The Châtelaine of Lysboisée

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-4761b33bb1814a30ad37c9b79ae763cf
# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
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# language: en
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The sun was setting as a regiment of Zouaves marched across the plateau. The afterglow still lit the sky when the leading files turned off to the right along a rough track that soon dropped into a deep ravine carved by one of the small tributaries of the Oise. Near the edge, the slopes were bare but for a few stiff juniper bushes; lower down they were dark with dense woods and thorns. The road plunged into the tunnel of overhanging branches, leaving barely a gap for the twilight sky. It reached the valley floor and followed the stream to the right in a gentle descent, the brook rushing through silver birches, brimming over long rank grass and splashing over boulders in tiny cascades. Except for the steady tramp of troops and the occasional squawk of a frightened jay, the valley was silent.

The colonel rode ahead on a magnificent black horse. In profile his face was remarkable—virile, powerful, and intellectual. When he turned full face, it fascinated: instead of the steel-grey eyes one expected under those level brows, there were full brown orbs, romantic as an Arab's. He raised his hand as the column neared a pair of high ornamental iron gates set in a stone arch with a carved crest. "Halt!"

Behind him, there was a clatter of equipment as the long column broke ranks and settled into seated groups by the roadside, with rifles piled. The advance guard halted too. The colonel walked his horse to the gates. The chain that had held them shut hung broken from one of the iron scrolls—the gates had been forced. He pressed his horse through the gap and trotted down a long avenue of ancient poplars. His adjutant cantered up, following the wave of his hand.

Beyond a clearing with a lawn and a Cupid-crowned fountain stood a long white stone mansion, picturesque but not remarkable in its seventeenth-century architecture. Every window was shuttered. He dismounted and, stiff from long hours in the saddle, climbed the broad curving steps to the main entrance.

Only at his second summons did the harsh bell get a response. One great door opened a crack, held by a chain, and a woman's voice asked, "Who is it?"

"French officers, madame. Is the lady of the house at home?"

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-4761b33bb1814a30ad37c9b79ae763cf
# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
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"I cannot see you," the voice said, evading the question.

The colonel moved so he could be seen through the gap. "Attendez!" said the voice. The door closed.

After a minute or two in the chill, misty air, the door opened fully. "Entrez, monsieur!"

He found himself in a large lofty hall, dimly lit by the candle held by a little bent old woman. "This way, monsieur," she said, leading him through salon after salon. In the flickering light he could just see they were richly furnished. At last she stopped and tapped at a closed door.

He entered a room of costly, tasteful comfort, lit by the warm soft glow of a shaded pedestal lamp. Pine logs burned on the hearth of a high stone fireplace. A grand piano stood to one side. A great dog stretched before the fire growled sullenly. He was barely conscious of these details—his eyes were held by the woman who rose from an armchair by the fire.

She was tall, gowned simply in a long soft pale green robe, the lamplight shimmering on the waves of her auburn hair as she moved. Not vulgarly beautiful—her mouth was large, though well-cut—her oval ivory-white face looked into his. She was no longer very young, at least thirty, yet her charm was heightened by a hint of incomplete maturity. Those quiet eyes still looked at life with a questioning wonder, ready for new experience. They met his now, and a personality leapt into them, speaking to him before a word was said. He noticed she wore no jewelry as he bowed courteously, fez in hand.

"Madame, I am the colonel of the --th Regiment of Zouaves. A necessity, disagreeable to you, forces me to ask your hospitality for my officers and men."

"For tonight only?" Her voice was deep and rich.

"Perhaps for several nights, madame."

"How many are you?"

"Eleven hundred men and twenty officers."

"A strong battalion!"

"Three battalions, madame," he corrected gently.

The expression in her eyes, which had never left his, changed slightly. The wordless message between them was interrupted. "Ah," she said sympathetically, "you come from the battle? From the Marne?"

"Yes, madame. We were on the Ourcq, and then on the Aisne."

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-4761b33bb1814a30ad37c9b79ae763cf
# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
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# language: en
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Her face lit up. "But certainly! Who could refuse anything to the brave men who have saved France! Forgive my cool welcome, monsieur le colonel. We have had other guests—less welcome." The colonel thought of the broken chain. "Marie!" she called to the old woman, who stood by the door shading the candle, incongruous in this luxurious room. "Put the big dining room at the officers' disposal, and the kitchen too." She turned back to him. "I can offer only ten bedrooms for your officers, but I'm sure they can arrange. The stables are large, there are three barns and an old mill, and a loft at the top of the house. I hope you'll find room for all your men. There's plenty of straw in the barns; use it freely. Consider the house entirely at your disposal." And all the while her eyes talked to him wordlessly, and his—though he didn't know it—replied.

