Madame came back. Needless I say anything more. Madame came back.
For a whole week we were brooding about how we've lost the only commander we've just met, and the only commander who cared about us, to boot. Although I'm her adjutant, I can never be her substitution in this brigade; at best, they probably see me as just a camarade, or an elder brother of sorts. In Madame's absence, the other squads had been summoned back to Mons and M. de Castelnau had been thinking about assigning a new brigadier as our commander, giving the fact that there was little hope a captured general would ever come back. With our brigade being like a headless snake at the moment, the return of Madame is an inconceivable joy. Also, an inconceivable surprise because we didn't expect to see her again, either till the end of the war or... forever (we shuddered at the thought).
Just a few hours prior, a British medical corps's car stopped by our barracks in Mons. We thought M. de Castelnau ordered to have our injuries from the last ambush checked, but the nurses and the doctor were British, also, the casualties were so negligible a medical check-up would be unnecessary; the one whose wounds were severest got only a rather deep cut in his leg that bled quite profusely at the beginning (he was fine shortly afterwards). Amidst the confusion that caused the men to crowd the windows, a few nurses stepped down from the car to wash their faces at the well nearby, and amongst the white gowns of the nurses, we detected the familiar cornflower blue coat of Madame de Beaudelaire. The young men cheered so loud the glass windows shook and methinks the echoes could be heard from the hills over there. We rushed downstairs and poured out from the doors in joy of seeing our beloved beldame returned at last. Some younger men eagerly jumped into our commander's arms, acting like a bunch of little boys who've just seen their mother again after a very long time. Occasionally it seems to me that she, too, sees us young cavalrymen like her sons. Her one thousand and five hundred chevalier sons. To be frank, looking at Madame really reminisces me of my own mother; the same softness in her eyes as she took a quick glance at her overjoyed brigade, the same tenderness as she greeted us on our first day of the battle, also the same tolerance mum used to express as the unruly children in the neighbourhood messed up her just-washed laundry.
"Well, I know at first sight that these men are rookies, because anyone acquainted with you would just assume you died some time in the middle of investigation, or battle, in this case," remarked the nurse standing next to our commander, in English. To which Madame replied, in the same tongue:
"Still you always waited, and every time I showed up again, you seemed to always be on the verge of tears."
"Those were tears of vehement frustration, my dear. I can't believe after the umpteenth time I told you we did NOT face the culprits alone, your damned lone wolf instinct still dared to sneak out and confront the culprits ALONE!"
We've had a pleasant surprise and a heartwarming moment as we discovered the nurse chatting with our commander there was, in Madame's own words, "a darling companion of forty years". She was a Scotland Yard coroner and longtime investigative partner of our commander, if Madame's story is to be believed. Albeit we had a slight moment of doubt at the nurse's coroner past, we indeed were relieved knowing that our Madame— who in her youth was notorious as the person practically married to whatever job she did, some said she could very well sell her own soul if it would get the job done— had a companion who was honestly willing to watch her reckless back. It was decades ago, Madame's heart might have changed a lot after such many ordeals, changed for the better, it seemed.
Secretly, we really admire that nurse for being able to turn the stone-hearted investigator who now is our madame la brigadière into such an affectionate person. I reckon her affections for us are genuine, given everything we've seen in her so far.
Please, fate, do not take Madame away from us ere this war ends...