The Outrage Part 9

"Ah," cried the man on the sofa, catching sight of Louise, "here is my good Samaritan." He crossed the room in his stockinged feet and took the basin out of her hands. He looked round a moment uncertain where to put it; then he drew up a satin chair and placed the basin of water on it.

"_Gut_," he said. "And what have we here?" He took the little bottle from her hand. "'Perchlor. of mercury, 1.0 gramme.' That is right." He shook one of the little pink tablets out on his palm and dropped it in the water. "Now, charming lady, will you be a sister of mercy to a poor wounded man?" He bared his arm and sat down on the sofa again, making room for her beside him; but she stood in front of him, and dipping some pieces of cotton in the water she bathed the injured arm.

The door opened and Mireille came in with a pair of her father's slippers in her hand. When she saw her mother stooping over the man's arm her small face flushed scarlet. She flung the slippers down and, running to the corner where Cherie was standing, she hid her face on Cherie's arm.

"_Ei, ei, the_ vixen!" laughed Von Wedel, taking another sandwich. "Now we want something to drink. Not these syrups," he added, pus.h.i.+ng the grenadine and orangeade aside. "Let us have some champagne. Eh, Glotz?

What do you say to that?"

"And some brandy," said Fischer. "This scratch is deucedly painful."

There was a moment's silence. Then Cherie, taking a step towards the door, said, "I will fetch some brandy."

"I'll come too," said Mireille.

"No, no, no, no," cried Von Wedel, catching hold of them each by one arm. "You two want to run away. I know your tricks! No. The vixen stays here; and the angel"--bending to gaze into Cherie's face--"comes with me and shows me where the brandy is kept."

"She shan't! she shan't!" screamed Mireille, clinging to Cherie's arm.

"_Donner und Blitz!_" exclaimed Von Wedel, "what a little demon. You just catch hold of her, Glotz, and keep her quiet."

Glotz, who had been sitting at the table eating silently, rose and dried his mouth on one of the beflowered tissue-paper serviettes. "I know where the cellar is," said he, "I saw it on my round with the Herr Kapitan. If the Herr Kapitan permits, I will fetch the brandy myself."

And he left the room quickly, paying no heed to Von Wedel's murmured remark that he was a confounded interfering head of a sheep.

Louise had burst into tears when Von Wedel had told Glotz to hold Mireille, and although the captain patted her hand and told her not to cry she went on weeping bitterly while she bandaged his arm.

Von Wedel looked at her a moment and then turned to Cherie. "What relation are you to that weeping Niobe? I forget."

"Sister-in-law," murmured Cherie inaudibly.

"What? Speak louder. I can't hear," said Von Wedel, seating himself on a corner of the table and lighting one of Dr. Brandes's cigars.

"Sister-in-law," repeated Cherie faintly.

"Sister-in-law? Good." He puffed at the cigar. "And I'll be your brother-in-law, shall I? Ah, here is the wine!" he exclaimed as the door was thrown open.

But it was not the wine. It was another officer, dressed like the others in a grey uniform bereft of all insignia; he was very red and covered with dust and mud. He saluted the captain and nodded to the lieutenant, loosened his belt and flung his grey helmet on the piano where the others lay.

"Ah, Feldmann," cried Captain Fischer. "What have you done?"

"My duty," said the new-comer in a curious hoa.r.s.e voice.

"_Der Pfarrer?_" ... questioned Von Wedel.

The man nodded and made a grimace. "And that idiot of a scout-boy too.

It was he who fired at you," he said turning to Fischer.

"It was not," said the captain. "It was an old man, from a window. Near the church."

"Oh well, I didn't see any old man," said Captain Feldmann. "And these civilians must be taught their lesson.... What have we here?" he added, surveying the table. "I am famished." And he took two or three sandwiches, placed them one on the other and ate them. "Beastly hole, this," he remarked, with his mouth full. "We needn't have come here at all."

"Oh yes, we need," declared Fischer very sternly.

"Well, we won't discuss that," said Feldmann. "And anyhow we are going on in the morning. I should like something to drink."

Cherie had flushed to the roots of her hair. She had grasped the one thing only--they were going on in the morning! At any cost she must tell Louise that wonderful news. And she did so rapidly, in low tones, in Flemish.

Louise, who had finished bandaging the officer's wounded arm, burst into tears again; this time they were tears of joy.

"What are these women?" inquired Feldmann, glancing around with his mouth full. "They look like ballet-dancers."

"That one," said Von Wedel, with a coa.r.s.e laugh, pointing at Louise, "is the weeping Niobe; and that" indicating Mireille--"is the demon child. And this"--taking Cherie's wrist and drawing her towards him--"is my sister-in-law and an angel."

"And this is Veuve Clicquot '85," said Glotz entering with some bottles in his hand and stepping as if casually between Cherie and her tormentor.

The men turned all their attention to the wines, and sent Glotz to the cellar three or four times to fetch some more.

They wanted Martel; they wanted Kirsch; they wanted Pernod. Then they wanted more champagne. Then they wanted more sandwiches, which Louise went to make. Then they wanted coffee, which Feldmann insisted upon making himself on a spirit-lamp. They set fire to the tablecloth and to the tissue-paper serviettes, which they threw down and stamped out on the carpet.

Von Wedel sat down at the piano and sang "Traum durch die Dammerung,"

and Feldmann wailed a chorus. Then Feldmann recited a poem. He was very tipsy and had to put one arm around Glotz's neck and lean heavily on Glotz's shoulder in order to be able to stand up and gesticulate.

"Liebe Mutter, der Mann mit dem k.o.c.ks ist da!"

"Schweig still, mein Junge, das weiss ich ja.

"Hab'ich kein Geld, hast du kein Geld, "Wer hat denn den Mann mit dem k.o.c.ks bestellt?"

Great laughter and applause from Captain Fischer and Von Wedel greeted this; only Glotz remained impa.s.sive; with Feldmann's arm around his neck, his chubby countenance unmoved, his expression vacant.

For some time they paid no heed to the three women cl.u.s.tered together in the furthest corner of the room, except to stretch out a detaining hand whenever they tried to move towards the door.

"No," declared Von Wedel, leering at them through his light, vague eyes.

"No. You don't leave this room. Not all three together. Only one at a time; then we're sure she'll come back."

So they clung together with pale bewildered faces, whispering to each other every now and then the comforting words, "They will go away in the morning."

But the morning was not yet.

When Captain Fischer suggested that it was time to go to bed, the others called him an old screech-owl; whereupon Captain Fischer explained to them at great length that military discipline did not permit them to call him a screech-owl. And he called Louise to witness that he had been called a screech-owl.

But now Feldmann was singing "Gaudeamus igitur," so the captain joined in too.

"Come along," said Von Wedel, lurching towards Cherie with two gla.s.ses in his hand; "come, turtle-dove, _Brudershaft trinken_!" He forced one of the gla.s.ses into her hand. "You must drink the pledge of brotherhood with us. Like this"--and he made her stand face to face with him, pus.h.i.+ng his left arm through hers and raising his gla.s.s in his right hand.

Cherie shrank back, seeking refuge behind Louise. But he dragged her forward and caught her by the arm again.

"Obedience!" he roared, scowling at her. "Now sing; '_Lebe, liebe, trinke, schwarme_'--and when I get to the words '_froh mit mir_,' we clink our gla.s.ses together."

"Please not! please not!" implored Cherie.