Two broad backs bent under bulging loads; an infant's wail; a
knock at the Red Cross Door--but that was nearly eight months before.
The _Poste de Secours_ was closed for the first time since Madame de
Vigny and her three young _infirmieres_ had come to Noyon. Two women
stood without, one plump and bareheaded, the other aged and bent, with a
calico handkerchief tied over her hair. They stared at the printed card
tacked upon the entrance of the large patched-up house that served as
Headquarters for the French Red Cross.
"_Tiens! c'est ferme_," exclaimed Madame Talon, shaking the rough board
door with all her meagre weight, "and I have walked eight kilometers to
get a _jupon_, and with rheumatism, too."
"Haven't you heard the news?" asked her companion with city-bred scorn.
"Ah? What news?" The crisp old face crinkled with anticipation.
"Why, Mademoiselle Gaston is to be married today."
"_Tiens, tiens! est-ce possible?_ What happiness for that good girl!"
and Madame Talon, forgetful of the loss of her _jupon_, smiled a
wrinkled smile till her nose nearly touched her chin, and her eyes
receding into well worn little puckers, became two snapping black
points.
"Is it really so? And the bridegroom--who is he?"
There followed that vivacious exchange of questions and answers and
speculations which accompanies the announcement of a marriage the world
over.
Mademoiselle Gaston was the daughter of an ancient family of Noyon.
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