Barbarians

ngers, took the glazed bowl of soup upon her lap and began to eat, slowly, casting long, unquiet

head. She set aside her bowl obediently, and, rising, brought him his cru

net before going to the door, glancing uneasily around at him while she ti

cking," staring at the door. "Pe

whispered, going to t

e leather dress of an a?ronaut. His glass mask was lifted like the visor of a tilting helmet, disclosing a red, weather-bea

involuntarily at his crutches and bandaged leg, cast a quick, penetrating glance right and left; then he spoke

?" he demand

n in[pg 80]stant, then a quick smi

this place may be." He laughed. "Of course I know I'm 'somewhere

d the door. The a?ronaut came forward, stood dripping a moment, then took t

out yonder somewhere. I tramped over these bally moors for hours

one house on these moors-thi

10th division, Cinque-P

n! What are you d

1] "W

province of Finistèr

"The dirty weather foxed us. Then that fellow out yon

you f

lled our landi

did you

n; the airman looked at Waylan

"My pilot's there now trying to patc

eri

lunteer,

gn Leg

rom the trench

well. I'll

82] abruptly that Wayland, looking at h

tiously. "I can get to the wind

ashamed of his caution whe

etrol," he said. "Evident

gh petrol to take

r is Lo

nd to

added, "but have you, by any chance, a bit of canvas-an old sail or hammock?-I don't need much. That's what I came for-and

never left him, but

" added the[pg 83] flight-lieut

you could have landed in a more deserted region if you had tried. There's a chateau in th

d the country; and there never were any people on these moors, excepting s

ou say there is nobody here-betw

vast shoal. Ships pass hull down. Once a d

he

t signal by relay to Lorient and have them send

upward. He laughed in a carefree way, as though something had suddenly eased his mind of perplexity-perhaps th

he said. "We're not in such a bad way. It might easily have been worse. Do y

embellished with ancient leather in faded blue and gold. It

t seated himself wit

: "There are, in my room, a number of artists' toile

imed the other. "What luck, now, to m

my father's old canvases and colours-everything of his.... I'll be glad to give them to a

fly in Breton to Marie-Josephine, t

es the flight-lieutenant, at table, was eating

and began to rip from it the dusty canvas. It was like tearing muscles from his own bones.

tart[pg 86] back across the Channel

of c

l to be had at both places for military purposes"-leisurely

ating, watched him

is his hammer and canvas stretcher, and the remainder of the nails he used f

u also are a pai

on the sleeve of his

there are only soldie

an odd place for an

ing his voice, although Marie-Josephine understood no English: "This old peasant woman wa

all

I grow up a good Yankee. I was at

ntinued to ea

Isle des Chouans. And no life-saving crew short of Ylva Light. So my father went out in his little American ca

uring his bread and me

and-Marie-Josephine. So I came here; and I write[pg 88] children's stories-that sort of thing.... It goes well enou

f talking to somebody in his native tongue

"-touching his leg. "When I was able to move I went to America. But the sea off the Eryx calle

is of its canvas, and had m

e to you," he said pleasantly,

faded eyes varied constantly; solicitude, perplexity, vague uneasiness, a recurrent glim[pg 89]mer of suspicion were succeeded al

in mixed Fren

nglish, Monsieur J

it, Marie-Jose

believe him t

o his accent is of an English uni

times instructed in the

... B

pect. Since earliest times they have done us harm in Finistère. T

, who had now satisfied[pg 90] his hunger and had already risen

. "I'll take these articles, if I may. It's v

lot come over

rie-Josephine. And as he hurriedly turned to go, the ancient carving on the high-backed chair caught him between the buttons of his

econd's frigh

said Wayland hoarsely. "

e he stood-steadied the automatic to shoot again, but held his fire, seeing it would not be necessary. Besides, he did not care to shoot the old w

Like the rest of your imbecile nation you poke your nose where it has no bus

ust the French!-he was quite ready for that old woman there on the floor who was holding the dead boy's head to her breast, muttering: "My darling! My child!-Oh

g