Robert Chambers - The Crimson Tide - A Novel

An American ambulance going south stopped on the snowy road; the driver, an American named Estridge, got out; his companion, a young woman in furs, remained in her seat.

Estridge, with the din of the barrage in his ears, went forward to show his papers to the soldiers who had stopped him on the snowy forest road.

His papers identified him and the young woman; and further they revealed the fact that the ambulance contained only a trunk and some hand luggage; and called upon all in authority to permit John Henry Estridge and Miss Palla Dumont to continue without hindrance the journey therein described.

The soldiers–Siberian riflemen–were satisfied and seemed friendly enough and rather curious to obtain a better look at this American girl, Miss Dumont, described in the papers submitted to them as “American companion to Marie, third daughter of Nicholas Romanoff, ex-Tzar.”

An officer came up, examined the papers, shrugged.

“Very well,” he said, “if authority is to be given this American lady to join the Romanoff family, now under detention, it is not my affair.”

But he, also, appeared to be perfectly good natured about the matter, accepting a cigarette from Estridge and glancing at the young woman in the ambulance as he lighted it.

“You know,” he remarked, “if it would interest you and the young lady, the Battalion of Death is over yonder in the birch woods.”

“The woman’s battalion?” asked Estridge.

“Yes. They make their début to-day. Would you like to see them? They’re going forward in a few minutes, I believe.”

Estridge nodded and walked back to the ambulance.

“The woman’s battalion is over in those birch woods, Miss Dumont. Would you care to walk over and see them before they leave for the front trenches?”

The girl in furs said very gravely:

“Yes, I wish to see women who are about to go into battle.”

She rose from the seat, laid a fur-gloved hand on his offered arm, and stepped down onto the snow.

“To serve,” she said, as they started together through the silver birches, following a trodden way, “is not alone the only happiness in life: it is the only reason for living.”

“I know you think so, Miss Dumont.”

“You also must believe so, who are here as a volunteer in Russia.”

“It’s a little more selfish with me. I’m a medical student; it’s a liberal education for me even to drive an ambulance.”

“There is only one profession nobler than that practised by the physician, who serves his fellow men,” she said in a low, dreamy voice.

“Which profession do you place first?”

“The profession of those who serve God alone.”

“The priesthood?”

“Yes. And the religious orders.”

“Nuns, too?” he demanded with the slightest hint of impatience in his pleasant voice.

The girl noticed it, looked up at him and smiled slightly.

“Had my dear Grand Duchess not asked for me, I should now he entering upon my novitiate among the Russian nuns… And she, too, I think, had there been no revolution. She was quite ready a year ago. We talked it over. But the Empress would not permit it. And then came the trouble about the Deaconesses. That was a grave mistake–”

She checked herself, then:

“I do not mean to criticise the Empress, you understand.”

“Poor lady,” he said, “such gentle criticism would seem praise to her now.”

They were walking through a pine belt, and in the shadows of that splendid growth the snow remained icy, so that they both slipped continually and she took his arm for security.

“I somehow had not thought of you, Miss Dumont, as so austerely inclined,” he said.

She smiled: “Because I’ve been a cheerful companion–even gay? Well, my gaiety made my heart sing with the prospect of seeing again my dearest friend–my closest spiritual companion–my darling little Grand Duchess… So I have been, naturally enough, good company on our three days’ journey.”

He smiled: “I never suspected you of such extreme religious inclinations,” he insisted.

“Extreme?”

“Well, a novice–” he hesitated. Then, “And you mean, ultimately, to take the black veil?”

“Of course. I shall take it some day yet.”

He turned and looked at her, and the man in him felt the pity of it as do all men when such fresh, virginal youth as was Miss Dumont’s turns an enraptured face toward that cloister door which never again opens on those who enter.

Her arm rested warmly and confidently within his; the cold had made her cheeks very pink and had crisped the tendrils of her brown hair under the fur toque.

“If,” she said happily, “you have found in me a friend, it is because my heart is much too small for all the love I bear my fellow beings.”

“That’s a quaint thing to say,” he said.

“It’s really true. I care so deeply, so keenly, for my fellow beings whom God made, that there seemed only one way to express it–to give myself to God and pass my life in His service who made these fellow creatures all around me that I love.”

“I suppose,” he said, “that is one way of looking at it.”

“It seemed to be the only way for me. I came to it by stages… And first, as a child, I was impressed by the loveliness of the world and I used to sit for hours thinking of the goodness of God. And then other phases came–socialistic cravings and settlement work–but you know that was not enough. My heart was too full to be satisfied. There was not enough outlet.”

“What did you do then?”

“I studied: I didn’t know what I wanted, what I needed. I seemed lost; I was obsessed with a desire to aid–to be of service. I thought that perhaps if I travelled and studied methods–”

She looked straight ahead of her with a sad little reflective smile:

“I have passed by many strange places in the world… And then I saw the little Grand Duchess at the Charity Bazaar… We seemed to love each other at first glance… She asked to have me for her companion… They investigated… And so I went to her.”

The girl’s face became sombre and she bent her dark eyes on the snow as they walked.

All the world was humming and throbbing with the thunder of the Russian guns. Flakes continually dropped from vibrating pine trees. A pale yellow haze veiled the sun.