V for Vengeance Read Online Free PDF

Ponsardin was an artist of some promise but few means; yet, after being called up, he had managed to continue to find the rent for the apartment on the other side of the landing, which served him both for home and studio, as when he had first taken it he had had a big window cut in the mansard roof, which gave the main room an excellent north light. He had known Madeleine for some time and had fallen in love with her, but when they had first met as neighbours she had already been engaged to Georges; so he had never had any opportunity of disclosing his passion. Madeleine’s intuition had told her long ago that he had more than a friendly interest in her, but she had never betrayed the least sign of realising that; and as it was several months since she had last seen him his very existence had almost faded from her mind.
    With Pierre, on the contrary, separation had even intensified his feelings about her. For such a sensitive and fastidious man life in the Army had proved a veritable hell. The coarse food, the discomfort, the dirt, the bullying of the N.C.O.s and the often brutal ragging of his fellow-soldiers had proved more soul-destroying to him than a prison sentence would have been to any habitual criminal. During these months of utter wretchedness one of his few consolations had been to gaze in secret upon a miniature that he had painted of Madeleine, which still hung by a ribbon round his neck under his shirt; and now that he saw her again in the flesh all his old passion for her welled up with renewed force.
    Actually, he had hardly known Georges, so he had no great reason to be distressed about his death. In fact, when he had first heard of it he had, not altogether unnaturally, been forced to conceal his excitement at the new hope that it gave him now that Madeleine was free again; but he was much too good a psychologist to rush his fences and had no intention of showing his hand for the moment.
    Instead, to take her thoughts off Georges and the vast tragedy which was engulfing France, he told her something of Armylife, but he was careful not to present it as he had found it himself, from fear that she might think him a milksop. He spoke with admiration of his officers and of what good fellows his brother privates had been. While feigning a certain modesty, he related one or two imaginary adventures in the firing-line before the Battle of France was opened, which put him in a good light, and said what fun they had had in the periods when his regiment had been relieved from active duty and they were able to hold concerts and sports. He had been talking for some time when a little frown crossed Madeleine’s brow, and she suddenly asked:
    â€˜How comes it, Pierre, that you are not with your regiment still?’
    He shrugged. ‘What would you? You must have heard how our Generals let us down. We would have fought to a finish had we been allowed to do so; but all the time it was retreat—retreat—retreat. And two days ago it became obvious that the Generals did not mean us to fight at all.’
    â€˜But—the main French Army is still fighting somewhere south of Paris,’ she protested.
    He shrugged again. ‘Perhaps, but the Army, of which my battalion formed a part, was in the north, near Amiens, and I doubt if we could ever have got back so far.’
    â€˜You doubt it! But did you not try?’
    â€˜Well—yes; but you have no idea of the confusion. The roads were choked with refugees. We were often hours late in reaching each fresh rendezvous. The orders we got contradicted one another, and so it at last became every small unit for itself.’
    She stared at him: ‘Do you mean, Pierre, that you ran away?’
    He laughed a little awkwardly. ‘Hardly that! But the German advance was so swift, and we never knew on which side of us we would find them next. It became obvious to all of us that without proper orders and with the Army already in a state of disintegration