Hurrah for Peace, Frenchy, and the simple life! Where
a man can live comfortably and runs no danger of being killed for things
he doesn't understand--there is his real homeland!"
And as though an echo of the rustic's reflections, Karl seated at the
piano, began chanting in a low voice one of Beethoven's hymns--
"We sing the joy of life,
We sing of liberty,
We'll ne'er betray our fellow-man,
Though great the guerdon be."
Peace! . . . A few days afterward Desnoyers recalled bitterly the old
man's illusion, for war--domestic war--broke loose in this idyllic
stage-setting of ranch life.
"Run, Senor Manager, the old Patron has unsheathed his knife and is
going to kill the German!" And Desnoyers had hurried from his office,
warned by the peon's summons. Madariaga was chasing Karl, knife in hand,
stumbling over everything that blocked his way. Only his son-in-law
dared to stop him and disarm him.
"That shameless pedigreed fellow!" bellowed the livid old man as he
writhed in Desnoyers' firm clutch. "Half famished, all he thinks he has
to do is to come to my house and take away my daughters and dollars.
. . . Let me go, I tell you! Let me loose that I may kill him."
And in order to free himself from Desnoyers, he tried further to explain
the difficulty. He had accepted the Frenchman as a husband for his
daughter because he was to his liking, modest, honest .
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