Part 31 (1/2)

Don Marcelo looked from one to another. The fatigues of war, especially the forced march of the last days, were very apparent in their persons.

Some were tall and slender with an angular slimness; others were stocky and corpulent with short neck and head sunk between the shoulders.

These had lost much of their fat in a month's campaign, the wrinkled and flabby skin hanging in folds in various parts of their bodies. All had shaved heads, the same as the soldiers. Around the table shone two rows of cranial spheres, reddish or dark. Their ears stood out grotesquely, and their jaw bones were in strong relief owing to their thinness. Some had preserved the upright moustache in the style of the Emperor; the most of them were shaved or had a stubby tuft like a brush.

A golden bracelet glistened on the wrist of the Count, stretched on the table. He was the oldest of them all and the only one that kept his hair, of a frosty red, carefully combed and glistening with pomade.

Although about fifty years old, he still maintained a youthful vigor cultivated by exercise. Wrinkled, bony and strong, he tried to dissimulate his uncouthness as a man of battle under a suave and indolent laziness. The officers treated him with the greatest respect.

Hartrott told his uncle that the Count was a great artist, musician and poet. The Emperor was his friend; they had known each other from boyhood. Before the war, certain scandals concerning his private life had exiled him from Court--mere lampoons of the socialists and scandal-mongers. The Kaiser had always kept a secret affection for his former chum. Everybody remembered his dance, ”The Caprices of Scheherazade,” represented with the greatest luxury in Berlin through the endors.e.m.e.nt of his powerful friend, William II. The Count had lived many years in the Orient. In fact, he was a great gentleman and an artist of exquisite sensibility as well as a soldier.

Since Desnoyers was now his guest, the Count could not permit him to remain silent, so he made an opportunity of bringing him into the conversation.

”Did you see any of the insurrections? ... Did the troops have to kill many people? How about the a.s.sa.s.sination of Poincare? ...”

He asked these questions in quick succession and Don Marcelo, bewildered by their absurdity, did not know how to reply. He believed that he must have fallen in with a feast of fools. Then he suspected that they were making fun of him. Uprisings? a.s.sa.s.sinations of the President? ...

Some gazed at him with pity because of his ignorance, others with suspicion, believing that he was merely pretending not to know of these events which had happened so near him.

His nephew insisted. ”The daily papers in Germany have been full of accounts of these matters. Fifteen days ago, the people of Paris revolted against the Government, bombarding the Palais de l'Elysee, and a.s.sa.s.sinating the President. The army had to resort to the machine guns before order could be restored... . Everybody knows that.”

But Desnoyers insisted that he did not know it, that n.o.body had seen such things. And as his words were received in an atmosphere of malicious doubt, he preferred to be silent. His Excellency, superior spirit, incapable of being a.s.sociated with the popular credulity, here intervened to set matters straight. The report of the a.s.sa.s.sination was, perhaps, not certain; the German periodicals might have unconsciously exaggerated it. Just a few hours ago, the General of the Staff had told him of the flight of the French Government to Bordeaux, and the statement about the revolution in Paris and the firing of the French troops was indisputable. ”The gentleman has seen it all without doubt, but does not wish to admit it.” Desnoyers felt obliged to contradict this lordling, but his negative was not even listened to.

Paris! This name made all eyes glisten and everybody talkative. As soon as possible they wished to reach the Eiffel Tower, to enter victorious into the city, to receive their recompense for the privations and fatigues of a month's campaign. They were devotees of military glory, they considered war necessary to existence, and yet they were bewailing the hards.h.i.+p that it was imposing upon them. The Count exhaled the plaint of the craftsmaster.

”Oh, the havoc that this war has brought in my plans!” he sighed. ”This winter they were going to bring out my dance in Paris!”

They all protested at his sadness; his work would surely be presented after the triumph, and the French would have to recognize it.

”It will not be the same thing,” complained the Count. ”I confess that I adore Paris... . What a pity that these people have never wished to be on familiar terms with us!” ... And he relapsed into the silence of the unappreciated man.

Desnoyers suddenly recognized in one of the officers who was talking, with eyes bulging with covetousness, of the riches of Paris, the Chief Thief with the band on his arm. He it was who so methodically had sacked the castle. As though divining the old Frenchman's thought, the commissary began excusing himself.

”It is war, monsieur... .”

The same as the others! ... War had to be paid with the treasures of the conquered. That was the new German system; the healthy return to the wars of ancient days; tributes imposed on the cities, and each house sacked separately. In this way, the enemy's resistance would be more effectually overcome and the war soon brought to a close. He ought not to be downcast over the appropriations, for his furnis.h.i.+ngs and ornaments would all be sold in Germany. After the French defeat, he could place a remonstrance claim with his government, pet.i.tioning it to indemnify his loss; his relatives in Berlin would support his demand.

Desnoyers listened in consternation to his counsels. What kind of mentality had these men, anyway? Were they insane, or were they trying to have some fun at his expense? ...

When the lunch was at last ended, the officers arose and adjusted their swords for service. Captain von Hartrott rose, too; it was necessary for him to return to his general; he had already dedicated too much time to family expansion. His uncle accompanied him to the automobile where Moltkecito once more justified the ruin and plunder of the castle.

”It is war... . We have to be very ruthless that it may not last long.

True kindness consists in being cruel, because then the terror-stricken enemy gives in sooner, and so the world suffers less.”

Don Marcelo shrugged his shoulders before this sophistry. In the doorway, the captain gave some orders to a soldier who soon returned with a bit of chalk which had been used to number the lodging places.

Von Hartrott wished to protect his uncle and began tracing on the wall near the door:--”Bitte, nicht plundern. Es sind freundliche Leute.”

In response to the old man's repeated questions, he then translated the inscription. ”It means, 'Please do not sack this house. Its occupants are kind people ... friendly people.'”

Ah, no! ... Desnoyers repelled this protection vehemently. He did not wish to be kind. He was silent because he could not be anything else.

... But a friend of the invaders of his country! ... No, NO, NO!