong!" 
 
 She lifted her head, a breathless, wondering hope 
 in her eyes. 
 
 "And the French have won?" 
 
 His face was black. 
 
 "Yes, damn them and you!" he swore. She still 
 leaned against the wall, the blood throbbed in her 
 fingers clutching the pistol behind her back, but 
 through her heart surged a wave of joy, of thank 
 fulness. Paulette had been in time! 
 
 "Everything has gone wrong," he snarled, "even
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 295 
 
 that message I sent the other night never reached its 
 destination." 
 
 "There was no message sent," she said in a clear, 
 distinct voice. 
 
 He stopped in the step he was taking toward her. 
 The look of sheer hatred that burned across his face 
 would have set her cowering with terror at another 
 time, but now, the knowledge that she had helped 
 France, and aided her husband s cause, lifted her 
 above the thought of fear. 
 
 "I took that tracing when your back was turned," 
 she went on in the same clear voice. "I burned it !" 
 
 The man made a sound in his throat as though he 
 were choking, his face turned purple, his brilliant 
 eyes burned with the fury of a maniac. 
 
 "You who did that !" he gasped. 
 
 She looked at him defiantly. 
 
 "Yes, I did it !" she said, "and I knew the informa 
 tion I gave you yesterday was wrong. I sent you to 
 a place twenty miles away from where I knew the 
 attack was to be made. I sent the word after you 
 that warned Sains, that brought victory to my hus 
 band s cause !" And then something of the look that 
 had been in Madame s eyes when she had echoed the 
 Marseillaise flashed into her own, and she finished in 
 a ringing voice, "for my own cause !" 
 
 Von Pfaffen was quite close to her now. The veins 
 in his neck were swollen and throbbing, the whites of 
 his eyes shot with little lines of red. There were 
 spatters of foam in the corners of his thin lips. 
 
 "So that s what you did !" he hissed. "You devil ! 
 I ll make you wish you had never been born ! I ll make
 
 296 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 your husband, if he is still alive, despise you! I ll 
 make his people turn you out of their house! I ll 
 make your own people shoot you as a spy if ever you 
 cross their border." 
 
 She was watching him like a cat watches a vicious, 
 brutal dog that she knows is going to spring as soon 
 as he has finished worrying her. Her teeth were 
 tearing at her under lip, the fingers of her free hand 
 picked at her gown. Why didn t he kill her and end 
 it all, she wondered? His nearness sent a wave of 
 sickening nausea surging over her. The blood was 
 pounding in her ears. His words came to her 
 through it all. 
 
 "I ll force you into the streets where you belong," 
 he shouted in her face. 
 
 Her eyes narrowed. 
 
 "If my husband were here," she said slowly, "he 
 would kill you for that !" 
 
 Von Pfaffen flung a vile oath at her. 
 
 "When your husband sees you again," he said, "if 
 he ever does, it will be to find you dead, and glad of 
 it!" 
 
 Marie laughed a clear, ringing laugh, cold and 
 absolutely mirthless. 
 
 "Do you think I fear death?" she said. "If my 
 husband comes back I am going to tell him every 
 thing, and when he knows the truth he will kill you 
 like a rat." 
 
 The man stopped and looked at her a moment, in 
 solently, arrogantly. 
 
 "Oh, no, he won t," he said, quite calmly; "I ve 
 planned differently."
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 297 
 
 "What do you mean?" she whispered. 
 
 "Do you think you are going to leave this room 
 alive?" 
 
 "I m not afraid of death!" 
 
 He looked at her venomously. 
 
 "You re not afraid," he sneered. "Do you know 
 what I am going to do?" His eyes were so evil that 
 she cringed back against the protecting wall. "After 
 I have killed you, I am going to tell your story in 
 my own way," his meaning was only too plain. 
 
 "You devil," she whispered. A wave of red surged 
 up staining her white throat and pale face. 
 
 A horrible smile broadened his wicked mouth. He 
 had touched her. 
 
 "There will be more than one man concerned in 
 the story I shall tell." 
 
 "You know that s a lie !" 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "How do I know? There may have been a dozen 
 before I found you." 
 
