The Golden Bough

"Are you sure you've had enough?"

"Oh yes."

"When was the last time that you ate?"

"The day before yesterday. I didn't dare to leave the woods, even at night."

"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.

"I will cross into France at the Swiss border, and rejoin my regiment. Parbleu! There are some there who will think I have risen from the dead."

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."

"But you speak French-"

"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."

"A very inferior Mother-Superior, Monsieur," she smiled, and then with more soberness, "I don't wonder you were perplexed. Sometimes I am a little perplexed myself-"

She halted and did not resume, and so:

"I should not be inquisitive," he said, "Your hospitality gives me no further claim-"

"What is it that you wish to know?"

"Who and what you are. Is it not natural that I should like to know to whom I am indebted-"

"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."

"You-"

"A Russian-"

"Ah-"

"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."

"But to fight, Mademoiselle-?"

"With subtler weapons than yours. It is to that I dedicate my life-"