Through
carelessness or mischief, someone had set the wood piles on fire. The
trees, with the bark dried by the summer heat, were crackling on being
licked by the flame.
The building was likewise occupied by a multitude of men under this same
superintendent. The open windows showed a continual shifting through the
rooms. Desnoyers heard great blows that re-echoed within his breast. Ay,
his historic mansion! . . . The General was going to establish himself
in it, after having examined on the banks of the Marne, the works of the
pontoon builders, who had been constructing several military bridges
for the troops. Don Marcelo's outraged sense of ownership forced him to
speak. He feared that they would break the doors of the locked rooms--he
would like to go for the keys in order to give them up to those in
charge. The commissary would not listen to him but continued ignoring
his existence. The lieutenant replied with cutting amiability:
"It is not necessary; do not trouble yourself!"
After this considerate remark, he started to rejoin his regiment but
deemed it prudent before losing sight of Desnoyers to give him a little
advice. He must remain quietly at the castle; outside, he might be taken
for a spy, and he already knew how promptly the soldiers of the Emperor
settled all such little matters.
He could not remain in the garden looking at his dwelling from any
distance, because the Germans who were going and coming were diverting
themselves by playing practical jokes upon him.
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