THE HISTORY MAKERS.

Auckland Star, Volume XLVII, Issue 20, 24 January 1916, Page 10

THE HISTORY MAKERS.

(By F. A. SYMONS.) | Pkyiair. reining in his horse in the. square, looked about in indecision. His \ squadron, comfortably 'billeted ia . the buildings of an adjacent farm, neededl sris services no longer that night. I A chime of bells from the church beifry proclaimed six o'clock. The, cobbled streets, which,-half an :hour; earlier, had echoed to the'feet of horses, j •were now almost deserted. j Tie regimental interpreter, emerging! from the office of the maire. hurried , aoross the square. "Your billet, Captaan Playfair, is in , the big chateau,'', he said, pointing to an : avenue of poplars on his left. Playfair, following the indicated direction, "perceived a pretentious gateway I beyond which the long, straight avenue I led to a grey stone chateau. During] the previous months of constant change he had "'become acquainted with many billets. Sometimes a farmhouse, more often a gentleman's chateau had fallen to his lot. Whichever it was, he had generally found it comfortable. His personal wants were few. and gave him little thought. With a word of thanks to the interpreter, he touched his charger with his spurs and trotted down the avenue. The date "1615" and a co*t-of-arms over the gateway did nor escape his notice. A picruresque moat, a drawbridge, and j loopholed turrets completed the evidence of a history beyond the ordinary. The breath oi early summer was in the air. The glimpse of gardens beyond the moat was very soothing to -war-worn senses.' The whole atmosphere of the place was redolent of peace, of dignified retirement from a •world outside, which appealed to the soldier with subtle strength. He felt ■weary in body and soul. The loss of comrades and the constant strain of battle had lately . been particularly severe. The excitement of contest does not fail to claim a subsequent reaction. Dismounting at the drawbridge, Playfair looked for a groom. His man should have been there. The sound of British voices from within were heard upon the still air. It -was a French servant, however, who answered his call. The chateau, apparently, was still occupied by its owners, or their representatives. A few questions to the servant easily procured all required information. "Mada-me" and "Mademoiselle," -with a few retainers, occupied one wing of the bnilding. It was just three months since M. Le Capitaine de Lesseps. the son of Madame, and brother of Mademoiselle Marie Louise, had been killed near Soissons. Playfair's groom, clattering over the cobbles of the courtyard, cut short the loquacious Pierre just as his tongue was getting warmed to its work.

Playfair followed the sound of voices, and found himself in a stone-paved hall. On two sides were doors leading to reception rooms.". On. the far side was an open door, through which could "be seen a little bridge which crossed the moat and led to the gardens. Suddenly a door tjpened.-and Marjoribanks, Playfair's only remajning-subaltern,-stood on the threshold. "Yoir--a*-id_l~are in clover," cried the latter. "1 will bet dollars to "doughnuts that the «other squadrons aren't naif as—well -done-.-a* ■ "..his." -Laughing lightly lie 'sauntered across the hall and stared into the garden. "Have you seen Mademoiselle yet?" '"I Save" seen' nobody but a. French servant," replied Playfair. "Do you know where my room and my servant are? I wonder if a bath is obtainable?" "She disappeared into the garden a few minutes ago," murmured Marjoribanks. "I only caught a glimpse of iher. but I assure you, old chap, she iB well worth a second look." Playfair smiled indulgently, and looked about for Pierre.' Marjoribanks' idiosyncrasies in connection with the opposite sex were no secret. The latters laughing grey eyes, cheery voice, and debonnaire attitude so seldom* met with a rebuff that irresponsible love-making accompanied his leisure moments at every turn of the road. Pierre was not long absent. A bedroom above-stairs had been apportioned to each officer. Playfair's. with shuttered windows opening out upon the gardens, was spacious and airy. The furniture appeared to be as old as the room itself. The frescoed ceiling j spoke of pre-Pievolution days. Thel great canopied bed in an alcove must,! in its time, have lodged many strange I guests. Playfair smiled content. The pro-, raised repose of the place pleasld him more and more. The brigade, sadly de-| pleted by recent losses, had earned a Test. It would, therefore, probably remain in the same billets for some time, until reinforcements arrived. Private Stokes, returning from a prospecting tour in the region of thej kitchens, entered with a bucket of; water and his master's canvas bath.! He had long since ceased to travel i without them. This evening Stokes j set-mcl highly pleased 'vifch life. In; a new billet he was never sure that! he himself might n.it bave to cook. I His investigations below stairs had I apparently relieved his mind of many thin-rs. He jubilantly announced that Madame de Lesseps insisted upon entertaining her guests "in more than name, and had reserved a special dining-room for their use. Playfair. cast ing aside his muddy boot* and gaiters, paused in his toilet. Under the circumstances, the necessity for paying his formal respects to Madame was imperative. He sighed deeply. He had hoped for isolated peace. Tbe dinner, served by Pierre an hour later, was more than excellent. Through the open windows of the room drifted the perfume of roses, pinks and 6weet peas. An invisible curtain concealed the shadow of war. Marjoribanks leaned back in his chair, ■ refilled his wineglass, and meditatively Uew smoke through his nostrils. Presently he sat upright, staring fixedly at j a crayon drawing on the wall opposite. | "What is it now?" inquired Playfair., " Have you noticed that picture be- j hind you?" t Lighting his pipe, Playfair turned ! slowly in his chair and peered upwards. ] "H'm!" he murmured at last. "It is j certainly the uniform_ of an officer in a British dragoon regiment." 1 " Yes." agreed Majoribanks, with ex- I citement. " of a hundred years ago. How , did it get here? Who was he?" ! Old Pierre, opportunely shuffling in! with coffee and liqueurs, intercepted tho question. He did-not understand-tfic ' English words, but he saw the query jit j a glance. j "That. M le CapitaTne, is the portrait of Madame's grandfather," he explained, j "What!" exclaimed Marjoribanks., "English?" [ "Mais oui, Monsieur," cried the oldman glibly. "He was an English officer —in the cavalry."'

