They, too, were waiting. She could see, far below, her
valet de chambre in his green felt apron, and the concierge in his
blue frock coat and brass buttons, unbending in the new democracy of
hope to talk to a cabman.
Suddenly Audrey felt the same exaltation that had been in Suzanne's
eyes. Those boys below in uniform - they were not tragic now. They
were the hope of the world, not its sacrifice. They were going to
live. They were going to live.
She went into her bedroom and put on her service hat. And as she
opened the door Suzanne was standing outside, one hand upraised.
Into the quiet hallway there came the distant sound of the signal
guns.
"C'est l'armistice!" cried Suzanne, and suddenly broke into wild
hysterical sobbing.
All the way down-stairs Audrey was praying, not articulately, but
in her heart, that this was indeed the end; that the grapes of
wrath had all been trampled; that the nations of the world might
again look forward instead of back. And - because she was not of
the great of the earth, but only a loving woman - that somewhere
Clay was hearing the guns, as she was, and would find hope in them,
and a future.
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