That bird knew the rain would stop--knew it in his dusty feathers,
but he would not kindle hope. He knew there was a yellow spring at
hand--but he left her to mourn for the white lustre of Chantilly.
Vile bird!... She blew out the candle that he might wink no more.
"To-morrow I will buy a padlock and a key. If among these gilt mirrors I
can have no other charm, I will have solitude!" And having hung a
thought, a plan, a hope before her in the future, she slept till day
broke--the second day in Charleville.
* * * * *
She woke, a mixture of courage and philosophy.
"I can stand anything, and beyond a certain limit misfortune makes me
laugh. But there's no reason why I should stand this!" The key and
padlock idea was rejected as a compromise with happiness.
"No, no, let us see if we can get something better to lock up than that
bird." He looked uncommonly dead by daylight.
"I would rather lock up an empty room, and leave it pure when I must
leave it!"
Dressing, she went quickly down the street to the Bureau de la Place.
The clerks and secretaries nodded and smiled at each other, and bent
their heads over their typewriters when she looked at them.
"Can I see the billeting lieutenant?"
"He is not here."
"I saw him enter."
"We will go and see...."
She drummed upon the table with her fingers and the clerks and
secretaries winked and nodded more meaningly than ever.
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