 So that was what he would tell Gerome, that would 
 be his revenge ! 
 
 "You coward!" she panted; "you monster! I m 
 glad you failed ! Thank God your cause has 
 failed;! " 
 
 Beside himself with rage, he sprang toward her, 
 clutching his hands about her throat. 
 
 "You re glad, are you?" he hissed; "you re glad!" 
 
 She struggled in his grasp. Suddenly there was a 
 flash, a sharp report, then breathless silence. 
 
 For a moment the man stared horribly into her 
 eyes, his hands at her throat clutched spasmodically
 
 298 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 once, twice, almost shutting away her breath before 
 they loosened. He coughed, a queer, sputtering 
 cough, straightened his thin shoulders jerkily, and 
 then grotesquely spun about and fell sprawling to 
 the floor, where he lay quiet. 
 
 Marie looked down at the smoking pistol that hung 
 in her limp hand. She stared at it fascinated as 
 though seeing it for the first time. 
 
 He had fallen quite close to the threshold of the 
 door and keeping her eyes carefully averted from 
 his sprawled body she walked slowly over to the 
 little desk. 
 
 Scarcely realizing what she was doing, she placed 
 the pistol in the drawer and covered it up with 
 papers ; then she shut the drawer and securely locked 
 it. Her mind was curiously numb, as she turned and 
 looked down at the dead man. 
 
 For a moment she swayed irresolutely, then with 
 a supreme effort went over to where he lay. Shud 
 dering, her whole soul revolting at her task, she 
 stooped and dragged the body across the threshold 
 and out into the hall. 
 
 He was a horrible sight. The sneer of hate had 
 frozen on his face. His eyes stared wide, and his coat 
 hunched about his shoulders where she had clutched 
 it in dragging him through the door. 
 
 With a stifled scream she ran back into the salon, 
 closing and locking the door; then she turned, lean 
 ing against the barrier between herself and what had 
 been her evil genius. 
 
 "Thank God," she cried, "I m free!"
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 WHEN there has been a shade or promise of evil 
 hanging over our lives, when we have waked each 
 morning with the dread of what the day may bring, 
 and go to bed at night to toss and turn in fear 
 of the morrow, and then, suddenly, we find that the 
 thing we feared has happened, instead of the ap 
 palling terror and the horror of its consequences that 
 we anticipated, very often there is a sense of infinite 
 relief, that now no worse can come, for the worst has 
 happened. 
 
 So it was with Marie. With the closing and lock 
 ing of the door on the dead body of Von Pfaffen, a 
 great, numb calmness enveloped her. He was dead. 
 She had killed him. Nothing mattered. There was 
 nothing to matter. The world, for her, was finished. 
 She wondered in a curious subconscious way why 
 she did not care. She had taken a human life, yet 
 she felt no remorse, no fear. All emotion was dead 
 in her heart. She only knew that she was tired, 
 terribly tired. Her knees seemed to give way under 
 her. She stumbled, dragged herself with the help of 
 her icy hands, hanging onto the chairs, groping along 
 the edge of the table. She only knew she must reach 
 the couch, which seemed so far away, where she 
 could rest. Her mouth was dry, her tongue felt 
 swollen. It was an effort to close or raise the heavy 
 lids over her burning eyes. A dreadful sense of dizzy 
 
 nausea struck her. Suffocating waves of blackness 
 
 299
 
 300 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 seemed to beat up from her heart and surge across 
 her vision. 
 
 With a supreme effort she made a last tottering 
 step toward the haven she was trying to reach, and 
 pitched headlong across the couch, a great darkness 
 wrapping her close. 
 
 The day wore on, the cannonading had rumbled 
 off into silence, the frightened birds had come back, 
 and here and there, through the garden, they twit 
 tered nervously to one another. 
 
 The sky was overcast now, the air had grown heavy 
 with the promise of a storm. Every now and then 
 a little gust of wind, pungent with the smell of 
 powder, blew in along the terrace and through the 
 shattered windows. It shook the curtains, fluttered 
 across the unconscious head of the woman, lifted a 
 lock of disheveled hair, eddied among the papers on 
 the little desk, stirred about the disordered room and 
 died away. 
 
