第 2 页

who led the Prussians to victory against Austria? Is our discipline

equal--or anything like equal--to that of the Prussians? Is our

organization as good as theirs? And lastly, have we anything like

their numbers?

"I don't like the look of it, boys, at all. We ought, according to

published accounts, to be able to put a larger army than theirs in

the field, just at first and, if we were but prepared, should

certainly be able to carry all before us, for a while. I question

very much if we are so prepared. Supposing it to be so, however,

the success would, I fear, be but temporary; for the German

reserves are greatly superior to ours. Discipline, too, has gone

off sadly, since I first knew the French army.

"Radical opinions may be very wise, and very excellent for a

nation, for aught I know; but it is certain that they are fatal to

the discipline of an army. My own opinion, as you know, is that

they are equally fatal for a country, but that is a matter of

opinion, only; but of the fact that a good Radical makes an

extremely bad soldier, I am quite clear, and the spread of Radical

opinion among the French army has been very great. Then, too, the

officers have been much to blame. They think of pleasure far more

than duty. They spend four times as much time in the cafes and

billiard rooms as they do in the drill ground. Altogether, in my

opinion, the French army has greatly gone off in all points--except

in courage which, being a matter of nationality, is probably as

high as ever. It is a bad lookout, boys--a very bad lookout.

"There, don't talk about it any more. I do not want to make your

mother unhappy. Remember not to express--either as my or your own

opinion--anything I have said, in the town. It would only render

you obnoxious, and might even cause serious mischief. If things go

wrong, French mobs are liable to wreak their bad temper on the

first comer."

"Percy," Mrs. Barclay said, coming into the room, "please to run

down to the end of the garden, and cut some lettuces for salad.

Marie is so upset that she can do nothing."

"What is the matter with her, mamma?" both the boys asked, at once.

"Victor Harve--you know him, the son of the blacksmith Harve, who

had served his time in the army, and came back two months ago to

join his father in his forge, and to marry our Marie--has left to

join his regiment. He was here, an hour since, to say goodbye. By

this time he will have started. It is not wonderful that she weeps.

She may never see him again. I have told her that she must be

brave. A Frenchwoman should not grudge those she loves most to

fight for France."

"Ah! Melanie," Captain Barclay said, smiling, "these little

patriotic outbursts are delightful, when one does not have to

practice them at one's own expense. 'It is sweet and right to die

for one's country,' said the old Roman, and everyone agrees with

him but, at the same time, every individual man has a strong

objection to put himself in the way of this sweet and proper death.

"Although, as you say, no Frenchwoman should grudge her love to her

country; I fancy, if a levee en masse took place, tomorrow, and the

boys as well as the cripples had to go--so that Ralph, Percy, and I

were all obliged to march--you would feel that you did grudge us to

the country, most amazingly."

Mrs. Barclay turned a little pale at the suggestion.

"Ah! I can't suppose that, Richard. You are English, and they

cannot touch you, or the boys; even if you could march, and if they

were old enough."

Captain Barclay smiled.

"That is no answer, Melanie. You are shirking the question. I said,

if they were to make us go."

"Ah, yes! I am afraid I should grudge you, Richard, and the boys,

except the enemy were to invade France; and then everyone, even we

women, would fight. But of that there is no chance. It is we who

will invade."

Captain Barclay made no reply.

"The plums want gathering, papa," Percy said, returning from

cutting the lettuces. "It was arranged that our cousins should come

over, when they were ripe, and have a regular picking. They have no

plums, and Madame Duburg wants them for preserving. May we go over

after dinner, and ask them to come in at three o'clock, and spend

the evening?"

"Certainly," Captain Barclay said; "and you can give your mamma's

compliments, and ask if your uncle and Madame Duburg will come in,

after they have dined. The young ones will make their dinner at our

six o'clock tea."