"You are too kind, madame!"

"It's a happy privilege, monsieur le colonel."

He felt strangely unwilling to leave, though many duties awaited. His apology seemed directed as much to his own inner self as to her. "A thousand thanks, madame! You must excuse me if I withdraw? My men are very tired. Once more, my deepest gratitude, madame—?"

She answered his unspoken question with a smile that lit her face. "La comtesse de Beaupré et Lysboisée."

He bowed. "Le colonel Victor de Montévrault."

She held out a slender hand. Almost involuntarily, he raised it to his lips as he took it. She did not stir. He did not see her face.

"Au revoir, madame, and all my thanks!"

"Au revoir, monsieur," she answered in her rich voice.

He felt her eyes on him as he turned to follow Marie through the dark rooms.

Soon the château and its grounds were thronged with the soldiers of three battalions settling in for the night. Cooking fires glowed in the yard between stables and barns.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-4761b33bb1814a30ad37c9b79ae763cf
# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
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But not all rested. In a small room, the colonel and his three battalion commanders—only one was a major—studied a large map, posting sentries, outposts, and grand'gardes. He placed them along the opposite rim of the ravine, on the high open ground ahead, and down the valley road. He stressed the need for vigilance. French cavalry should be ahead, but these were days of shifting front, and anything was possible.

Later, the colonel sat at the head of the long lamp-lit table in the great dining room. From the walls, dim portraits looked down on the backs of chattering Frenchmen in exotic Oriental uniforms. They talked little of the bitter, terrible but finally victorious days they had somehow survived. They discussed the future, confident in the glow of recent victory, making bold plans with cruets and knives, talking of envelopment and dashing advances that would throw the Boche into the Ardennes. The colonel took no part. He sat silently sipping the wine their hostess had provided in abundance, his large brown eyes soft, his face relaxed, thinking perhaps of something other than war.

An orderly touched his shoulder. "Pardon, mon colonel, the housekeeper wishes to speak to you."

He turned to see old Marie at the door. "Madame presents her compliments, m'sieu le colonel, and would be honored if you would take coffee with her."

The colonel rose. "Bonsoir et bonne nuit, messieurs!"

"Bonsoir, mon colonel," came the chorus. "Bonne nuit."

In her cozy salon, the châtelaine sat by the fire, the glow playing over her features. A silver coffee service steamed on a little table. As he entered, she looked up with a smile, inviting him to the armchair opposite. The great dog raised his head and wagged his tail in welcome.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-4761b33bb1814a30ad37c9b79ae763cf
# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
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# chapter_page: 5
# language: en
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Soon they talked with the ease of old friends. Wartime, especially the kaleidoscopic early days, ripens acquaintance quickly; no one could know what tomorrow might bring, so they seized the moment. The colonel, with his quiet confidence and alert mind, and the countess, a polished woman of the world yet something more—a being of exquisite intuition—would have been natural partners wherever they met. Each fascinated the other. He, with his massive head, soft glowing eyes set in a stern face, and the romantic Zouave uniform, was as striking as her slender figure, elegant gown, and auburn hair. Her eloquent eyes were long-lashed, downcast toward the fire. He asked why she stayed in the danger zone. She turned to him.

"This is my home—my family's home, the château of Lysboisée. Since my husband died three years ago, I've lived here much of the year. I've always loved it. I grew up in this dark ravine, among the birches and water meadows. My life—which I've never shared with anyone—is here. I belong to this countryside; the peasants know and love me. When war came, I felt I must be among them, that I couldn't leave my house unprotected. So I hurried here when everyone else was fleeing. But the servants had gone. Only old Marie stayed, and we've lived here through all these black weeks, with only Roland," she patted the dog, "to protect us. German cavalry have visited, but they never harmed us. Perhaps they saw I wasn't afraid. Now people are returning home."

He nodded, telling her how the peasants of the Aisne valley crept back to their farms and worked their fields close behind the trenches, indifferent to shrapnel and heavy shells.