 Marie was mercifully shut away from the world, 
 her strained nerves had snapped. She could bear no 
 more. 
 
 Outside in the hall, behind the locked door, the 
 dead man lay, staring horribly, a tiny stream of 
 blood staining the marble floor. 
 
 * * * f- 
 
 When Gerome jumped from his dusty, battered 
 motor, late in the afternoon, it was with a heart full 
 of foreboding that he found the great gates open. 
 The terrible havoc wrought by the bursting shell 
 frightened him. He dared not ask himself what he 
 might find.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 301 
 
 He hurried up the gravel walk, his head splitting 
 and pounding from a gash across his brows, which 
 had been bound up hastily. His face was grimy, and 
 there were discolored circles about his eyes. He ran 
 along the terrace and past the entrance door, know 
 ing he would find whoever was left in the house here, 
 in the little salon. 
 
 At the window he paused, his quick eye took in the 
 disorder, the signs of the struggle, the body of the 
 girl lying inert across the couch, her dress crumpled 
 and torn, her yellow hair, loose from its pins, hanging 
 in a long loop over her shoulder. With a cry he ran 
 across to her and lifted her in his arms. 
 
 "Marie," he cried, but her head fell back heavily 
 against his breast. 
 
 Gently he laid her down on the cushions, a dread 
 ful fear in his heart that this might mean death. 
 The bowl of water and the bandages that had been 
 brought for Jacques were on the table. Hastily he 
 wet a cloth, and kneeling by the girl s side brushed 
 back the hair from her brow and moistened her closed 
 eyes and lips. 
 
 Presently she stirred, her lids fluttered. 
 
 "Marie darling!" he said. "Tell me, what is it?" 
 
 The girl opened her eyes and looked into his. 
 
 "Gerome," she whispered, "is it really you?" Her 
 eyes were devouring him hungrily, lovingly, the man 
 she had never hoped to see again. 
 
 Suddenly she became conscious of the bandage 
 around his head. 
 
 "Gerome!" she cried, "you are hurt!" 
 
 "It s nothing," he hastened to assure her, "only a
 
 302 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 scratch, I have glorious news ! We have won ! It s 
 victory for France !" 
 
 "Victory!" she repeated dully, then after a 
 moment, "God is good to us!" 
 
 He drew her to him tenderly. 
 
 "I had word that mother and the servants were 
 safe," he said, "but when I learned that you were not 
 with them, I was mad with fear that you might be 
 injured. I got leave to corne and find you, and thank 
 God, I have !" 
 
 He had come back to her, but it was too late, her 
 hands were stained with blood. An overwhelming 
 sense of what she had lost swept over her. She 
 turned her face against his sleeve, weeping hope 
 lessly. 
 
 "Hush, dearest," he whispered, "luck was with us, 
 don t you hear? We struck just where the enemy s 
 lines were weakest. Our aviators reported them 
 massing their troops at Sains, but the attack there 
 was a complete failure. The town must have been 
 warned !" 
 
 Sains had been warned! 
 
 That was something to weigh against the heavy 
 burden of sorrow she had to bear! 
 
 Holding her close he listened, while she told him 
 of their experience in the chateau during the battle, 
 and then for a long while they sat silent, their arms 
 about one another, cheek against cheek. Death had 
 been so close to both, might take one of them to 
 morrow, but he had her now in his arms, warm, 
 palpitating, trembling with the love he knew was for 
 him.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 303 
 
 The light began to fade, the silence broken only 
 by the distant muttering of the guns. 
 
 "Little Sainte Marie," he whispered, "to me you 
 are symbolic of everything that is good and pure!" 
 
 Across Marie s mental vision flashed the picture 
 of Von Pfaffen s body lying out beyond the locked 
 door. He was dead. There was no need that anyone 
 should ever know of her past with him. Everyone 
 else who knew was dead. Her word would be suffi 
 cient. She had only to say that she had discovered 
 him to be a spy ; that he had come back and, finding 
 her alone, attacked her, and in defense of her honor, 
 she had killed him. 
 