In France early dinner is a thing scarcely known, even among the

peasantry; that is to say, their meals are taken at somewhat the

same time as ours are, but are called by different names. The

Frenchman never eats what we call breakfast; that is, he never

makes a really heavy meal, the first thing in the morning. He

takes, however, coffee and milk and bread and butter, when he gets

up. He does not call this breakfast. He speaks of it as his morning

coffee; and takes his breakfast at eleven, or half-past eleven, or

even at twelve. This is a regular meal, with soup, meat, and wine.

In England it would be called an early lunch. At six o'clock the

Frenchman dines, and even the working man calls this meal--which an

English laborer would call supper--his dinner. The Barclays' meals,

therefore, differed more in name than in reality from those of

their neighbors.

Louis and Philippe Duburg came in at five o'clock, but brought a

message that their sisters would come in with their father and

mother, later. Melanie was neither surprised nor disappointed at

the non-arrival of her cousins. She greatly preferred being with

the boys, and always felt uncomfortable with Julie and Justine;

who, although little older than herself, were already as prim,

decorous, and properly behaved as if they had been women of thirty

years old. After tea was over, the four boys returned to their work

of gathering plums; while Melanie--or Milly, as her father called

her, to distinguish her from her mother--picked up the plums that

fell, handed up fresh baskets and received the full ones, and

laughed and chattered with her brothers and cousins.

While so engaged, Monsieur and Madame Duburg arrived, with their

daughters, Julie and Justine. Monsieur Duburg--Mrs. Barclay's

brother--was proprietor of a considerable estate, planted almost

entirely with vines. His income was a large one, for the soil was

favorable, and he carried on the culture with such care and

attention that the wines fetched a higher price than any in the

district. He was a clear-headed, sensible man, with a keen eye to a

bargain. He was fond of his sister and her English husband, and had

offered no opposition to his boys entering into the games and

amusements of their cousins--although his wife was constantly

urging him to do so. It was, to Madame Duburg, a terrible thing

that her boys--instead of being always tidy and orderly, and ready,

when at home, to accompany her for a walk--should come home

flushed, hot, and untidy, with perhaps a swelled cheek or a black

eye, from the effects of a blow from a cricket ball or boxing

glove.

Upon their arrival at Captain Barclay's, the two gentlemen strolled

out to smoke a cigar together, and to discuss the prospects of the

war and its effect upon prices.

Mrs. Barclay had asked Julie and Justine if they would like to go

down to the orchard; but Madame Duburg had so hurriedly answered in

their name, in a negative--saying that they would stroll round the

garden until Melanie returned--that Mrs. Barclay had no resource

but to ask them, when they passed near the orchard, to call

Milly--in her name--to join them in the garden.

"My dear Melanie," Madame Duburg began, when her daughters had

walked away in a quiet, prim manner, hand in hand, "I was really

quite shocked, as we came along. There was Melanie, laughing and

calling out as loudly as the boys themselves, handing up baskets

and lifting others down, with her hair all in confusion, and

looking--excuse my saying so--more like a peasant girl than a young

lady."

Mrs. Barclay smiled quietly.

"Milly is enjoying herself, no doubt, sister-in-law; and I do not

see that her laughing, or calling out, or handing baskets will do

her any serious harm. As for her hair, five minutes' brushing will

set that right."

"But, my dear sister-in-law," Madame Duburg said, earnestly, "do

you recall to yourself that Milly is nearly fourteen years old;

that she will soon be becoming a woman, that in another three years

you will be searching for a husband for her? My faith, it is

terrible--and she has yet no figure, no manner;" and Madame Duburg

looked, with an air of gratified pride, at the stiff figures of her

own two girls.

"Her figure is not a bad one, sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said,

composedly; "she is taller than Julie--who is six months her

senior--she is as straight as an arrow. Her health is admirable;

she has never had a day's illness."

"But she cannot walk; she absolutely cannot walk!" Madame Duburg

said, lifting up her hands in horror.

