Second stroke!--the Crown Prince rolling to one side and his head
to the other. A rain of dagger thrusts!--all the invincible generals
of whom her aunt had been boasting fleeing with their insides in their
hands--and bringing up the rear, that fawning lackey who wished to
receive the same things as those of highest rank--the uncle from Berlin.
. . . Ay, if she could only get the chance to make these longings a
reality!
"You are mad," protested her mother. "Completely mad! How can a ladylike
girl talk in such a way?" . . .
Surprising her niece in the ecstasy of these delirious ravings, Dona
Elena would raise her eyes to heaven, abstaining thenceforth from
communicating her opinions, reserving them wholly for the mother.
Don Marcelo's indignation took another bound when his wife repeated to
him the news from her sister. All a lie! . . . The war was progressing
finely. On the Eastern frontier the French troops had advanced through
the interior of Alsace and Lorraine.
"But--Belgium is invaded, isn't it?" asked Dona Luisa. "And those poor
Belgians?"
Desnoyers retorted indignantly.
"That invasion of Belgium is treason. . . . And a treason never amounts
to anything among decent people."
He said it in all good faith as though war were a duel in which the
traitor was henceforth ruled out and unable to continue his outrages.
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