Forest City press. (Forest City, Potter County, D.T. [S.D.]) 1883-19??, 1914-06-17
CHAPTER VIII
THE RETREAT FROM MOSCOW


On a morning Francois was busy at
h new garden, digging beds for the
plants which the neighbors had eager
ly given them, and which, put in the
ground nOw, in h autumn, would rise
above them in brightness next spring.
He heard the dishes clatter as his
mother inside set the table for their
bare dinner; he smelled the soup cook
ing; he heard his mother sing as she
moved about; he lifted his head and
saw her through the open window, In
a bar of misty sunshine The world
seemed bright: surely when there Is
sunshine and the smell of good earth
and the smell. of good food, when ones
mother sings.-then the world Is bright.
Francois fell to whistling A lecole du
Roi, the old chanson which his mother
sang.
Into this contentment came, gallop-
ing g%loriously, hoof beats Of a horse.
The busy spade. several sizes too big,
stopped, and Francois leaned his chin
on the handle, the boy out of drawing
for the tool.
He stood, like a quaint little old work.
man, watching to see h general pass,
the general on that apotheosis of horse
flesh, Lisette. But the general stopped,
which was q heavenly surprise to Fran
co.'s each time that 1t happened.
Good morning, Marshal. How goes
IIle 1lSIlIlIlS /. 1Wc COlOG0l, YOUR ldILicI,
is in the field. is he not? Will you ask
the lieutenant colonel, your mother, If
I may speak to herr"
And the general, flinging titles about
him. sprang to the ground. A mar
shals to stay.inside," he shouted after
the boy. Council of war excluding
field officers above generals"
Mother, mother, the seigneur wish
es you. Francois whispered piercingly,
but Claire was already on the little
front walk by the new garden.
In a moment she stood at the gate in
her fresh calico dress, with a white
fichu over her head. and the big man
lowered and growled sentences friend
lily. Francois, Obedient In h cottage,
gazed earnestly from the window out Of
earshot, injurious, admiring. Long
years after he remembered the picture;
the little boy, whose life was being
settled. gazing from h humble house
at the old soldier who opened a IGOR for
that small life into large possibilities;
the first step for her boy or a lader
that mounted above her.
Then the general trotted with jing-
ling stirrup down the village street and
Claire STOOD with eyes following for a
moment. When she turned she was
wondered at the movement which
twisted her mouth for q second as she
looked at him. She put her arm around
his neck and kissed him, which was
pleasant but seemed impractical.
What did the seigneur say, my
mother?' he demanded, struggling
away. Ibid he say I might come to the
know what the general said, my mo-
ther?"
For he considered the seigneur his,
property; he was a bit injured at being
excluded from the council Of war, he,
the marshal.
ner he knew. He was to go each NOR
ming to the chateau and do work in
copying for the general. The general
was writing a book, nothing less than
a history Of Napoleon himself. The
boys great dreamy eyes glowed. What
luck to help in such a glory! How glad
he was that he wrote fastest and most
accurately of all the boys in school!
And the general was to pay him six
francs a week-it was dazzling! That
would make the hoard mount beyond
anything he had dared to hope. That
would be a real help to his mother and
to his father-''Is it not, my father?"
And the father said yes, proudly.
And neither mother nor father sug-
gested that there was even more to this
great future.
So the little lad, in his clean, patched
peasant clothes, went up to the chateau
the next morning serious and import
ant. and was given a table and a cor
ner in the library and words to COPY
which thrilled his soul. For the very
first was about the battle of Auster-
litz and the sunshine and the frozen
river: it seemed a fate big enough for
any life to sit there in the quiet book
lined and write out such things
direct from a man who had seen them.
N IL rn A <o h4 <In@ ~~.&n- -
and day after day Francois trod the
path down the village street past his
old home. which he resolutely looked
away from. and across the arch of the
old Roman bridge. From there he
glanced up always to see the first
broad view of the red castled roof with
the gray towers below, vague through
the trees. There were nuts by he
thousands in hes stately beech woods Of
the castled park, but Francois was too
busy a man to stop for nuts in the
mornings. Straight on he marched to
the little side door. and there Jean
Philippe Moison, the son Of Jean Phil
footman at the chateau and the wearer
Of very beautiful purple and gold
clothes. opened the door and let him
in.
Day after day. week after week he
labored with all his might at the piles
{ manuscript; when 1t was a question
OF battle. murder and sudden death he
was . happy boy. and also he some-
times made mistakes for Joy Of the
story: but when descriptions OF the
emperors policy came. and lists Of
provistons ana q things. then. ma
turally. a was At times tired. Yet
the work followed the bent OF his In
ciinAtion. for all that concerned war
ana soldteFs concerned this lad Of II
- 49, tt< ~. vds. - @T- .y-- 80 1850