 She had sinned, yet she had suffered. Had she 
 not paid the price in full? Must she drain the cup 
 of bitterness to the last dregs? Surely heaven did 
 not expect this sacrifice. Would it not make Gerome 
 more unhappy to know the truth? Would it not, in 
 deed, be wrong of her to confess? It was written, 
 "Let the dead past bury its dead !" Why draw this 
 grizzly skeleton into the light of day? She had suf 
 fered enough. She wanted happiness, and to tell 
 Gerome meant to crucify that happiness. Surely, 
 other women in the past had erred and then married 
 and lived contentedly, without discovery or confes 
 sion. She had been so young, so innocent, so unpre 
 pared. It was her inexperience that was to blame, 
 not she herself. In heart she had always been pure, 
 her desire had always been to be good. Her con 
 science acquitted her. Her decision was made. She 
 would not tell. 
 
 Gerome s eyes held hers. At all costs she must
 
 304 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 keep the love she saw shining there. She answered 
 his look with one of passionate adoration. 
 
 "Marie," he said softly, "thank God that you are 
 safe. I dare not even imagine what it would have 
 meant to me if I had come back and found anything 
 had happened to you." 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 "How wonderful it is," he said at last, "to have an 
 ideal realized. You are everything I ever dreamed a 
 woman should be. If I should die to-morrow, it would 
 be with the knowledge that the woman I loved had 
 been worthy of my implicit faith." 
 
 Faith ! The word sank into her heart. It stirred 
 and brought to life again, conscience. What was it 
 to have implicit faith ? How did one deserve that ? 
 
 He looked gravely into her eyes. 
 
 "All human happiness is founded on faith!" he 
 said. 
 
 He believed in her. Oh, God, the pity of it ! He 
 believed in her, and how had she repaid his trust ? 
 
 She had hidden her past from him, and lived a lie 
 all these days of her marriage, in order to shield her 
 self and keep his faith in her. 
 
 To tell him meant to lose his love. But could she 
 go on like this, living a lie? How glorious, how 
 beautiful it would be, what inexpressible joy, if she 
 only were the woman he thought her. If she only 
 had come to him with clean hands. If the exchange 
 had only been equal. But the fact that this was not 
 so, could not be eradicated. She was what she was, 
 what circumstances had made her. She knew that 
 she was cheating him. Again, she brought her soul
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 305 
 
 before the judgment bar of her conscience, and this 
 time the verdict was "Guilty !" 
 
 Cost what it may, she must tell him. 
 
 The pitiful weakness of her character that had 
 made her drift, postponing the inevitable day of 
 reckoning, had passed. She must flay her very soul, 
 and stand before him as she was. 
 
 She became conscious of his voice telling the story 
 of the battle, of his love for her, of their future 
 happiness. 
 
 Their future happiness! 
 
 "Gerome," she said slowly, her voice vibrant with 
 suppressed emotion, "there is something I must tell 
 you, something I have been too cowardly to let you 
 know before. I m tired of lying! Tired of hiding! 
 Ashamed of accepting your love, when I know it is 
 undeserved. I am not what you think me!" 
 
 He looked at her, startled. 
 
 "Marie " he began. 
 
 "No don t stop me," she said quietly, but firmly, 
 "let me tell you everything. When you married me 
 you thought me a pure young girl, coming to you 
 from the convent, untouched by the world. I wasn t 
 I there was another man in Vienna." 
 
 He clutched her arm in a grip that made her wince 
 with pain. 
 
 "What do you mean?" His voice was hoarse and 
 strange. 
 
 She drew away from him. 
 
 "I knew you would shrink from me! I knew you 
 would loathe me when you learned the truth. I m not 
 trying to exonerate myself, not trying to make ex-
 
 306 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 cuses. I was young, scarcely more than a child. I 
 told you I had never known my mother. When my 
 father died, I was left penniless, without friends, 
 without the knowledge of how to support myself. I 
 was unused to the fight, unequal to it. One day I met 
 a man who singled me out, a smile on his lips, black 
 lies in his heart. He promised me what I longed for, 
 protection, a home, marriage and I believed him!" 
 
