They
continued publishing war-stories so as to keep enthusiasm at fever-heat,
but nothing definite. The Government, too, was issuing communications of
vague and rhetorical verbosity. Desnoyers became alarmed, his instinct
warning him of danger. "There is something wrong," he thought. "There's
a spring broken somewhere!"
This lack of encouraging news coincided exactly with the sudden rise in
Dona Elena's spirits. With whom had that woman been talking? Whom did
she meet when she was on the street? . . . Without dropping her pose
as a martyr, with the same woebegone look and drooping mouth, she was
talking, and talking treacherously. The torment of Don Marcelo in being
obliged to listen to the enemy harbored within his gates! . . . The
French had been vanquished in Lorraine and in Belgium at the same time.
A body of the army had deserted the colors; many prisoners, many cannon
were captured. "Lies! German exaggerations!" howled Desnoyers. And
Chichi with the derisive ha-ha's of an insolent girl, drowned out the
triumphant communications of the aunt from Berlin. "I don't know, of
course," said the unwelcome lodger with mock humility. "Perhaps it is
not authentic. I have heard it said." Her host was furious. Where had
she heard it said? Who was giving her such news? . . .
And in order to ventilate his wrath, he broke forth into tirades against
the enemy's espionage, against the carelessness of the police force in
permitting so many Germans to remain hidden in Paris.
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