the four horsemen of the apocalypse-第41节

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emely　quietly；　the　aspect　of　many　of　them　as　humble　as　that　of　the　seamstresses。　　But　they　were　ladies　of　the　well…to…do　class；　some　even　coming　in　automobiles　driven　by　chauffeurs　in　military　uniform；　because　they　were　ministerial　vehicles。

These　long　waits　often　brought　him　unexpected　encounters　with　the　elegant　students　who　were　going　and　coming。

〃Desnoyers！〃　some　feminine　voices　would　exclaim　behind　him。　　〃Isn't　it　Desnoyers？〃

And　he　would　find　himself　obliged　to　relieve　their　doubts；　saluting　the　ladies　who　were　looking　at　him　as　though　he　were　a　ghost。　　They　were　friends　of　a　remote　epoch；　of　six　months　agoladies　who　had　admired　and　pursued　him；　trusting　sweetly　to　his　masterly　wisdom　to　guide　them　through　the　seven　circles　of　the　science　of　the　tango。　They　were　now　scrutinizing　him　as　if　between　their　last　encounter　and　the　present　moment　had　occurred　a　great　cataclysm；　transforming　all　the　laws　of　existenceas　if　he　were　the　sole　survivor　of　a　vanished　race。

Eventually　they　all　asked　the　same　questions〃Are　you　not　going　to　the　war？　。　。　。　　How　is　it　that　you　are　not　wearing　a　uniform？〃

He　would　attempt　to　explain；　but　at　his　first　words；　they　would　interrupt　him：

〃That's　so。　。　。　。　　You　are　a　foreigner。〃

They　would　say　it　with　a　certain　envy；　doubtless　thinking　of　their　loved　ones　now　suffering　the　privations　and　dangers　of　war。　。　。　。　But　the　fact　that　he　was　a　foreigner　would　instantly　create　a　vague　atmosphere　of　spiritual　aloofness；　an　alienation　that　Julio　had　not　known　in　the　good　old　days　when　people　sought　each　other　without　considering　nationality；　without　feeling　that　disavowal　of　danger　which　isolates　and　concentrates　human　groups。

The　ladies　generally　bade　him　adieu　with　malicious　suspicion。　　What　was　he　doing　hanging　around　there？　　In　search　of　his　usual　lucky　adventure？　。　。　。　　And　their　smiles　were　rather　grave；　the　smiles　of　older　folk　who　know　the　true　significance　of　life　and　commiserate　the　deluded　ones　still　seeking　diversion　in　frivolities。

This　attitude　was　as　annoying　to　Julio　as　though　it　were　a　manifestation　of　pity。　　They　were　supposing　him　still　exercising　the　only　function　of　which　he　was　capable；　he　wasn't　good　for　anything　else。　　On　the　other　hand；　these　empty　heads；　still　keeping　something　of　their　old　appearance；　now　appeared　animated　by　the　grand　sentiment　of　maternityan　abstract　maternity　which　seemed　to　be　extending　to　all　the　men　of　the　nationa　desire　for　self…sacrifice；　of　knowing　first…hand　the　privations　of　the　lowly；　and　aiding　all　the　ills　that　flesh　is　heir　to。

This　same　yearning　was　inspiring　Marguerite　when　she　came　away　from　her　lessons。　　She　was　advancing　from　one　overpowering　dread　to　another；　accepting　the　first　rudiments　of　surgery　as　the　greatest　of　scientific　marvels。　　At　the　same　time；　she　was　astonished　at　the　avidity　with　which　she　was　assimilating　these　hitherto　unsuspected　mysteries。　　Sometimes　with　a　funny　assumption　of　assurance；　she　would　even　believe　she　had　mistaken　her　vocation。

〃Who　knows　but　what　I　was　born　to　be　a　famous　doctor？〃　she　would　exclaim。

Her　great　fear　was　that　she　might　lose　her　self…control　when　the　time　came　to　put　her　newly　acquired　knowledge　into　practice。　　To　see　herself　before　the　foul　odors　of　decomposing　flesh；　to　contemplate　the　flow　of　blooda　horrible　thing　for　her　who　had　always　felt　an　invincible　repugnance　toward　all　the　unpleasant　conditions　of　ordinary　life！　　But　these　hesitations　were　short；　and　she　was　suddenly　animated　by　a　dashing　energy。　　These　were　times　of　sacrifice。　　Were　not　the　men　snatched　every　day　from　the　comforts　of　sensuous　existence　to　endure　the　rude　life　of　a　soldier？　。　。　。　　She　would　be；　a　soldier　in　petticoats；　facing　pain；　battling　with　it；　plunging　her　hands　into　putrefaction；　flashing　like　a　ray　of　sunlight　into　the　places　where　soldiers　were　expecting　the　approach　of　death。

She　proudly　narrated　to　Desnoyers　all　the　progress　that　she　was　making　in　the　training　school；　the　complicated　bandages　that　she　was　learning　to　adjust；　sometimes　over　a　mannikin；　at　others　over　the　flesh　of　an　employee；　trying　to　play　the　part　of　a　sorely　wounded　patient。　　She；　so　dainty；　so　incapable　in　her　own　home　of　the　slightest　physical　effort；　was　learning　the　most　skilful　ways　of　lifting　a　human　body　from　the　ground　and　carrying　it　on　her　back。　Who　knew　but　that　she　might　render　this　very　service　some　day　on　the　battlefield！　　She　was　ready　for　the　greatest　risks；　with　the　ignorant　audacity　of　women　impelled　by　flashes　of　heroism。　　All　her　admiration　was　for　the　English　army　nurses；　slender　women　of　nervous　vigor　whose　photographs　were　appearing　in　the　papers；　wearing　pantaloons；　riding　boots　and　white　helmets。