"Yes," she murmured, gazing into the fire, "amid so much death, the flame of life burns ever higher—it will not, must not be extinguished."

There was a pause as the colonel sipped his coffee. Then, lightly, like a dancer skipping from a serious pose she'd stumbled into by accident, she spoke of Paris before the war—morning rides in the Bois, restaurants, dinner parties, concerts, and plays. She might hint at mutual acquaintances. The colonel listened, saying little, seeing her surrounded by admirers though she never mentioned them.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-4761b33bb1814a30ad37c9b79ae763cf
# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
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"And madame," she asked innocently, "does she live in Paris?"

"Madame—?" He was clearly bewildered.

"You're not married, then?"

"No, madame."

"But surely you have friends in Paris? A man like you—" She stopped, smiling. "I'm being indiscreet."

"Madame," he said quietly, "I've spent over twenty years in Africa. The Paris I knew no longer exists."

She looked at him fully. His freshness seemed to strike her; an involuntary blush spread across her face. She hid it by drawing back from the fire. "Tell me about Africa," she commanded.

He spoke first of its harshness, a place that buried many of France's finest, so far from all that makes life worth living. But as he warmed to the subject, she saw his love for that parched land of vast distances, where the pitiless sun either consumes the soul or forges it into intense otherworldly fervor. He described endless marches over glowing sands, forgotten skirmishes where a wound was worse than death, fierce raids, lonely desert nights under a miracle of stars, watching with finger on trigger for the gleam of a creeping robe. She sensed he carefully avoided any mention of women in his stories, yet with sure instinct she felt there had been someone in his past. How far back?

"You have suffered much," she said, her deep voice full of sympathy.

"Who hasn't suffered if they've lived?" he answered.

Another pause, broken only by the breathing of the sleeping dog.

"Will you play something?" he asked suddenly, looking at the piano. "I've had so few chances to hear music—"

She rose without a word and sat at the piano. She played not with showy brilliance or cold precision, but as if the notes re-echoed an intimate music of her soul. She led him through the grave emotion of a Chopin nocturne, then, with an enigmatic change, into the light, delicate passion of a Chaminade, leaving a smiling question in the air. A moment later, in a rich contralto, she sang a chanson of old France—simple, exquisite, full of love and its tragedy. He came to stand over her, feeling her presence so close that a thrill passed into her voice. When she finished, she stood up quickly; his glowing eyes were wet with tears.

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# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
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"Bonsoir, monsieur," she said abruptly, stretching out her hand, her voice unlike itself.

He took her hand and held it tightly, breathing deeply. "Madame," he said in a low, intense voice, "you are divine!"

She tried to pull away. "Please!" she said almost tearfully, turning her face. "We only met today."

"And tomorrow? Who knows?"

"No, no, no!" she cried, wrenching her hand free. "Bonsoir, monsieur!" She ran across the room like a startled deer, leaned against the stone fireplace, hiding her face. He saw her shoulders heave.

He followed, stood irresolute. She turned on him. "Oh, isn't there enough suffering in the world," she cried, "without—?"

"Without love?" He advanced with open arms, placed his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened, pushing him away. "Without love? If to love is to suffer, then to love is also to live. I have waited so long to live! I've waited for you, my twin soul! We met only today? What if we have only today to live—"

She leaned back, away from him, yet held in his grasp. "Oh, no, no, no! I mustn't listen!" Her chest heaved; her eyes closed. She crumpled suddenly into his arms.

* * *

The next morning, mounted on a fine chestnut mare, a Zouave holding her bridle, she waited in the courtyard. She had offered her knowledge of the area, and he'd gladly accepted. He came on his black horse, deep in talk with a battalion commander. She acknowledged his salute, and they rode out together.

The ravine's steep wall rose behind the château. A narrow, stepped path zigzagged up through the woods. They rode side by side, bending low to avoid branches, silent with their own thoughts. She glanced at him: a soldier's face, not a lover's. He was clearly pondering some problem. She sighed. The solitude, the arching woods, the two horses touching noses, stirred something primitive in her. But she stayed quiet.

Finally, as if she'd called him, he turned. "You have bad news, mon ami?" she asked.

"Orders that place a heavy burden on me," he said.

They fell silent again as they climbed. Just below the summit the undergrowth stopped; they rode over open grass to a rough cutting that crossed the crest.

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# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
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A little beyond, on the open down, a grand'garde—a weak company of Zouaves—dug shelter trenches. The colonel spoke with the officer, then rode on.

