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Read Ebook: The Golden Bough by Gibbs George
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Ebook has 2687 lines and 106647 words, and 54 pages
"You've traveled far?"
"A million miles, I think. I don't know how far. They had me working on the railroad near Mannheim."
"And you escaped?"
"At night, from the pen. They shot at me, but I swam down a stream and got away. I lived on berries for a while--and potatoes, when I could steal them. I'm a living example of food conservation. It was risky work approaching the farm houses, on account of the dogs. Some of us may think Germany will go to the dogs, but I'm sure of one thing and that is that all the dogs in the world have gone to Germany. And they never sleep. I went miles out of my way to avoid the roads. You're the first human being I've spoken to for weeks. It's quite extraordinary to be able to talk again, to have some one listen. Sometimes in the deep woods I used to talk to myself just to hear the sound of my own voice."
"I'm very sorry for you."
There was no doubting the sincerity of her tone or the gentleness in her eyes.
"Sorry? Are you? That's very wonderful. I thought that people had stopped being sorry for anything in this world."
"It's terrible to be so bitter."
He laughed. "I'm not bitter. I never felt more amiable in my life. But the world has gone mad, Mademoiselle."
"The Germans treated you badly?"
He smiled and shrugged.
"What would you have? It is war."
"It is terrible. And what will you do now that you are across the border? Will they not intern you?"
"I must find civilian clothing."
"And then?"
He laughed joyously.
She was silent for a moment regarding him thoughtfully, her eyes brightening with a new interest. At first he had seemed a man of middle age, a broken man, such as passed begging along the roads of the village. And the dirt and the ragged beard that covered his face had done nothing to dispel the illusion. But she saw now how far she had been mistaken, for his laughter rippled forth from his lean muscular throat as though in pure joy at its own utterance. He was not bitter--he was merely experienced.
"You're a Frenchman, Monsieur?"
"No, Mademoiselle, an American."
"American! And you've fought long for France?"
"More than two years."
"You were living in France?"
"No, Mademoiselle, in America. But I could not stand what happened in Belgium. And so I came. It's very simple."
"German and Italian. I've been much in Europe. I had a gift for languages. But I'm not of much account otherwise. I'm a ne'er-do-well--a black sheep." He grinned at her.
"I do look rather black now, don't I? You'd be surprised to see how much better I look when I'm clean."
"I don't doubt it, Monsieur."
Youth called to youth. Her laugh echoed softly among the venerable trees and as she raised her chin, the cowl slipped from her head again disclosing her curly hair, a copper-colored nimbus against the glow of the lantern.
He turned a little toward her and glanced at her with more assurance, and then with a smile.
"You're just a girl, aren't you?"
She laughed again.
"What did you think I was?"
"I didn't know," he said more slowly. "You seemed something between a Shade and a Mother-Superior."
She halted and did not resume, and so:
"What is it that you wish to know?"
"It doesn't matter. What I have done is little enough beside what you have suffered for poor bleeding France. At least we are allies."
"A modern Russian, Monsieur. A free spirit of the times in which we live. It is the aim of my life to do for my own country what you have done for France."
She paused and whispered quickly. "He comes. Say nothing. Let me tell your story. Perhaps you may remain to sleep here."
And following her glance, he saw a figure emerging from the gloom in the direction of the house, the tall figure of a man, with shoulders bent and eager eyes which, like those of a black nocturnal cat had already caught a pale reflection of the lantern's gleams.
ENIGMA
As the man came nearer, he seemed a remarkable creature. His coat, of the kind known in the eighties as a Prince Albert, hung loosely from his lean square shoulders, to a point midway between hip and knee. His hair was dark and long and wisps of it had fallen over his broad pale forehead to which they adhered as though a tight hat-band had pressed them there. Heavy eye-brows met above a long narrow nose, which jutted down over lips turned in, thin and impalpable, to the square chin which was thrust out aggressively as he strode forward, his hands working unpleasantly at the ends of his long wrists.
"What's this, Tanya Korasov?" he asked in a sharp querulous voice.
"A hungry soldier, Kirylo Ivanitch," said the girl.
Her shining eyes glanced quickly toward the da?s.
"He goes to join his colors."
The frown on the brows of the man in the Prince Albert relaxed and he seemed to give a gasp of relief as he examined the intruder more calmly.
"We are not savages, Monsieur," he broke in. "You shall be made comfortable for the night. Come. Tanya, the lantern."
And he led the way across the lawn to the house, while Tanya mounted the da?s for the lantern and followed them. Whatever the doubts of the girl as to the hospitality which might be accorded him, the fugitive now saw no reason to suspect the intentions of the strange gentleman in the Prince Albert coat, for as they reached the building he stood aside, indicating the lighted doorway.
"Enter, mon ami," he said. "It shall not be said that this house refuses charity or alms to any seeker after Liberty, even though he go about his quest in a manner with which we disapprove."
"Thanks, Monsieur," said the soldier gratefully.
The room which they entered was the kitchen, and the two persons who occupied it, an aged woman and a youngish man with a shock of yellow hair, paused in the act of masticating, remaining with their full mouths open and eyes staring until the young soldier had passed through the door into the main building beyond. In the brief moment of passing them, the American experienced the same sense of vague hostility as that which had first greeted him in the man Ivanitch, a querulous attitude of anxious suspicion, which for some unknown reason had now disappeared,--a look of expectancy in their eyes, or was it a veiled fear, as of some danger which might come upon them unawares? Was this the reason for the wall? And if so, why a girl in a monk's cowl for sentry?
He was too weary to analyze the return of his impressions and when the Russian reached the room beyond the kitchen, he motioned the L?gionnaire to a chair while he bade the girl Tanya bring forth glasses and a jug.
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