20. Last Wreaths

Maroussia listened astonished.

“He is no doubt praying,” she said to herself, “he is sad, he does well.”

Strangely enough, they perceived on the trunk of the old oak a wreath of cornflowers almost like the one Maroussia had just made. How could it be? The flowers were still fresh.

Maroussia’s eyes were turned at the same time as those of her good friend toward this strange sight, but she no more showed surprise. This reserve did not astonish Tchetchevik. He took the wreath and threw it in Maroussia’s lap.

“The two will make a pair,” he said. “I can tell everything to you, Maroussia. This wreath tells us that very soon we shall not be alone in the forest, our friends are coming, our scouts have preceded them.”

Suddenly, from the depths of the wood a cry was heard, but only the cry of a bird as it seemed to Maroussia.

“It is a young one, no doubt,” said the Envoy. “Its voice has not fully developed yet. An older would be heard better. Listen, Maroussia, I am going to give a lesson to this voice.”

And with the help of his fingers brought up close to his mouth, Tchetchevik gave a bird’s cry so shrill that the most powerful singer of the forest would not have disowned it. This cry, heard without doubt for many miles around, was very soon echoed back. From three different places similar cries answered it.

“You must not be uneasy,” said Tchetchevik to Maroussia, “you see what it is about. I am obliged to leave you alone a few moments. Stay here, do not change your place, I will return for you very soon. Do not leave your post.”

“I will stay here,” answered Maroussia. And she thought: “They are our friends to whom he has given orders or instructions, for the rest of our men flying and followed as we are. It is to save them, to guide them, or to reassemble them again.”

Her good friend had pushed aside the branches and was going to force a passage through the underbrush, but a thought struck him, and he turned around; he wished once more to look upon his brave companion.

“Especially,” he said to her, “no sad thoughts, let nothing overcome you today, or ever.”

“No, I am not sad,” answered Maroussia, “I am firm. Be easy then, I can do everything, even die without sorrow, at present.”

They exchanged a last look full of mutual tenderness, and Tchetchevik disappeared through the thick foliage.