 Her words swept over Gerome in a devastating 
 wave, leaving his face livid. The bandage across his 
 forehead reddened with the fresh bleeding of his 
 wound. 
 
 "Go on," he whispered hoarsely, "tell me every 
 thing!" 
 
 "He found me singing in a little Bohemian cafe; 
 it was the only thing I could do to earn my living. 
 He befriended me, was kind to me, and before I knew 
 where I was drifting, it had all happened. Too late, 
 I realized what I meant in the scheme of his world, a 
 plaything, a new toy for a day to be tossed aside 
 when my novelty had worn off. When I knew the 
 truth, I left it all. I came to Paris, where I had dis 
 tant relatives. I threw myself on their mercy. They 
 were good people, as you know. They took me in. 
 I tried to forget! I never wanted to see anything 
 of the old life again. As the months passed I be 
 lieved myself safe, and then you came," her voice 
 lifted, rang clear; "you, the man I had dreamed of, 
 whom I thought could not exist outside of dreams. 
 All the love, all the passion, all the adoration a woman 
 is capable of, I gave to you. The rest of my life you 
 know, every minute, every thought of it, up to up
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 307 
 
 to the day you brought me here. I was so hungry 
 for happiness. You were my world. I couldn t bear 
 to think of losing you. I decided not to tell you. I 
 would make amends in a hundred ways for the decep 
 tion. I tried to ! I thought the past was dead, dead 
 and buried. God, how I deluded myself! When we 
 arrived here, here in your father s home, all the sun 
 shine, all the joy went out of my life, for I came 
 face to face with that man !" 
 
 "Here? You re mad!" The gentleness, the re 
 finement had vanished from his expression, leaving 
 the face of primitive man thirsting to get his fingers 
 on the throat of his enemy. "Who is he? Tell me 
 his name!" 
 
 She kept her eyes on his. 
 
 "He was known in this house as Antoine," she said. 
 
 "Antoine !" his lips curled with unutterable loath 
 ing, "Antoine ! A servant !" 
 
 "He was not a servant. He was a spy in the 
 service of the enemy !" 
 
 Gerome dropped her arm as though the touch 
 seered his fingers, horror and amazement in his face. 
 
 "A spy ! Good God ! Then what are you ?" 
 
 She nerved herself. The look in his eyes spelled 
 death for her, but she must go on. 
 
 "When I saw him, I was wild with terror. He 
 offered me a price for his silence. I was to get some 
 information he wanted. What was I to do? What 
 could I do? I only knew that I loved you, that I 
 wanted to keep you. I only knew that I was going 
 mad with the fear of losing you! I promised to do 
 what he asked !"
 
 308 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "What was it?" His voice was low, even, deadly. 
 She knew there could be no hope for her, but the 
 oblivion of death would be welcome. 
 
 "I made you tell me where the attack was to be 
 made. This was the information he wanted." 
 
 He recoiled, his eyes fixed on her with a look of 
 unutterable horror. 
 
 "You sold my honor, my country !" he said at last. 
 "You, whom I trusted with more than my life. Well, 
 there s only one thing to do. Both of us must die!" 
 Slowly he drew his pistol, his face cold and white as 
 marble. 
 
 "Wait," she whispered. "I m ready, I m willing 
 to die, but before, I want you to know everything." 
 He lowered his arm and looked at her. "I knew that 
 if I defied him he would get his information some 
 other way. I knew I must seem to play into his 
 hands, and thwart his purpose. I gave him informa 
 tion, but wrong, twenty miles wrong! It was I who 
 sent the warning to Sains ! And I know it reached 
 there in time !" 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 "Because he told me !" 
 
 "Told you? Where? When? Where is he now?" 
 His face worked, his lips were drawn back from his 
 teeth, his voice hoarse with passion. 
 
 For a moment she stood rigid, then she stepped to 
 the hall door and threw it open. 
 
 "He is here !" she said. 
 
 Together they looked at the dead man at their 
 feet. Gerome raised his eyes to hers. 
 
