From the regiment of the
Guards which Michael had rejoined, Francis was among the first batch of
officers to go, and that evening Michael took down the news to Sylvia.
Already stories of German barbarity were rife, of women violated, of
defenceless civilians being shot down for no object except to terrorise,
and to bring home to the Belgians the unwisdom of presuming to cross the
will of the sovereign people. To-night, in the evening papers, there had
been a fresh batch of these revolting stories, and when Michael entered
the studio where Sylvia and her mother were sitting, he saw the girl let
drop behind the sofa the paper she had been reading. He guessed what she
must have found there, for he had already seen the paper himself, and
her silence, her distraction, and the misery of her face confirmed his
conjecture.
"I've brought you a little news to-night," he said. "The first draft
from the regiment went off to-day."
Mrs. Falbe put down her book, marking the place.
"Well, that does look like business, then," she said, "though I must say
I should feel safer if they didn't send our soldiers away. Where have
they gone to?"
"Destination unknown," said Michael. "But it's France.
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