"But Madame de Lesseps is not English, is she?' asked Playfair. " No, M'sieur, not Madame—only her grandfather," asserted Pierre. " He came ;: here, married Madame's grandmother in . a great hurry, and" — shrugging his . shoulders, he nodded his head solemnly j • —" rode away again." He sighed deeply j as if the event had been of yesterday. "He never returned, M'sieur." "The brute!" exclaimed Marjoribanks, re-studying the drawing. "He doesn't i : look that sort, somehow." ''Ah, M'sieur, he. rode away with ms : regiment, and was killed in a duel in Parts," explained Pierre, turning on his ' heel. "Rode off with the regiment, did he?" said Playfair. "'Then it must have been after Waterloo." Turning to his subaltern, his eyes shone with suddenly aroused interest. " What a curious coincidence! Do you know, the self-same brigade that is here now—our brigade— marched through this country to Paris exactly one hundred years ago. Except for the fact that we are now friends instead of foes, history is repeating itself." "By Jo*re! how interesting!" cried Marjoribanks. " Yes, the year " 15 ' has made Englisn history many times." Marjoribanks, throwing away his cigarette, chuckled softly. "Are you —er —- suggesting that' Mademoiselle and I are to complete the historical repetition Vhe asked. j " I do not yet know Mademoiselle de Lesseps." said Playfair quietly. ** but i |am inclined to hope—for her sake, that history will be satisfied with the lengths , already gone." ■ "Well," grunted Marjoribanks. stretch- | ing his long legs and rising to his feet,! " I am off for a stroll in the garden, anyway. If history intervenes that *.s i. not my fault." i Idly wondering concerning this girl ■ with English blood in her veins, whose ! ancestor had never seen his child. Play-1 fair continued to sit alone and smoke, his j pipe. He was drinking in the peace of | his environment with every breath. Not i even the sound of distant guns could he heard. At last he rose, thoughtfully I knocked the ashes from his pipe, yawned j and mounted the stairs. I It was not yet eight o'clock when Cap ! tain Playfair left his bedroom next mom. i ing. and. pipe in mouth, descended to j explore the garden. ' As was not unexpected in war time, the ' paths showed signs of recent neglect,' hedges were uncut, and weeds flourished j There were, however, shrubberies which ' jin that early summer time were very j I beautiful. A moss-grown sundial stood j I near a 6ilent fountain, from the basin j 1 of which rose a marble nymph that must I have seen the passage of a hundred years at least. Suddenly Playfair halted, listening. A moment later, tbe flutter of a skirt and a I glimpse of a broad-brimmed hat behind a j hedge of yew, not a dozen yards away, held his eyes. His first impulse was to retreat. It j was not surprising that Madame or ' Mademoiselle should visit their garden , in the early morning. He bad not ex- j pected it-; that was all. - j His momentary hesitation decided the point, for Mademoiselle de. Lesseps, raising her head, met his staring Wes bent on her. j The girl's dark skin flushed and her eyes instinctively dropped again. Her I simple black" frock, relieved by the j merest touch of white lace at the. neck, accentuated, in the severity of.jts line-*., her lissom figure. I Playfair noticed these things uncon-1 sciously. He also in that moment made ' a full note of thick black lashes covering large brown eyes, and the curl of sen.': j tive lips. I "Mademoiselle de Lesseps. I presume?" i he said at length in halting French, slip- ! ping his pipe into bi6 pocket. "" lam afraid I have unintentionally intruded, j I did not cr —know that French ladies rose so early." Mademoiselle raised her eyes and broke into a smile. "Do English ladies sleep so late, then,. M'sieur?" she asked. " No, Mademoiselle." he answered. '■ somewhat at a loss. " They are rather j