 "You ?" he said.
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 309 
 
 She nodded slowly. 
 
 "He came here, just before you did, to be re 
 venged upon me. He said I had deliberately given 
 him the wrong information. He taunted me with 
 the past. He, who had caused it all ! He threatened 
 my life, said he would force me out of your arms and 
 into the streets, where I belonged. So I killed him !" 
 
 Gerome threw his arm up across his eyes. His 
 shoulders shook with dry sobbing. 
 
 "Marie, Marie," he cried. "Oh God ! my world lies 
 shattered at my feet !" 
 
 "And mine and mine," she whispered.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 NIGHT had fallen, dull, black, the sky overhung 
 with great masses of heavy clouds. Like a ghost of 
 herself Marie sat staring out of the window into the 
 depths of the deserted garden. Still, calm with the 
 calmness that comes after storm, her unseeing eyes 
 gazed straight ahead of her. How long she had sat 
 there she knew not. She was filled with that curious, 
 numb quiet that comes to one when all fear, all hate, 
 all terror has departed. She was resigned to any 
 thing fate might decree for her. 
 
 When she had told Gerome all the bitter truth, 
 he had left her without a word. Later she had heard 
 vague shuffling sounds in the hall, the closing of the 
 outer door, his steps crunching on the gravel. Her 
 staring eyes had tried vainly to pierce the velvet 
 blackness outside the window. Instinctively she 
 knew what errand had taken him out into the garden. 
 She could almost hear the thud of earth falling on 
 the dead face of Von Pfaffen. 
 
 The guns still muttered and boomed, lighting the 
 black horizon with sullen, intermittent flashes. As 
 she sat waiting her whole brief life unfolded before 
 her. The years at the convent, her unhappiness, her 
 struggles with poverty, the tragedy, as she saw it 
 now, of her lost honor, her escape from it all, the 
 new, peaceful life, and then the coming of wonderful 
 
 happiness, the happiness of requited love, the culmina- 
 
 310
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 311 
 
 tion of which was the knowledge that she was to be 
 the mother of Gerome s child. She knew that, al 
 though she had drained the cup of bitterness and 
 misery to its very dregs, still the pendulum had 
 swung as far the other way. She had had those few 
 short months of supreme joy. The price had been 
 a heavy one. But in the light of retrospection she 
 knew that it was worth it. 
 
 Far into the night she sat thinking, dreaming, 
 staring out into the blackness. Then she heard 
 Gerome s step again on the path, heard him 
 stumble in the darkness of the hall. After a moment 
 he came in and sank heavily into a chair. The clouds 
 had lifted, and an ominous red moon had risen, and 
 by its faint light she could see him sitting, his chin 
 in his hands. He was thinking, brooding, comparing. 
 Almost as though he spoke them aloud, she could 
 follow his thoughts. 
 
 After the first bitter shock that had sent his idol 
 crashing to earth he had been shaken, frenzied, filled 
 with a curse for God and man. But Marie s voice, 
 as she told him more of her story, had calmed him 
 in spite of himself, and some of the terrible rage and 
 horror he had felt had been laid with the body of his 
 enemy in the grave he had dug in the garden. Alone, 
 by the side of that little mound he had battled with 
 himself, fought as great a fight with his soul as that 
 being waged by his country. It became plain to him 
 that in a small way his problem with this woman who 
 was his wife reflected the mighty struggle going on 
 outside, which was to decide the destiny of nations. 
 It was as though he stood apart and looked down
 
 312 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 from some height on a warring world. Clearly the 
 great issues that were at stake rose before him, this 
 terrible war, which was to bring about perpetual 
 peace, establishing now and forever the brotherhood 
 of men, which was to build anew mankind and the arts 
 of civilization, was a baptism of blood out of which 
 would arise a new creation. Through the vision he 
 became aware of the smallness of all things else. 
 
 Marie, sitting silently in the chair by the window, 
 timidly broke into his revery, hesitatingly, as one who 
 fears to waken a dreamer. 
 
 "Gerome," she whispered, "Gerome !" 
 