Julio　listened　to　her　with　astonishment。　　Was　this　woman　really　Marguerite？　。　。　。　　War　was　obliterating　all　her　winning　vanities。　She　was　no　longer　fluttering　about　in　bird…like　fashion。　　Her　feet　were　treading　the　earth　with　resolute　firmness；　calm　and　secure　in　the　new　strength　which　was　developing　within。　　When　one　of　his　caresses　would　remind　her　that　she　was　a　woman；　she　would　always　say　the　same　thing；

〃What　luck　that　you　are　a　foreigner！　。　。　。　　What　happiness　to　know　that　you　do　not　have　to　go　to　war！〃

In　her　anxiety　for　sacrifice；　she　wanted　to　go　to　the　battlefields；　and　yet　at　the　same　time；　she　was　rejoicing　to　see　her　lover　exempt　from　military　duty。　　This　preposterous　lack　of　logic　was　not　gratefully　received　by　Julio　but　irritated　him　as　an　unconscious　offense。

〃One　might　suppose　that　she　was　protecting　me！〃　he　thought。　　〃She　is　the　man　and　rejoices　that　I；　the　weak　comrade；　should　be　protected　from　danger。　。　。　。　　What　a　grotesque　situation！〃　。　。　。

Fortunately；　at　times　when　Marguerite　presented　herself　at　the　studio；　she　was　again　her　old　self；　making　him　temporarily　forget　his　annoyance。　　She　would　arrive　with　the　same　joy　in　a　vacation　that　the　college　student　or　the　employee　feels　on　a　holiday。　Responsibility　was　teaching　her　to　know　the　value　of　time。

〃No　classes　to…day！〃　she　would　call　out　on　entering；　and　tossing　her　hat　on　a　divan；　she　would　begin　a　dance…step；　retreating　with　infantile　coquetry　from　the　arms　of　her　lover。

But　in　a　few　minutes　she　would　recover　her　customary　gravity；　the　serious　look　that　had　become　habitual　with　her　since　the　outbreak　of　hostilities。　　She　spoke　often　of　her　mother；　always　sad；　but　striving　to　hide　her　grief　and　keeping　herself　up　in　the　hope　of　a　letter　from　her　son；　she　spoke；　too；　of　the　war；　commenting　on　the　latest　events　with　the　rhetorical　optimism　of　the　official　dispatches。　　She　could　describe　the　first　flag　taken　from　the　enemy　as　minutely　as　though　it　were　a　garment　of　unparalleled　elegance。　From　a　window；　she　had　seen　the　Minister　of　War。　　She　was　very　much　affected　when　repeating　the　story　of　some　fugitive　Belgians　recently　arrived　at　the　hospital。　　They　were　the　only　patients　that　she　had　been　able　to　assist　until　now。　　Paris　was　not　receiving　the　soldiers　wounded　in　battle；　by　order　of　the　Government；　they　were　being　sent　from　the　front　to　the　hospitals　in　the　South。

She　no　longer　evinced　toward　Julio　the　resistance　of　the　first　few　days。　　Her　training　as　a　nurse　was　giving　her　a　certain　passivity。　She　seemed　to　be　ignoring　material　attractions；　stripping　them　of　the　spiritual　importance　which　she　had　hitherto　attributed　to　them。　She　wanted　to　make　Julio　happy；　although　her　mind　was　concentrated　on　other　matters。

One　afternoon；　she　felt　the　necessity　of　communicating　certain　news　which　had　been　filling　her　mind　since　the　day　before。　　Springing　up　from　the　couch；　she　hunted　for　her　handbag　which　contained　a　letter。　She　wanted　to　read　it　again　to　tell　its　contents　to　somebody　with　that　irresistible　impulse　which　forestalls　confession。

It　was　a　letter　which　her　brother　had　sent　her　from　the　Vosges。　　In　it　he　spoke　of　Laurier　more　than　of　himself。　　They　belonged　to　different　batteries；　but　were　in　the　same　division　and　had　taken　part　in　the　same　combats。　　The　officer　was　filled　with　admiration　for　his　former　brother…in…law。　　Who　could　have　guessed　that　a　future　hero　was　hidden　within　that　silent　and　tranquil　engineer！　。　。　。　　But　he　was　a　genuine　hero；　just　the　same！　　All　the　officials　had　agreed　with　Marguerite's　brother　on　seeing　how　calmly　he　fulfilled　his　duty；　facing　death　with　the　same　coolness　as　though　he　were　in　his　factory　near　Paris。

He　had　asked　for　the　dangerous　post　of　lookout；　slipping　as　near　as　possible　to　the　enemy's　lines　in　order　to　verify　the　exactitude　of　the　artillery　discharge；　rectifying　it　by　telephone。　　A　German　shell　had　demolished　the　house　on　the　roof　of　which　he　was　concealed；　and　Laurier；　on　crawling　out　unhurt　from　the　ruins；　had　readjusted　his　telephone　and　gone　tranquilly　on；　continuing　the　same　work　in　the　shelter　of　a　nearby　grove。　　His　battery；　picked　out　by　the　enemy's　aeroplanes；　had　received　the　concentrated　fire　of　the　artillery　opposite。　　In　a　few　minutes　all　the　force　were　rolling　on　the　groundthe　captain　and　many　soldiers　dead；　officers　wounded　and　almost　all　the　gunners。　　There　only　remained　as　chief；　Laurier；　the　Impassive　（as　his　comrades　nicknamed　him）；　and　aided　by　the　few　artillerymen　still　on　their　feet；　he　continued　firing　under　a　rain　of　iron　and　f