No, it could not be possible . . . and then the
smell of cooking flesh began to mingle with that of the soot, wood and
plaster.
He closed his eyes, not able to look any longer. He thought for a moment
he must be dreaming. It was unbelievable that such horrors could
take place in less than an hour. Human wickedness at its worst he had
supposed incapable of changing the aspect of a village in such a short
time.
An abrupt stoppage of the motor made him look around involuntarily. This
time the obstruction was the dead bodies in the street--two men and
a woman. They had probably fallen under the rain of bullets from the
machine gun which had passed through the town preceding the invasion.
Some soldiers were seated a little beyond them, with their backs to the
victims, as though ignoring their presence. The chauffeur yelled to
them to clear the track; with their guns and feet they pushed aside the
bodies still warm, at every turn leaving a trail of blood. The space was
hardly opened before the vehicle shot through . . . a thud, a leap--the
back wheels had evidently crushed some very fragile obstacle.
Desnoyers was still huddled in his seat, benumbed and with closed eyes.
The horror around him made him think of his own fate. Whither was this
lieutenant taking him? . . .
He soon saw the town hall flaming in the square; the church was now
nothing but a stone shell, bristling with flames.
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