"Would you take me to the highest point, chère amie?" he asked. She nodded and led him at an easy canter. She reined in on a knoll with a wide horizon. Far to the south and east were the dark masses of the Forêt de Laigue, from beyond which came a distant rumble of artillery. He searched the panorama through narrowed eyes. She pointed out places and directions. He looked back, saw the ravine widening to the southeast until it joined another valley. His face hardened.

"Let's go back, chère amie," he said. "As quickly as possible."

At a swift gallop, her skirts streaming, they returned to the grand'garde. The officer came up. The colonel took out his notebook. "Do you have any spades or farm tools, madame?" he asked. She said yes. He wrote, tore out the page, folded it, and gave it to the officer. "Deliver this to Commandant Legros at the château. No delay."

Then he turned his horse and, with her beside him, rode slowly along the edge of the ravine. She watched his face anxiously.

He stopped in a hollow, out of sight of the guard. He turned to her, and her heart beat faster at the tenderness in his eyes.

"Pauline," he said gravely, putting his hand on her arm, "you must not stay here. Listen. The regiment on our left extends to the head of the ravine. My orders this morning left me to choose which side to place my trenches. We won't advance further. We're only a screen, but a screen must not be endangered. I must put my trenches on the other side. We will almost certainly be attacked—I don't know when, nothing is certain. But you'd be in danger. You must leave this afternoon, go back to Amiens, to Paris."

She suppressed a quick reply, smiled at him. "Mon ami, I was almost unfair to you—"

"You will go?"

She shook her head. "No, cher ami, I stay with you."

"But if we're attacked and forced back across the ravine? You can't remain in the trenches."

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# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
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# language: en
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"No, I'll stay in my house until you advance again." She gave him a teasing, appealing look. "Would I be something worth fighting for?" She hushed his protests. "No, cher ami, I know all your arguments; they're useless. What did you say last night? 'What if we have only today to live?'" Her voice dropped, her eyes lowered. "Cher ami, I don't want a moment that belongs to your duty—but those others, those precious little instants, won't you take me in them? So little time is ours, cher!"

The horses had drawn close. He put his arm around her waist. She leaned back, face upturned, and their eyes met in a long, deep gaze. Their lips met. The flame of life burned high. Their horses' ears twitched at a louder roar of distant guns.

They rode home slowly by a longer, easier path she showed him.

That day, soldiers not on outpost duty dug new trenches along the high western edge of the ravine—a long, long line of men. Ranges were set, ammunition and supplies carried up. The colonel labored ceaselessly, calm and decisive. She stayed nearby, ready to help with local knowledge, disappearing when she might be in the way, pouring her spirit into his work. He personally checked every detail, the machine gun placements, the trenches. In the afternoon he visited the neighboring commander and got a promise of artillery support.

But he was uneasy. Patrols found no contact with the cavalry. The distant guns grew nearer. A strange burst of fire came from miles to the right. As night fell, he ordered most of his force into the new trenches, leaving outposts above and below. Only one company stayed near the château.

That evening he sat again in her salon. All was quiet. The dog snored before the fire. At his request she played, softly, dreamily, her head bowed, making the silence more musical.

Suddenly a shot rang out along the valley; then another and another, followed by a burst of rapid, irregular fire that stretched on. The colonel rushed to the window, threw it open, listened. The outposts below were being driven in.

His hostess had risen, pale. A loud knock; she opened the door to a breathless Zouave who handed a message.

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# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
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It was from the commander of the grand'garde: his advanced posts were in contact with the enemy and falling back. For a moment the colonel stood listening, judging which attack was heavier. He wrote an order and sent the man off. She held out his fez and revolver. One wild embrace, and he dashed out into the night.

In the courtyard, the reserve company waited. He gave quick orders; they set off in fours into the darkness to form a screen across the valley. The rifle fire swelled, echoing, punctuated by the grand'garde's deliberate volleys. He looked at the other wall—good, his orders were obeyed: that line lay silent and dark, ready.

Above, one fierce paroxysm, then the firing moved lower. He saw flashes in the trees; wounded men limped past. A bullet cracked close. He turned, suddenly aware she was at his side, her pale dress luminous, the dog growling before her.

"Pauline!" His voice was almost a shriek. "Pauline! For God's sake, come with me, now—there's still time! I can't leave you!"

