The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No. 990, December 17, 1898

ORDERED TO VERDUN.

"Mamma! Mother!" cried Roy, bursting into the sitting-room at Fontainebleau one wintry day. "Ma'am, what do you think?"

Roy had by this time quite recovered from his illness, though his face still bore evidence of the same in the shape of several small red pits, which had not yet had time to lose their prominence. His eyes sparkled with excitement. Mrs. Baron was on the sofa, resting after a walk with her husband, and Colonel Baron sat near, book in hand. Ivor, who happened to be in rear of them both, made a silencing gesture, but Roy was much too eager to attend, or to read his meaning.

"Only think, ma'am. Do but hear! All of us are ordered off from Fontainebleau to Verdun. Verdun! Why, that is where Mademoiselle de St. Roques lives. We shall see her again. And I shall like that, though I don't like going farther away from England. That is horrid. Everybody is saying what a shame it is! Must we go, do you think, Den? Verdun is a fortified town, they say, and we are to be in stricter keeping, all of us prisoners."

Roy liked to speak of himself as a prisoner, even while he chafed furiously against the restraints of imprisonment. He could not make up his mind to the indignity of being looked upon as too young to be worth detention. Thirteen years old!--with a Commission in His Majesty's Army already secured! Roy was very conscious of his prospective position. "I am quite as old already as lots of middies," he would declare, "and only two years younger than General Moore when he began to be a soldier."

"You should not startle your mother, Roy," the Colonel said gravely, as Mrs. Baron sat up, her eyes wide and terrified. "It is necessary sometimes to think of other people before yourself. You understand?"

"I'm sorry, sir; but is it true?" asked Roy, too much excited to be penitent for more than three seconds. "Are we really and truly going to Verdun?"

"It is true, unfortunately. Den and I were told this morning of the order at appel. But you should have waited until I spoke."

Roy began to see the nature of his blunder, too late for reticence.

"Then we really are going! I shall like to see Mademoiselle de St. Roques again, only I would rather, ever so much, be going home. Shall we do it by diligence, papa, or poste, or will you have a carriage? Only four of us, and they say we may do it any way we like."

Colonel Baron made up his mind to take the bull by the horns there and then. He would have preferred to tell his wife quietly, with no spectators, but since Roy had hurried matters on, he felt that it was best to speak out at once.

"I shall probably have a carriage for your mother and Denham and myself, Roy," he said slowly.

"And me!"

Colonel Baron was silent, with a silence which spoke more plainly to his wife than to Roy. Mrs. Baron knew what it meant, while Roy merely supposed his own name to have been inadvertently left out.

"What does all this mean, Roy?" his mother was asking, in a low voice. "Tell me."

"Why, mamma, I suppose old Nap wants to have us all more out of the way. Perhaps he thinks Nelson will come and set us free some day." Roy laughed. "Lots of détenus and prisoners are ordered off to Verdun, from here and other places too. And everybody says it is such a tremendous shame, this cold weather? Why couldn't they settle things sooner? It's horrid of him."

Mrs. Baron stood up, and with her slow graceful step she moved across to Roy. Colonel Baron waited silently. He knew that in her mind, as in his, was the promise she had given months before, that if they should have to go farther away from England, she would then consent to Roy's immediate return home. The dread of this had been on her all through the autumn, and now abruptly the blow had fallen.

Mrs. Baron would not draw back from her word--Colonel Baron knew this--but neither would she try to hide what the keeping of it would cost her. The détenus had pretty well ceased to hope for any speedy release from their captivity, and she could not but be aware that a parting from her boy at this juncture might mean long separation. If Mrs. Baron idolised her husband, she idolised her son only one degree less. It was hard to be away from Molly, but in that respect Colonel Baron was the greater sufferer of the two, since he had always especially doted on his little girl. To send Roy away would be to Mrs. Baron simply heart-breaking. Yet she felt that it would have to be. She had promised, and Colonel Baron would not let her off her promise.

She laid one slender hand on either of the boy's shoulders, looking into his face with a fixed wistful gaze, while tears gathered heavily in her eyes. Roy was puzzled.

"Why, ma'am, you don't mind it so much as all that! I would not cry for old Napoleon!"--forgetting a certain little past scene in an upstairs Paris bedroom. "And I'm tired of Fontainebleau. Aren't you? I think I sha'n't mind a new place. I wonder what Verdun is like. Please don't cry, mamma," entreated Roy, holding himself very upright.

"My dear Harriette!" remonstrated the Colonel.

He came close, and she turned from Roy to lean against him, breaking into bitter sobs.

"My dear heart, you must think of the boy--not of ourselves. Think how much better for him to be at school in England. But for Den, this life would be ruination for him." For Ivor, after acting as Roy's nurse, had made himself tutor and guardian and companion to the lad; and Roy by this time was ready to maintain against a world in arms that his equal for either lessons or play did not exist on earth. It had been, indeed, Ivor's chief consolation in captivity to look after Roy, and the two were warmly attached.

"How soon?" Mrs. Baron tried to ask, her voice half strangled with tears.

"In a few days. Not directly. There is time for arrangements. We must find an escort for him, if possible."

"Am I to go home?" Roy inquired, as the meaning of his father's words and his mother's distress dawned upon him. "Will Napoleon let me?"

An exchange of glances took place between the gentlemen.

"I hope so," Colonel Baron replied cheerfully. "You are not a détenu, Roy, and there is no reason why any difficulty should be made. I must apply at once for a passport." Colonel Baron's mind misgave him as he spoke, for he had heard lately of more than one instance in which such an application for a passport had proved a failure. Although English ladies and boys under eighteen were not avowedly prisoners, yet every possible hindrance was beginning to be placed in the way of the return of anyone to England. This made him only the more desirous not to put off any longer getting Roy across the Channel.

Roy stood thinking.

"And I shall see Molly again," he observed. "I shall like that. It does seem an awful long while since I left her. Shall I go to school at once, sir, and shall I spend my holidays in Bath till you and mamma come back?"

Mrs. Baron hid her face.

"Yes, of course. I see--I ought to go," pursued Roy. "It wouldn't do for me to stop on here. In two years I've got to be a soldier, and then Napoleon would think he had a right to keep me altogether. That would stop me from fighting, and I should have to give my parole, I suppose, and to be a regular prisoner. Yes; I'd much better be off. How soon, I wonder? And I'll take letters home. It will be jolly to see Molly again."

Roy was making matters worse, and Ivor stood up, throwing aside his book.

"Come!" he said shortly, with an imperative sign, and Roy followed, not knowing why. Outside the house Ivor said, "You must be more careful. You have to think of your mother's feelings."

Roy looked up in surprise.

"Did I say something wrong? Why, what was it?"

"Could you not see? She is breaking her heart at the thought of losing you. Just imagine what it will be to her, not to have her boy any longer. Don't let her think you are pleased to go."

"But I'm not glad to leave her--of course not. I'm only glad to go to England, and to see Molly, and to be able to fight. I should think she understood."

A curious expression crossed the other's face. "You can hardly expect her to want you to fight. That's not the way with mothers, you know. The last thing she would wish would be for you to hold back, but still, she will be unhappy. And, Roy, don't you see yet that a brave man has to be kind as well as brave, especially where women are concerned? You can't possibly know what the parting will be to her, but still, you can manage to be kind."

Roy showed signs of being impressed. He knew Denham to be so gallant a soldier that words of this sort coming from him had especial weight. Neither spoke again directly. Roy walked fast, doing his best as usual to match Ivor's long stride, though compelled now and then to make a droll little extra step, if he would not be left behind. His face had taken a look of supreme seriousness.