They would march toward
him in a straight line, as though they did not see him, and he would
have to hurry out of their way to avoid being thrown down by their
mechanical and rigid advance.
Finally he sought refuge in the lodge of the Keeper, whose good wife
stared with astonishment at seeing him drop into a kitchen chair
breathless and downcast, suddenly aged by losing the remarkable energy
that had been the wonder of his advanced years.
"Ah, Master. . . . Poor Master!"
Of all the events attending the invasion, the most unbelievable for this
poor woman was seeing her employer take refuge in her cottage.
"What is ever going to become of us!" she groaned.
Her husband was in constant demand by the invaders. His Excellency's
assistants, installed in the basement apartments of the castle were
incessantly calling him to tell them the whereabouts of things which
they could not find. From every trip, he would return humiliated, his
eyes filled with tears. On his forehead was the black and blue mark of
a blow, and his jacket was badly torn. These were souvenirs of a futile
attempt at opposition, during his master's absence, to the German
plundering of stables and castle rooms.
The millionaire felt himself linked by misfortune to these people,
considered until then with indifference. He was very grateful for the
loyalty of this sick and humble man, and the poor woman's interest in
the castle as though it were her own, touched him greatly.
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