She grasped his hand as a friend would. "No, cher—I stay—as a pledge for your triumphant return!"

The last men ran by; bullets whined. "I beg you! There may be fierce fighting!"

"No, mon ami. I stay." Her voice was decided. "I have cellars." She pressed his hand, then quickly threw herself into his arms, holding him for a second. He released her.

"Go, then," he said, voice trembling, "quickly. God be with you!"

"And with you, my beloved! Take the dog with you—he'll tell me where you are." She bent, whispered to the animal, pointed at the colonel. Heavy volleys burst from the trees. She vanished inside.

The dog at his heels, the colonel raced after his men. They turned to fire at the dark wood. Soon they were scrambling up a steep path on the far side. Half an hour later, the Germans attacked the waiting trenches and were thrown back with heavy losses.

* * *

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-4761b33bb1814a30ad37c9b79ae763cf
# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
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At dawn, the colonel looked out from his position. The enemy, abandoning the valley and its dead, had dug in along the opposite rim. Snipers exchanged shots; both sides feverishly strengthened their lines. No artillery yet, but shells could come at any moment. To his right, another battalion linked up; to the left, near the head of the ravine, a fierce fight raged, back and forth. Distant gunfire spread. The battle was growing. The colonel had orders to hold his ground at all costs. This thin line protected two armies—perhaps the fate of France.

Through his glasses, he could see the white château among the dark trees, a wisp of smoke from one chimney showing she was safe. A patrol had failed to reach it, as the enemy commanded all approaches. But the château appeared unoccupied. He wondered about the dog. Just then, the animal bounded along the trench and nosed his leg; a note was tied to its collar.

Reading it, all the passion of his ascetic years surged up. He saw her face, heard her voice. She wrote a prose poem of love—longing, tenderness, anxiety, pride, even a touch of doubt. It revealed her as her speech never had. She, too, had waited. Phrases burned into him: "The burning sacrament of your kiss," "linked in an instant for eternity." In a whirl, he tore out a page, wrote an equally fervent reply, tied it to the dog's collar, and sent him off.

An artillery observer arrived and took professional interest in the château, seemingly eager to make it a target. The colonel explained it was occupied by a loyal Frenchwoman.

All day, while he worked, his soul yearned toward her. He could have risked his life for a visit, but his duty was sacred; his love and duty merged at the peak of his life. He dreamed of sneaking down at dark.

But that night, three German searchlights blazed, and shrapnel burst over his trenches. A wild attack surged from the woods, struck the parapet, and fell back under devastating fire and shells from the supporting battery.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-4761b33bb1814a30ad37c9b79ae763cf
# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
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# chapter_page: 12
# language: en
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Below, in the château, the countess watched from a high window, his letter pressed to her breast. The flashes from his trenches paled the stars; the roar of battle was a tribute to his strength. She exulted when the attack withered and withdrew past the house.

She wrote another letter, a paean of victorious love, then threw herself across the table in a storm of tears. Finally she slept with her cheek on the paper.

In the morning, she sent the dog again. She waited impatiently; he returned with a passionate answer, which begged her to take no risks. During the day, fighting resumed near the ravine head. In the afternoon, she wrote once more and received his reply. She was strangely happy. He was holding firm. No one came to the château.

At night she watched again.

On the third day, she wrote again and received his answer. The valley lay under an uneasy peace. On an impulse, she went out to see if she could glimpse his position—then, fearing she'd been foolish, hurried inside.

As the afternoon dimmed, a loud, commanding knock echoed through the house. Her heart seemed to stop. So soon! The threat paralyzed her. She could barely tell Marie to answer.

A German officer entered with soldiers. He saluted stiffly: "Madame, I regret to say you must leave this house at once."

She stood tense. "And if I refuse?"

"Then I must arrest you as a suspect."

The dog sprang forward with a growl. The German stood calm. "Schönes Tier!" he murmured. "Secure it," he ordered. A soldier slipped a cord through its collar. The dog growled but obeyed when she made no move.

"You will at least allow me time to pack a few things?" she asked, her voice tight.

"A little time, madame."

She ran from the room, hearing the dog whimper as it was led away. In the hall, old Marie clutched her arm. "Madame! What is happening?"

"I'm being arrested. They're letting me get my clothes."

Marie's eyes widened. "The colonel! Write him a note—I'll get it to him!"

