CHAPTER IV
ON TO PARIS
On trudged the old man. In his arms slept little Jeanne. She was as happy as Margot that day. Margot lay among the sweet-smelling cushions of her baby carriage and was rolled along the smooth walks of Paris parks.
But little Jeanne"s "carriage" was not so soft, nor did it roll along.
Indeed the old man"s gait grew more and more jerky with every step. He watched the rest of the refugees pa.s.sing him by.
There were families with many children. There were men and women carrying mattresses and clothing, pots and pans. There were dogs running along and barking.
They all pa.s.sed the old man. Each one had another with whom to walk. But the old man walked alone.
It grew very hard--this walking. He rested often, and each time it was harder to rise and to start the walk again. Only his promise to a soldier of France kept his old body going. At last he dropped heavily at the side of the road.
Jeanne was asleep. The thud awoke her. The old man could go no farther.
Jeanne did not cry. She was happy and satisfied. She had been well cared for. When they had pa.s.sed farms with cows, little Jeanne had been fed.
The old man looked at her and touched the little soft cheek with his h.o.r.n.y hand.
"Little one, I am finished," he whispered. "I have tried so hard, but Paris is too far--too far. It is too far to the front."
With that, the old man slept. Jeanne lay in his arms and blew bubbles to the sky. She watched the trees as they swayed back and forth.
"This world is a pleasant place," it would seem the tiny girl was thinking.
[Ill.u.s.tration: VERY OLD STONE HOUSES IN A LITTLE VILLAGE OF FRANCE]
For a long time the old man slept. He was awakened by the sound of a clear voice. He looked into the sad face of a young woman in a black shawl. She was holding Jeanne"s two little hands in her fingers.
"Is this your baby?" she asked.
"No, no, my child. I am taking her to Paris to--."
He tried to lift himself but fell back again.
"You are spent. You must not carry this child any farther. Come; give her to me," said the woman.
She took little Jeanne in her arms. The old man"s eyes searched her face to try to fathom it. He tried to find there what he hoped to see: kindness. But all he saw was sadness.
Suzanne Moreau (mo-ro") was one of the many refugees who had fled from her invaded village. She was one of the few in that long line who marched alone. Suzanne had always lived alone, as long as she could remember. Her life had been a lonely one. She had been a dressmaker in the small town where she had lived.
Everyone there had known her as Auntie Sue. She was Auntie Sue to children and grown-ups alike.
The old man tried to fathom Suzanne as he looked deep into her eyes and watched her wrap little Jeanne carefully in her shawl.
"I am quite alone," she said. "I am strong and shall make the march easily. Do not fear."
She gave her hand to the old man and he kissed it.
"G.o.d bless you," he breathed. Then he reminded her, "Remember: Avenue Champs Elysees, Madame Villard."
She nodded her head. She smiled at him and was off.
CHAPTER V
SUZANNE
It was a month since the day when Madame Villard had received two letters. Just a month had pa.s.sed since the silver-haired lady and her daughter had pored over two such different letters.
One was a scrawl--Paul"s. He wrote that his baby was on her way to Paris to her grandmother. It was a dirty, scrawly note, but full of hope to the two who read it.
The next letter, neat and precise, was from the government. Before they opened it, the two women knew: Paul"s little one was now an orphan. For a month, how that mother and sister waited!
With Madame Villard lived her daughter and her daughter"s husband. They were the parents of Baby Margot.
Margot"s father had come back from the war. But though he had returned to his dear ones, he would never again be able to walk. He would be an invalid for life. So Margot"s mother had two helpless ones to care for.
And one of those was Margot"s father.
Grandmother had taken care of little Margot from the day of her birth.
Starry-eyed Baby Margot was Grandmother Villard"s charge--and a joyous charge to the old lady. But despite the happiness of her Margot, the heart of Madame Villard yearned for that other wee one--her son"s little orphaned daughter.
She waited longingly for Paul"s child to be brought to her. She waited until she could wait no longer. Then she went out in search of little Jeanne.
Madame Villard traveled to many villages in her search. She even asked the government to help her.
She tried so hard to speed the little one"s arrival. But she could not.
The child was never brought to her.
And now, to-day, a month having elapsed, Madame Villard was again preparing to motor through the country to search. She intended to stop at a little graveyard in the Argonne (ar-gon") and pray.
[Ill.u.s.tration: A UNIQUE OLD WINDMILL IN PICTURESQUE FRANCE]
And while Madame Villard waited thus for little Jeanne, Suzanne Moreau was bringing the baby to Paris.
On the tramp Suzanne had found the child a sweet and tender thing.
Little Jeanne had hardly ever cried. She was satisfied and sleepy, or gurgling and gay.
Her life had been a rough one and her feedings irregular and sometimes insufficient. Still the baby had seemed happy, and Suzanne had smiled a great deal more than she had ever before smiled in her life.