early." *'Ah!" she exclaimed impulsively, "then perhaps early hours are my inheritance." The conversation had taken a turn so unexpected that Playfair knew not how to answer. Had he. in fact, not heard the story of the portrait of the young I dragoon officer, he would have utterly failed to comprehend. j The strangeness of her words seemed j suddenly to occur to the speaker herself j Her thoughts, stimulated by the advent lof these English officers, had been feeding lon her own history* for some hours. It I was. therefore, merely her uppermost ! thought which had found vent in words. Her impulsive lack of ceremony with a perfect stranger caused her to turn away her face and bite ber lip in embarrassment. ''I can guess what you mean quite ! well. Mademoiselle," said Playfair, I quietly. •'•' Your old servant related tbe | story of the picture in the dining-room.'" i With a little bow of ceremony he moved | a step nearer. "I am glad to think, ! Mademoiselle, that you do not forget I your English ancestry."' With a characteristic quick movement I she turned her eyes upon him and broke j into a smile. All trace of embarrassment \ had j-jisappeared. She held out her hand I " l'es. I am also glad," she said. "We i are now allies. M'sieur. le Capitaine. A ■ hundred years ago it was not so." i Acting cicerone as she walked j towards the chateau. MademoieelV ] paused at the fountain. Stepping into the basin she showed him a receptacle beneath the marble nymph and explained, with charming naivete, how in the old days her great-grand-mother and her English lover had used the cavity as a post box for letters. Playfair studied her clean-cut profile as she bent to thrust her hand into the niche, and wondered how young 6he really was. One moment she was. a woman of two and twenty, the nest but a child of sixteen. Fate and Majoribanks interposed to cut -short his reflections'. With the joyousness of morning in his face, the .latter sauntered boldly down tlie path, j claiming attention at every step. 1 Mademoiselle cut short a remark, ; glanced nervously at Playfair, and i stepped back out of the basin. I With a. qualm which he made.no atI tempt to explain to himself, Playfair ■ met the challenge in Marjoribanks' comI placent smile. A formal introduction was inevitable. j This tall, fair English youth standing over tie dainty figure in black presented a picture in contrasts not easily forgotten. It was indeed a picture destined to haunt Playfair for many a day. The law of contrasts has been responsible for much. 'Nevertheless, despite the younger man's ripple of comments and compliments, the girl, from that moment, ceased to talk, except in the merest •words of polite reply. Playfair, remarking the sudden change, wondered.

At the bridge Mademoiselle bowed demurely and ran into the chateau. Playfair was busy during the morning wit* 'his squadron. He had no time for private affairs. His subaltern, however, escaped early The former returned to dejeuner to find Marjoribanks smoking a cigarette with much self-satisfac-tion in the garden. It appeared that, having inquired of Pierre as to the habits of Madame, he had boldly presented himself in the salon, and -had there 6pent half an hour in Mademoiselle's society. Playfair, listening to the youth's joyous chatter, frowned; then inwardly called himself a fool. Why not? Wl*.v sltould not this handsome youngster make love to a girl of his own clasc if he wished ? (To be concluded to-morrow.)

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