They exchanged a look. In a flash, the countess scribbled "They are taking me. P." and gave it to Marie. "Are you sure?" she asked, seeking forgiveness.

"Chère dame!" was all the old woman said, and hurried off.

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# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
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# chapter_page: 13
# language: en
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The countess ran upstairs, her mind repeating "Delay, delay, delay."

Below, the officer gave orders, sent the dog to the yard, and looked around the empty room. He grew impatient. A quarter hour passed; then a sharp burst of fire from the German trenches above him, quickly silenced. He wondered what it meant. Just then he noticed a bit of folded paper on the floor under the piano. He picked it up: it was the colonel's passionate letter that had fallen from her dress. He read it, a gleam in his eyes. "So! meine Gräfin!" He realized it was from a commander in the opposite trenches, full of love and concern. A plan formed. Smiling, he wrote a message and sent it off.

When the countess returned, ready to leave, he was seated at the piano, playing softly. He rose with a polite bow. "Madame, this seems an interesting house. Would you do me the honor of showing me around?"

She stared, stunned—her prayers seemed answered. If she could delay him... "If you wish, monsieur." She tried not to show her hope, but a quick glance at the floor betrayed her search for the letter.

He took the note from his pocket. "I believe you dropped this," he said, handing it back.

She took it, wondering if he had read it. His face gave nothing away.

They toured the rooms, the officer examining her belongings with genuine appreciation, lingering over each piece. She willingly lingered too, her heart pounding, listening for the sounds of rescue. Every minute she delayed might bring her lover. They were deep in the house when a shell whistled overhead and crashed into the courtyard.

* * *

By a stroke of luck, the colonel was nearby when old Marie scrambled over the parapet, bullets whizzing around her. She collapsed into his arms, gasping, and handed him the note. He read it and stood still, his mind racing. To attack would be madness—the enemy held the high ground. But he could not leave her. He looked at the trench wall, thinking. Then he called his commanders and the artillery officer.

He gave orders: the trenches would support an attack, but it would be a ruse.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-4761b33bb1814a30ad37c9b79ae763cf
# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# book_page: 14 / 15
# chapter_page: 14
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

He had the artillery fire shells around the château, not to destroy it but to force the Germans to evacuate her to safety. He wanted to make the enemy think they must leave the château, and in the confusion, she'd get away.

But as the shells fell, the old woman misunderstood. She thought he was abandoning her mistress. She sprang up, screaming: "Soldiers! To the rescue! They are taking your lady! Your colonel—her lover—he abandons her! Cowards!"

The men stirred, knowing the countess and her kindness. But the colonel stood firm. He ordered her to be silent, and she collapsed in tears.

The officer watched and reported: "Infantry slipping into the ravine, about two hundred men." The colonel gave the order to the artillery, to fire just short of the château. Shells rained down around it. He hoped to scatter the Germans and give her a chance.

But the enemy had anticipated this. When the first shells fell, they dragged the countess out and up the far slope. The colonel saw a white figure moving on the lip; he realized his mistake too late. He tried to stop his own troops' charge, but the rifles erupted in a volley, and the battery fired rapid.

The valley was swept with fire. Caught between the barrage and the German trenches, the attackers were slaughtered. The countess's face appeared to him in a vision, anguished. When the firing died, the ravine lay silent under a pall of smoke.

The colonel, face rigid, walked along the trench. Suddenly the dog, trailing a cord, scrambled over the parapet and dashed to him, then turned and bounded back toward the ravine. The dog was covered in blood. Old Marie shrieked: "Murderer!" and fainted.

The colonel stared as the dog disappeared down the slope, and he understood, at last, the full cost of duty.

* * *

Three months later, on a bitter December day, the colonel returned to his quarters in a ruined farmhouse. The mail was being distributed. At the sight of the top envelope, he froze. With trembling fingers, he opened it and read:

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-4761b33bb1814a30ad37c9b79ae763cf
# book_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# chapter_id: 1-the-chatelaine-of-lysboisee
# chapter_title: The Châtelaine of Lysboisée
# book_page: 15 / 15
# chapter_page: 15
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

"My hero! I understood! I understood! Oh, didn't you know? How great you are—more than a man! All these weary months of imprisonment, trial, release, and travel, I have hungered to tell you. France is dearer to me now because you ennobled me with your sacrifice. Beloved—"

The colonel hurried inside to read alone, so no one would see his tears.