He was silent because he could not be anything else.
. . . But a friend of the invaders of his country! . . . No, NO, NO!
His nephew rubbed out part of the lettering, leaving the first words,
"Bitte, nicht plundern." Then he repeated the scrawled request at the
entrance of the park. He thought this notice advisable because His
Excellency might go away and other officials might be installed in the
castle. Von Hartrott had seen much and his smile seemed to imply that
nothing could surprise him, no matter how outrageous it might be. But
his relative continued scorning his protection, and laughing bitterly at
the impromptu signboard. What more could they carry off? . . . Had they
not already stolen the best?
"Good-bye, uncle! Soon we shall meet in Paris."
And the captain climbed into his automobile, extending a soft, cold hand
that seemed to repel the old man with its flabbiness.
Upon returning to his castle, he saw a table and some chairs in the
shadow of a group of trees. His Excellency was taking his coffee in the
open air, and obliged him to take a seat beside him. Only three officers
were keeping him company. . . . There was here a grand consumption of
liquors from his wine cellars. They were talking together in German, and
for an hour Don Marcelo remained there, anxious to go but never finding
the opportune moment to leave his seat and disappear.
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