Part 17 (1/2)

”Some one has fired upon us,” said the officer, ”one of your dirty fellows; you must pay for it.”

”And the order?” asked the _maire_ sleepily; ”you have the Commandant's order?”

”Never mind about the order,” said the officer rea.s.suringly, ”the order will be forthcoming at eight o'clock. Oh yes, we shall shoot you most authoritatively--never fear.”

The officer knew that nothing could be done until eight o'clock, for he dared not wake the Commandant, but he did not see why he should deny himself the pleasure of waking up this pig of a _maire_ to see how he would take it. The _maire_ divined his thoughts, and without a word turned over on his side and pretended to go to sleep again. From under his drooping eyelids he saw the officer gazing at him with a look in which dislike, disappointment, and pleasurable expectation seemed to be struggling for mastery. Then with a click he extinguished his torch and withdrew.

At eight o'clock the _maire_ awoke to learn with mild surprise that he was not to be shot. Beyond that his guard would tell him nothing. It was only afterwards he learnt that one of the drunken revellers had been prowling the streets, and, having given the sentries a bad fright by letting off his rifle at a lamp-post, had expiated his adventure at the hands of a firing party in the cemetery outside the town.

For two days the _maire_ was unmolested. He was allowed to see his _adjoint_,[25] who came to him with a troubled face.

”The babies are crying for milk,” he said, ”the troops have taken it all. I begged one of the officers to leave a little for the inhabitants, but he said the men did not like their coffee without plenty of hot milk.” The _maire_ reflected for a moment, and then dictated an _avis_ to the inhabitants enjoining upon them to be as sparing in their consumption of milk as possible for the sake of the ”meres de famille”

and ”les pet.i.ts enfants.”

”Tell the _commissaire de police_ to have that posted up immediately,”

he added. ”We can do no more.”

”They have taken the bread out of our mouths,” resumed the _adjoint_, ”and now they are despoiling us of our goods. They are like a swarm of bailiffs let loose upon our homes. Everywhere they levy a distress upon our chattels. There is an ammunition waggon outside my house; they have put all the furniture of my _salon_ upon it.”

”You should make a protest to the Commandant,” said the _maire_, but not very hopefully.

”It is no use,” replied the _adjoint_ despondingly. ”I have. He simply shrugged his shoulders and said, 'C'est la guerre.' It is always so.

They have shot Jules Bonnard.”

”Et pourquoi?” asked the _maire_.

”I know not,” said the _adjoint_. ”They found four market-gardeners returning from the fields last night and shot them too--they made them dig their own graves, and tied their hands behind their backs with their own scarves. I protested to a Staff officer; he said it was 'verboten'

to dig potatoes. I said they did not know; how could they? He said they ought to know. Then he abused me, and said if I made any more complaints he would shoot me too. They have made the _civils_ dig trenches.”

”Ah,” said the _maire_. He knew it was a flagrant violation of the Hague Regulations, but it was not the t.i.the of mint and c.u.mmin of the law that troubled him. It was the reflection that the _civil_ who is forced to dig trenches is already as good as dead. He knows too much.

”And the women,” continued the _adjoint_, in a tone of stupefied horror, ”they are crying, many of them, and will not look one in the face. Some of them have black eyes. And the young girls!”

The _maire_ brooded in impotent horror. His meditations were interrupted by the entrance of the captain. ”The Commandant wishes to see you _tout de suite_,” he exclaimed. ”March!” He was conducted by a corporal's guard, preceded by the captain, into the presence of the General, who had taken up his quarters in the princ.i.p.al mansion looking out upon the square. The General was a stout, square-headed man, with grey moustaches and steel-blue eyes, and the _maire_ divined at a glance that here was no swashbuckler, but a man who had himself under control. ”I have imposed a fine of 300,000 francs upon your town; you will collect it in twenty-four hours; if it is not forthcoming to the last franc I shall be regretfully compelled to burn this town to the ground.”

”And why?” exclaimed the _maire_, whom nothing could now surprise, though much might perplex.

The General seemed unprepared for the question. He paused for a moment and said, ”Some one has been giving information to the enemy.”

”No!”--he held up his hand, not impolitely but finally, as the _maire_ began to expostulate--”I have spoken.”

”But,” said the _maire_ desperately, ”we shall be ruined. We have not got it. And all our goods have been taken already.”

”You have our receipts,” said the General. ”They are as good as gold.

German credit is very high; the Imperial Government has just floated a loan of several milliards. And you have our stamped _Quittungen_.” He became at once voluble and persuasive in his cupidity, and forgot something of his habitual caution. ”You surely do not doubt the word of the German Government?” he said. The _maire_ doubted it very much, but he discreetly held his tongue. ”And our requisitioning officers have not been n.i.g.g.ardly,” continued the General; ”they have put a substantial price on the goods we have taken.” This was true. It had not escaped the _maire_ that the receipt-forms had been lavish.

”I will do my best,” said the _maire_ simply.