 Across the silent garden, up from the distant 
 horizon, came a louder roll of guns, a fitful crash of 
 bursting shells, and then silence. He sat motionless, 
 inert, as though he heard only his own thoughts, as 
 though he were deaf to outward sounds. 
 
 After a moment she began again: 
 
 "I had no one to tell me no one to advise me. I 
 was alone, more alone than you can ever understand. 
 At first just being happy was a thing so wonderful, 
 I clung to it, desired it above all else in the world. 
 But there was something more than that." Slowly 
 he turned his head toward her. She went on, her 
 voice firmer, steadier, "I realized that another life 
 was to come into the world, for whose happiness I 
 would be responsible ! The glory of it your child !" 
 
 Across the mind of the man sitting motionless in 
 his chair flashed something of what she had suffered. 
 This child, the symbol of the love that had seemed 
 so perfect ! Perhaps it would be a daughter who 
 must be spared the sorrows, the privations, the lack
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 313 
 
 of protection, that had been her mother s undoing. 
 He began to see more clearly that in his first wild 
 grief and disappointment in her he had failed to 
 fully understand. She had not succumbed to tempta 
 tion. What she had done had never attracted her. 
 She had been like one who wanders alone in a wilder 
 ness, and who falls a prey to wild beasts, or is over 
 come by fatigue or hunger. That she had sinned 
 was not her fault, rather it was her misfortune. He 
 became conscious again of her voice, low, vibrant. 
 
 "In the beginning I withheld the truth from you 
 because I feared to lose your love. Then when I 
 realized that a new life was to come into the world, 
 I could not bear that our child should know of its 
 mother s guilt. I tried to save it the bitterness that 
 knowledge would bring. Gerome, it was for that!" 
 
 His thoughts raced on. She had been tempted, 
 then, not to shield herself, but because of her great 
 love for him, and to save one who was wholly inno 
 cent, perhaps a lifetime of unhappiness. He listened 
 while she told him little by little of her starved life, 
 her empty childhood in the colorless walls of the con 
 vent, the far-between visits of her father, of those 
 short months of happiness in the little house in the 
 Blumen Strasse. Her voice shook a little when she 
 told of her father s illness and his death, and her 
 terror at facing the world penniless and alone. She 
 went over all her short life, her home with the kind 
 old Schultzes, her struggles to find employment, 
 finally, her singing in the cafe, her meeting with her 
 evil genius. 
 
 Sitting there, touched by the soft moonlight,
 
 314 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 motionless, calm, without a shadow of the tears that 
 had so long been her refuge, she told her story with 
 the simple directness of a child. 
 
 Seeing her, hearing her story in its completeness, 
 realizing some of the pity that Christ must have felt 
 for the penitent Magdalene, more of the bitterness 
 died in Gerome s heart. Had he not, in his blind fury, 
 judged too hastily this woman, whose weakness and 
 ignorance had made her the victim of unscrupulous 
 force and who had kept her sin secret through the 
 generous motive of saving him and his unborn child, 
 sorrow, shame? Perhaps, after all, if regarded in its 
 true light, her soul was as pure as he had believed. 
 
 Secure in his own strength, firm in his own knowl 
 edge of right and wrong, had he not condemned her 
 too quickly? 
 
 The muttering of the guns on the distant horizon 
 again reminded him of the struggle his country was 
 undergoing. If strength could reproach weakness 
 for being overwhelmed by a force greater than itself, 
 then Belgium, ravished, devastated, bleeding Bel 
 gium, deserved the reproach of the world, rather than 
 its pity. 
 
 The night was lifting ; he looked at her silhouetted 
 against the gray square of the window. Her white 
 dress was crumpled and torn, her yellow hair hung 
 loose over her shoulders. She seemed to him a 
 symbol of Belgium, ravished, buffeted, beaten. 
 
