He had taken him for a simple employee,
and his respect for social rank made him lower his revolver.
He did not, however, alter his haughty attitude. He pressed Don Marcelo
into the service as a guide, making him search ahead of him while forty
soldiers grouped themselves at his back. They advanced in two files to
the shelter of the trees which bordered the central avenue, with their
guns ready to shoot, and looking uneasily at the castle windows as
though expecting to receive from them hidden shots. Desnoyers marched
tranquilly through the centre, and the official, who had been imitating
the precautions of his men, finally joined him when he was crossing the
drawbridge.
The armed men scattered through the rooms in search of the enemy.
They ran their bayonets through beds and divans. Some, with automatic
destructiveness, slit the draperies and the rich bed coverings. The
owner protested; what was the sense in such useless destruction?
. . . He was suffering unbearable torture at seeing the enormous boots
spotting the rugs with mud, on hearing the clash of guns and knapsacks
against the most fragile, choicest pieces of furniture. Poor historic
mansion! . . .
The officer looked amazed that he should protest for such trifling
cause, but he gave orders in German and his men ceased their rude
explorations. Then, in justification of this extraordinary respect, he
added in French:
"I believe that you are going to have the honor of entertaining here the
general of our division.
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