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Updated: May 11, 2025
The general staff-officer of the Grays, who had tasted Marta's temper on his first call, when he returned the next morning did not enter unannounced. He rang the door-bell. "I have a message for you from General Westerling," he said to her.
Their words were acid-tipped needles knitting back and forth through Marta's brain. Was Lanny one of those black specks that peppered the slope? Was he? Was he? "Telephone and and see if Lanny is is killed!" she begged. She knew not how she uttered that monstrous word killed. But utter it she did in its naked terror.
He called to one of the staff guards who was pacing back and forth near by. "Take this man in charge and watch him sharply until General Westerling sends for him!" "And you will get justice from General Westerling!" It was Marta's voice. In approaching she had unavoidably overheard part of the conversation.
It was the natural destiny of a Galland woman. Yet she was sometimes worried about Marta's whimsies. She, too, could wonder what Marta would be like in five years. Does any man of power know whither the tendencies of his time are leading him, or the people whom he leads whither they are being led?
He must get rid of it and at once. Just as the certificates had proved to be dangerous, so might this lace. With this idea of his own peril possessing his mind his whole manner changed. The air of triumph shown in his step and bearing when he left Marta's door, due to his discovery of the fugitive and the terror his presence had inspired, was gone.
Galland asked in her usual pleasant tone. So far as she was concerned, the activity on the terrace did not exist. She seemed oblivious of the fact of war. "Yes, seven." "And did you hold your session?" "Yes." Marta's monosyllables absently answering the questions were expressive of her wonder at her mother. Most girls do not know their mothers much better than psychologists know their wives.
There was a perceptible shudder on Marta's part, an abrupt, tossing elevation of her head. She stared at the spot where Dellarme had lain in the garden. Dellarme's smile was back on her lips; it seemed graven there. Her eyes, which Westerling could not see, were leaping flames.
There he broke off. He did not accompany Mrs. Galland and Marta back to the house, but made his adieus at the garden-gate. "I'm sure that I shall never marry a soldier!" Marta burst out as she and her mother were ascending the steps. "No?" exclaimed Mrs. Galland with the rising inflection of a placid scepticism that would not be drawn into an argument. Another of Marta's explosions!
Nanina had only, therefore, to state that he knew her well, and that she had sat to him as a model in the days when he was learning the art of sculpture, to be immediately accepted as Marta's privileged assistant in the sick-room. The worst apprehensions felt by the doctor for the patient were soon realized. The fever flew to his brain.
The peculiar intimate fervor of the exclamation sprang from a Feller in an officer's uniform who could now move in Marta's world. Lanstron hurried on to explain the nature of the next attack. "If we repulse them we are going to throw in a ram of our own," he said. "We're going to take the aggressive for the moment. It is the only sure policy for successful defence." "Right! Now you're talking.
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