She, so
dainty, so incapable in her own home of the slightest physical effort,
was learning the most skilful ways of lifting a human body from the
ground and carrying it on her back. Who knew but that she might render
this very service some day on the battlefield! She was ready for the
greatest risks, with the ignorant audacity of women impelled by flashes
of heroism. All her admiration was for the English army nurses, slender
women of nervous vigor whose photographs were appearing in the papers,
wearing pantaloons, riding boots and white helmets.
Julio listened to her with astonishment. Was this woman really
Marguerite? . . . War was obliterating all her winning vanities. She was
no longer fluttering about in bird-like fashion. Her feet were treading
the earth with resolute firmness, calm and secure in the new strength
which was developing within. When one of his caresses would remind her
that she was a woman, she would always say the same thing,
"What luck that you are a foreigner! . . . What happiness to know that
you do not have to go to war!"
In her anxiety for sacrifice, she wanted to go to the battlefields, and
yet at the same time, she was rejoicing to see her lover exempt from
military duty. This preposterous lack of logic was not gratefully
received by Julio but irritated him as an unconscious offense.
"One might suppose that she was protecting me!" he thought.
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