 The greater part of human unhappiness is the re 
 sult of misunderstanding. This terrible war, some 
 of the horrors of which were printed indelibly on his 
 soul, had come because of the misunderstanding that
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 315 
 
 existed between man and his brother. Titanic force 
 in combat with Titanic force simply destroyed itself. 
 If the world was to endure, the great problems of 
 man must be answered by some other means. There 
 would be a New Heaven and a New Earth to take the 
 place of those that had passed away. Out of the 
 ashes of this war must rise a new era. Old traditions 
 were falling away. Superstition with regard to the 
 Divine Right of Kings, that Old Man of the Sea, 
 which mankind had carried on his back for so long, 
 retarding his efforts, using his strength and sub 
 stance, would be cast aside forever, and with the 
 freedom of unimpeded, reborn youth, man would rise 
 to that plane of development which was to fulfill his 
 destiny. 
 
 Surely then, since the life and history of each in 
 dividual was a world in itself, he and this woman 
 who was his wife could begin again, awaken into a 
 resurrection that would break the shackles of preju 
 dice and tradition and with that mutual understand 
 ing which comes after such a storm as that through 
 which they had passed, work out their destinies with 
 a more certain knowledge of the things in life which 
 really make for happiness. 
 
 He rose to his feet and came and stood before her. 
 Silently she waited, motionless, still. Her sentence 
 was about to be pronounced. She was ready. 
 
 "Listen," he said at last ; "out there the old world 
 is destroying itself in a flood of fire and hate. Old 
 ideals are passing away. Ambition, greed, love, even 
 hope itself is tottering into nothingness." 
 
 Hopelessly she echoed his words.
 
 316 MOTHERS OF MEN 
 
 "Nothingness !" 
 
 "Marie, I have been thinking all night, and be 
 cause of the sorrow and suffering through which I 
 have gone, things seem clearer than ever before. My 
 rage has been terrible. My unhappiness almost un 
 bearable. When you told me what you had done, I 
 thought life was not worth living another day. I 
 had determined that both of us must die. But all 
 that has passed away. After this great struggle 
 which is going on between the nations of the earth is 
 over, something new and better must come. Shall 
 we be part of it, begin life afresh, and see if, after 
 all, there is not some happiness left for us?" 
 
 Her face was transfigured with a great light. 
 
 "You can say that to me?" she asked. 
 
 He took both her hands in his, his voice gentle, 
 through his suffering and hers. 
 
 "Shall there be a resurrection that shall be built 
 on perfect understanding?" 
 
 "Gerome," she whispered. 
 
 The vigil he had kept with his soul through this 
 long and terrible night, the task he had made for 
 himself when he buried Von Pfaffen s body in the 
 garden, the knowledge of her ordeal, of her lifting 
 of herself above the weakness that had threatened 
 to engulf her, the strength that had made her con 
 fess when there had been no need of confession, had 
 shown him what the new life for both of them might 
 mean. 
 
 "A resurrection," he went on, "where it shall be 
 clear that the world can live only so long as love 
 shall live."
 
 MOTHERS OF MEN 317 
 
 She lifted her eyes to his. 
 
 " Love shall wipe away all tears, " she whispered, 
 almost as though she were uttering a prayer. 
 
 Gerome held her hands against his breast. 
 
 "You and I, dear," he said earnestly, "shall we 
 start anew, and when we reach the far horizon look 
 back on this hour as a story that is told? For to 
 understand all is to forgive all !" 
 
 The traces of her bitter suffering were still on her 
 face, but she looked at him happily. 
 
 "An hour ago," she said softly, "I thought I had 
 nothing left to live for, but the doors of life are just 
 
 opening. Look " Together they turned toward 
 
 the window. 
 
 Toward the West, the clouds hung black and 
 ominous, the last draperies of departing night, from 
 whence came the persistent thunder of the guns, 
 where men strove, destroying the old world in a hell 
 of blood and steel. But on the Eastern horizon, 
 turning all the hills to ruddy gold, was the rising 
 sun. 
 
 Somewhere in a hidden thicket a bird twittered on 
 its nest. 
 
 She looked up into his face, the light of her great 
 love shining in her eyes, and whispered almost as 
 though it were a prophecy : 
 
 "I can see the light of a new day !" 
 
 THE END
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 
 7- 
 
 
 
 
 Form L9-32m-8, 58(5876s4)444
 
 PS 
 
 3t 
 W2i;2m 
 
 001 247821