"She walked upwards of twelve miles with her father, yesterday,"

Mrs. Barclay said, pretending to misunderstand her sister-in-law's

meaning.

"I did not mean that," Madame Duburg said, impatiently, "but she

walks like a peasant girl. My faith, it is shocking to say, but she

walks like a boy. I should be desolated to see my daughter step out

in that way.

"Then, look at her manners. My word, she has no manners at all. The

other day when I was here, and Monsieur de Riviere with his sons

called, she was awkward and shy; yes, indeed, she was positively

awkward and shy. It is dreadful for me to have to say so,

sister-in-law, but it is true. No manners, no ease! Julie, and even

Justine, can receive visitors even as I could do, myself."

"Her manners are not formed yet, sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said,

quietly, "nor do I care that they should be. She is a young girl at

present, and I do not wish to see her a woman before her time. In

three years it will be time enough for her to mend her manners."

"But in three years, sister-in-law, you will be looking for a

husband for her."

"I shall be doing nothing of the sort," Mrs. Barclay said,

steadily. "In that, as in many other matters, I greatly prefer the

English ways. As you know, we give up our house in two years, and

go to England to reside. We have economized greatly, during the

seventeen years since our marriage. We can afford to live in

England, now.

"At sixteen, therefore, Milly will have good masters; and for two

years her education will be carried on, and her walk and manner

will, no doubt, improve. In England, fathers and mothers do not

arrange the marriage of their children; and Milly will have to do

as other girls do--that is--wait until someone falls in love with

her, and she falls in love with him. Then, if he is a proper

person, and has enough to keep her, they will be married."

Madame Duburg was too much shocked at the expression of these

sentiments to answer at once. She only sighed, shook her head, and

looked upwards.

"It is strange," she said at last, "to hear you, sister-in-law--a

Frenchwoman--speak so lightly of marriage. As if a young girl could

know, as well as her parents, who is a fit and proper person for

her to marry. Besides, the idea of a young girl falling in love,

before she marries, is shocking, quite shocking!"

"My dear sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said, "we have talked this

matter over before, and I have always stated my opinion, frankly. I

have been a good deal in England; and have seen, therefore, and

know the result of English marriages. I know also what French

marriages are; and no one, who does know the state of things in the

two countries, can hesitate for a moment in declaring that married

life in England is infinitely happier, in every respect, than it is

in France. The idea of telling your daughter that she is to marry a

man whom she has never seen--as we do in France--is, to my mind,

simply monstrous. Fortunately, I myself married for love; and I

have been happy, ever since. I intend Milly, when the time comes,

to do the same thing."

Before Madame Duburg had time to answer, the gentlemen joined them,

and the conversation turned upon the war. In a short time the three

girls came up.

"What a rosy little thing you are, Milly," her uncle said; "where

do you get your plump cheeks, and your bright color? I wish you

could give the receipt to Julie and Justine. Why, if you were to

blow very hard, I do think you would blow them both down."

"I am really surprised at you, Monsieur Duburg," his wife said,

angrily. "I am sure I do not wish Julie and Justine to have as much

color as their cousin. I consider it quite a misfortune for poor

Milly. It is so very commonplace. Poor child, she looks as if she

had been working at the vintage."

"That is right, madame; stand up for your own," and her husband,

who was accustomed to his wife's speeches, laughed. "But for all

that, commonplace or not commonplace, I should like to see some of

Milly's bright, healthy color in my girls' cheeks; and I should

like to see them walk as if they had forgotten, for a moment, their

tight boots and high heels."

His wife was about to make an angry reply, when the arrival of the

four boys--bearing in triumph the last basket of plums--changed the

conversation; and shortly afterwards, Madame Duburg remarking that

the evening was damp, and that she did not like Julie and Justine

to be out in it any later, the Du burgs took their leave.

Chapter 2: Terrible News.

The ten days succeeding the declaration of war were days of