Her brother-in-law was longing for the extermination of all the enemy.
"May every barbarian be exterminated! . . . every one of the bandits in
pointed helmets who have just burned Louvain and other towns, shooting
defenceless peasants, old men, women and children!"
"You forget that I am a mother," sobbed Frau von Hartrott. "You forget
that among those whose extermination you are imploring, are my sons."
Her violent weeping made Desnoyers realize more than ever the abyss
yawning between him and this woman lodged in his own house. His
resentment, however, overleapt family considerations. . . . She might
weep for her sons all she wanted to; that was her right. But these sons
were aggressors and wantonly doing evil. It was the other mothers who
were inspiring his pity--those who were living tranquilly in their
smiling little Belgian towns when their sons were suddenly shot down,
their daughters violated and their houses burned to the ground.
As though this description of the horrors of war were a fresh insult to
her, Dona Elena wept harder than ever. What falsehoods! The Kaiser was
an excellent man. His soldiers were gentlemen, the German army was a
model of civilization and goodness. Her husband had belonged to
this army, her sons were marching in its ranks. And she knew her
sons--well-bred and incapable of wrong-doing.
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